ments. They were not indeed even listened to; for when poor Robert had got as far in his story as to tell the General that he loved his only daughter and wanted her for his wife, he was spared the trouble of going any farther. Stuart Ruysdale thanked him for the honor he had done him in asking his daughter's hand, but absolutely declined to bestow it upon him. Robert, who an hour before had assured Margaret that it would be a positive injury to his health to postpone their marriage for more than a month, said falteringly that he could wait any length of time,—a year, two, three, ay, ten years,—a lifetime, even, if he were only allowed to hope. But even hope was denied him; he was told that her father had other views for Margaret. "Was there a preferred lover?" he demanded fiercely, with an inward resolution to have his life if such a one existed. No, there was no other suitor; Miss Ruysdale had never been a figure in the matrimonial market. She was devoted to things less trivial and unsatisfactory; she was, in point of fact, too much absorbed in her art to think of marriage at present.
"At present!" cried Robert aghast; "when then shall she think of it? When she is wold?" There were some sounds in the English language which he never had been able to master,
