‘I reckon there’s a lost Lenore most times,’ Miss McCabe had replied to this confession.
But, though never to be forgotten, the memory of the lost one, Bude averred, was now merged in the light of a living love; his heart was no longer tenanted only by a shadow.
The heart of Miss McCabe stood still for a moment, her cheek paled, but the gallant girl was true to herself, to her father’s wish, to her native land, to the flag. She understood her adorer.
‘Guess I’m bespoke,’ said Miss McCabe abruptly.
‘You are another’s! Oh, despair!’ exclaimed the impassioned earl.
‘Yes, I reckon I’m the Bride of Seven, like the girl in the poem.’
‘The Bride of Seven?’ said Bude.
‘One out of that crowd will call me his,’ said Miss McCabe, handing to her adorer the list, which she had received by mail a day or two earlier, of the accepted competitors. He glanced over the names.
1. Dr. Hiram P. Dodge, of the Smithsonian Institute.
2. Alfred Jenkins, F.R.S., All Souls College, Oxford.