Hal, who had entered that moment, laughed heartily. "So I say, Aunt Hildy. Our Emily is going to be a blue-stocking, I fear. Housework will suffer before long, for housework and book cannot go together."
"No more than ploughs and plaster," I added.
"Not a bit more, sister mine," and he passed his arm around my waist,—he often did this now-a-days,—and whispered, "give me a chance to say something to you."
I nodded an assent, and he passed on through the room, whistling to himself "Bonny Doon." I embraced the first opportunity to follow him, and found him alone in his studio. He seated himself beside me, took one hand in his and passed an arm around me. I wished he could have been my lover then, in fact, I often wished it, for he was as good as he was handsome, both noble hearted and noble looking. He was to me the embodiment of all that was good and all that went to make the best man in the world.
"Emily," he began, "you have been a blessed sister to me; I have loved you always, even though I plagued you so much, and you have been faithful to me. I entrusted to you the first great secret of my life, when I sought you under the apple tree."
"Why could you not have told me more?" I said.
"For the sole reason it would have been hard for you to have kept it from mother, and I wanted to surprise you all at home. Your hand, Emily, was the one that held the cup of life to my lips; and Louis," he added in a tender tone, "with his sympathy and the power of his heart and hand, led me slowly back to strength. Louis is a grand boy. Now, Emily," and he drew me still closer, "I have something else to tell you."
"Don't go away, Hal."
"I desire to stay, but, Emily, I love Mary Snow. I want to tell you of it. I cannot speak positively as to what may happen, but I love her very dearly. Could you be glad to receive her as a sister?"
Selfish thoughts arose at the thought of losing Hal, but I banished them at once, and my heart spoke truly when I said: