But what ought I to do?  I suppose when a girl is in love she is very unhappy if the gentleman does not propose to her.  I am sure it would not make me at all unhappy if I were told that Mr Gibson had changed his mind.

Dearest Priscilla, you must write at once; because he is to be here on Friday.  Oh, dear; Friday does seem to be so near!  And I shall never know what to say to him, either one way or the other.

Your most affectionate sister,

Dorothy Stanbury.

P.S.  Give my kindest love to mamma; but you need not tell her unless you think it best.’

Priscilla received this letter on the Wednesday morning, and felt herself bound to answer it on that same afternoon.  Had she postponed her reply for a day, it would still have been in Dorothy’s hands before Mr Gibson could have come to her on the dreaded Friday morning.  But still that would hardly give her time enough to consider the matter with any degree of deliberation after she should have been armed with what wisdom Priscilla might be able to send her.  The post left Nuncombe Putney at three; and therefore the letter had to be written before their early dinner.

So Priscilla went into the garden and sat hers down under an old cedar that she might discuss the matter with herself in all its bearings.  She felt that no woman could be called upon to write a letter that should be of more importance.  The whole welfare in life of the person who was dearest to her would probably depend upon it.  The weight upon her was so great that she thought for a while she would take counsel with her mother; but she felt sure that her mother would recommend the marriage; and that if she afterwards should find herself bound to oppose it, then her mother would be a miserable woman.  There could be no use to her taking counsel with her mother, because her mother’s mind was known to her beforehand.  The responsibility was thrown upon her, and she alone must bear it.

She tried hard to persuade herself to write at once and tell her sister to marry the man.  She knew her sister’s heart so well as to be sure that Dorothy would learn to love the man who was her husband.  It was almost impossible that Dorothy should not love those with whom she lived.  And then her sister was so well adapted to be a wife and a mother.  Her temper was so sweet, she was so pure, so unselfish, so devoted, and so healthy withal!  She was so happy when she was acting for others; and so excellent in action when she had another one to think for her!  She was so trusting and trustworthy that any husband would adore her!  Then Priscilla walked slowly into the house, got her prayer-book, and returning to her seat under the tree, read the marriage service.  It was one o’clock when she went upstairs to write her letter, and it had not yet struck eleven when she first seated herself beneath the tree.  Her letter, when written, was as follows: 

’Nuncombe Putney, August 25, 186-.