AN AFTERTHOUGHT.

BY BEN HURST.

N the darkening library Father Ambrose had put aside his books, and arose to his feet at the same moment that the door, opening from the veranda admitted a flood of sunlight and a youth on whose head it seemed reflected.

"Sit down, Lionel," said the priest. "Why so late?"

Well, it was a sudden notion, Father. I have been wanting to ride over all these days-"

"Not so sudden, then," remarked the priest.

"No;-of course not. The fact is I made up my mind only a quarter of an hour ago."

"Ah! Then you must have ridden hard."

"No; I did not take the road, but came right through the park and over the stubble fields-to give Marko a few jumps."

"There goes my impulsive Lionel!" said the priest with a smile. "There goes the fellow who would have jumped a continent, and abandoned his ancestral estates to evangelize Japan, if he had not been restrained-for a surer test of his vocation."

The young man moved uneasily in his chair. "Yes"; he said, with some reluctance, "I now see you were wise. It was wiser to delay."

"Ah," returned the priest quizzingly, "we may make a compromise as far as Mangalore, or even nearer home, perhaps?" The young man kept his eyes on the floor.

"Father," he said at last, "you have always doubted my vocation to the religious life. And I myself have come to the conclusion-" He stopped.

"Who is she?" asked the priest.

The youth flushed to the roots of his hair, and stood up. "Now, Father, you are too quick," he protested.

"Not at all," said the priest. "When I cannot lift my eyes in my morning walk without seeing a couple of equestrians, of whom one is my former pupil and the other a young

lady, slowly riding to or from the Manor day after day-well, it occurs to me that, however devoted a son one may be, he does not forego his usual morning gallop for the sake of entertaining his mother's guest, if she is uninteresting. Frankly, Lionel, you cause me distractions."

"Why, Father," laughed Lionel, "I thought to give you a great surprise. But you seem to know everything."

"About you, my son? I hope so. But I do not yet know the name of the future Lady Scarris."

Lionel took a turn up and down the room before he answered. Then he stopped before the priest, and said:

"She is an Anglican."

Father Ambrose made no comment.

"And

through her I have learned what human love is. Father, she has become part of myself. I love her with all the strength of my heart."

"They make good Catholics," said the priest meditatively. "And-is she prepared to join us?"

"Now, Father," cried Lionel, "just here comes my vindication-"

"Yes"; said the priest good-humoredly, "for a young man who, a bare year ago, wanted to lay his celibate bones in Japan to further the cause of Mother Church-to devote himself to a heretic! Well, it's rather stiff, eh?"

"But, Father, you would not have me-and she's not a heretic. At least she won't be so much longer. It is just here the miracle comes in. This summer my mother met her in Scotland, and grew interested in her on account of her inclination to Catholicity. She asked her down here-"

"Wise woman, Lady Scarris," murmured the priest.

"And I assure you, Father, that I regard my attachment as providential. She belongs to us heart and soul. Outward conformity alone is wanting. And I shall have no other wife." The priest reflected for some moments, and then said: "This is your first affection, Lionel, I think?"

"Father, you know all my life. It is my first-and my last." "Your last, if she responds," thought the priest, "otherwise -it must not, should not be." Then aloud he said: "I wish you success in your wooing, my dear boy. I am pleased to hear of this, and I shall pray God to bless you both."

"Thank you, Father," said the young man fervently. "I

wanted to ask you-if May consents-to undertake her final instruction and her reception into the Church. But though I have sometimes thought she likes me-I am not sure."

"I would advise you to relieve your mind about that as soon as possible," said the priest. "Go straight and ask her." "Yes"; said Lionel, as he took up his gloves. But at the door he lingered. The priest waited.

"Father," said Lionel at last in a low voice, "you don't despise me, think me fickle, because I changed my mind?”

"My dear boy," answered the priest gravely, "I always knew that your vocation was here among your own people. Your impulses of last year do you honor. But we are in need of laymen such as you. You can serve the Church better by fulfilling the duties of your station than by abandoning them. There; good-by! Marko will be getting restive. God bless you."

"What a sweet, peaceful day, just as all the days are here"; said May, as she and Lionel paced up and down the terrace in the gathering dusk.

"A day that will be memorable for me," he replied in a low voice. "May, I can wait no longer. Up to now I have been unable to glean anything definite from your answers to my tentative questions. I mean to make things clear tonight."

"But do I?" asked May coquettishly. "We are very well as we are. I have told you that I appreciate your inland scenery; that I do not miss the sea-the sea always makes me restless; that I have enjoyed my visit immensely; that I hope to come again. What more could you ask?” "Will you come to stay?" he asked.

"But I cannot speak

to you here. However much I love nature, there are moments when I prefer the enclosure of four walls. Come into the library, where I can turn on the light and see your face."

"You know, you must know so well, what I am going to say," he said tremulously as he stood before the deep armchair in which she sat-perfectly self-possessed, it seemed to him.

She looked up at him in a provoking way and laughed. "Why should I help you?" she asked. "Can I divine your thought? If I make a wrong guess, I shall look foolish; so I refrain."

The light glimmered on her fair hair, on the sweet mouth, on the firm, shapely chin he loved to contemplate. Their eyes met. Down he went on one knee, and held out his hand. "Is this plain?" he asked.

"A man is very sure when he does that," she remarked reproachfully, but she laid her hand in his.

And then he felt that she was trembling. A great wave of joy broke over him. He kissed the hand he held again and again before he released it. Then he drew up a chair and sat down before her.

"What a difference a moment can make!" he exclaimed, smiling. "I am no longer afraid of you, dearest."

"But I am rather afraid of you," she murmured, withdrawing the hand he had taken again. "Tell me, when did you first know I cared for you?"

"Never, till now," he answered truthfully. And she gave a deep sigh of relief.

"I should have waited," he went on, "till the evolution was complete, and you had in fact, as well as in conviction, become one of us; but-see how selfish I am! The longing to know my fate overcame every other consideration."

The girl smiled with very evident satisfaction. "Are you sure you will never regret it?" she asked. "Remember you once supposed you had a call to the religious life."

"Yes"; he acknowledged. "I was so presumptuous. I have told you all about that. It was before I had met you." And he sighed.

"So marriage with you is an afterthought," she mused. "You, May, were the afterthought," he said. "Afterthoughts are good sometimes."

"You must teach me to be good," said May earnestly. "It is because I felt you were good that I began to love you, Lionel."

"Don't make me ashamed," he said in much confusion. "Dear May, let us be practical. You are your own mistress. My father and mother will welcome you with joy. Let us be married at once after your reception into the Church. Why, the wedding could take place on the following day."

The girl knitted her brows and reflected.

"I dislike the idea of appearing to change my religion with a view to marriage," she said.

"But, my dear May, that you were favorably disposed towards the Church was well known before you knew of my existence," he said reassuringly.

"To a small circle, yes"; she answered. answered. "Our engagement, however, would put things in a different light to the world."

"Who cares for the world?" said Lionel.

May knitted her brows once more, and then spoke with decision.

"I shall embrace your faith when I am your wife-not before!" she declared.

Lionel rose to his feet. He was very pale.

"I could not marry any but an avowed Roman Catholic," he said.

The hot blood rushed to her face. "After a proposal it seems to me I have got a refusal!" she exclaimed.

"No, dear May," he said earnestly. "You will not let such a quibble come between us. Is our marriage, then, a bar to your conversion ?"

"Is my conversion, then, to be the condition of our marriage?" she demanded.

He was silent..

"Answer me, Lionel!" she insisted.

"Yes"; he said gravely. "Decidedly, yes."

"And this is your love?" she exclaimed bitterly.

bitterly. "Do you doubt my word? You know, whether I marry you or not, that I will become a Catholic."

"I do not doubt your word," he said. "It is not that. But I could not kneel and pledge my vows to one who did not adore with me. Oh May! At such a moment could you in public deny what in secret you revere? Do you not know what marriage means to Catholics?"

"And

She now also stood up. Tears were in her eyes. "You exact every sacrifice from me," she said. you make no allowance for my pride. Not only will people say that I changed my faith in order to become Lady Scarris, but that you married me in order to convert me. All this could be avoided by postponing my public profession of faith until after our marriage. Thus neither of us could be accused of an unworthy motive, and you would prove to me how truly you loved me."