^ - = 
f  WABSH  4 
MOORE’S  RURAL  MEW>YORKER. 
THE  OLD  FAHM  GATE. 
The  old  farm  fc'ate  hangs,  sagging  down. 
On  rtisty  hinges,  bent  and  brown ; 
Its  latch  is  gone,  and  hexe  and  there 
It  shows  rude  traces  of  repair. 
The  old  faiTU  gate  has  seen,  each  year. 
The  blossom  bloom  and  disappear ; 
The  bright  green  leaves  of  spring  unfold. 
And  turn  to  autiunn’e  red  and  gold. 
The  children  have  upon  it  clung, 
And  in  and  out  with  rapture  swung. 
When  their  young  hearts  were  good  and  pure- 
When  Hope  was  fair  and  raith  was  suro. 
Beside  that  gate  have  lovers  true 
Told  the  old  story,  always  new ; 
Have  made  their  vows ;  have  dreamed  of  bliss. 
And  sealed  eacli  promise  with  a  kiss. 
The  old  farm  gale  has  oiicned  wide 
To  welcome  home  the  new-made  bride. 
When  lilies  bloomed  and  locusts  fair 
With  their  sweet  fragrance  filled  the  air. 
That  gate  rvith  rusty  weight  and  chain. 
Has  closed  upon  the  aole.rrm  train. 
That  bore  her  lifeless  form  away, 
Upon  a  dreary  autumn  day. 
The  lichens  gray  and  the  mosses  green 
Upon  its  rotting  posts  are  seen 
Initials,  carved  with  youthful  skill. 
Long  years  ago,  are  on  it  sUU. 
Yet  dear  to  me  above  all  things, 
By  reason  «jf  the  thoughts  it  brings. 
Is* that  old  gate,  now  sagging  down. 
On  rusty  hinges  bent  and  brown. 
®ljf  Stoni-ffcllfr.  . 
O  ■ '  <5 
“  SOMETHING.” 
One  of  Hans  Christian  Andersen’s  Stories. 
“I  WANT  to  do  something,”  said  the  eldest  of 
live  brothers.  “I  wimt  to  do  somethin!?  In  the 
world.  T  ilon't  enrit  how  humble  my  position  in 
Boelety,  If  1  only  etrect  some  good,  for  tluil  will 
reiilly  be  soinethlujr.  IHl  make  brleks,  for  they 
are  (iult.e  indlspmisable  things,  and  then  1  shall 
truly  have  somei  hlng.” 
“  But  that  something  will  not  h'-  enough,”  quoth 
the  seeond  brother.  "  What  you  Intend  doing  Is 
just  a-s  mueh  as  nothing  at  all.  1 1  is  Journcynieu’s 
work,  and  ean  he  done  hy  a  machine.  No,  1  would 
rather  he  a  brleklayer,  at  once,  for  thal  Ihsoiii!'- 
thlng  real,  find  that ’s  whitl  I  will  be.  'J  hat  brings 
rank;  as  a  bricklayer,  one  belongs  to  a  guild,  and 
is  a  clU/.eu,  and  ha.s  one's  own  flag  a  nd  one’s  own 
house  of  c.all.  Ves,  and  U  It  all  goes  well,  I  will 
keep  Journeymen,  l  shall  become  a  in.ister  brlok- 
layer,  and  my  wife  .shall  hecome  a.  master’s  wife— 
that  Is  what  I  call  something.” 
“  That’s  nothing  at  aU,’'  .said  the  third.  “  That 
la  beyond  tlm  pal'-  of  the  guild,  inid  there  are 
many  of  those  hi  a  town  that  stand  far  above  the 
iiia.ster  artisan.  Y<)U  may  ho  an  lioncM  man ; 
but  as  a  ‘master'  .von  will  after  all  only  belong 
to  those  who  .irc  ranked  among  common  men.  I 
know  sometiUiig  better  than  thni.  1  will  he.  an 
architect,  uml  will  llms  enter  into  the  lerrllory  of 
art  and  speculatmu.  1  shall  he  reckoned  among 
those  who  st.ind  high  In  poini  of  Intelloi’t.  I  .shall 
ct'iTalnly  have  to  serve  up  from  Mm  pickax,  so  to 
speak;  so  1  must  begin  as  a  (•arfientm'’«  appren¬ 
tice,  and  must  go  about  us  an  ms-slstant  In  a  cab, 
though  I  am  neiritstomed  to  wear  a  silk  h.it.  I 
shall  have  to  fetch  hear  and  spirits  for  the  com¬ 
mon  Journeymen,  and  they  will  citll  mo  *lli<»u,’ 
for  that  is  Insulting  I  But  I  shall  Imagine  to  my¬ 
self  that  the  whole  thing  Is  only  acting,  and  a 
kind  of  mawiuerade,  'ro-morro\v— that  Is  to  say, 
when  1  have  .served  my  time— 1  shall  go  my  own 
way.  and  the  oUiers  will  be  nothing  lo  me.  I  shall 
go  to  the  academy,  and  get  Instructions  In  dniw- 
Ing,  and  shall  he  called  an  aiThltect.  That  Is 
something!  I  may  get  to  he  called  ‘.sir,’  and 
even  •  worshipful  sir,”  or  even  gel  a  handle  at 
the  front  or  the  back  of  my  uamc,  and  shall  go  on 
building  and  huUdlng,  .hist  fts  tlio.se  hefuri!  nm 
have  built.  That  will  always  he  a  thing  lo  re¬ 
member,  and  that  Is  what  I  call  soim-lhlng  !  ' 
‘‘  But  I  don't  care  at  all  for  that  something," 
said  the  fourth.  “  1  won  t  sail  In  l.he  wake  of  otli- 
ers  and  be  a  copyist.  I  will  be  a  genius ;  and  will 
stand  up  greater  than  all  the  rest  of  you  together. 
I  shall  be  the  creator  of  a  uew  style,  and  will  give 
the  plan  of  a  building  suitable  to  the  climate  and 
material  of  tlm  country,  for  the  nationaiiiy  or  the 
people,  for  the  development  of  the  age— and  an 
additional  stoiy  for  my  own  genius.” 
“  But  supposing,  the  climate  and  the  material 
are  bad,”  said  the  fifth,  “  that  woiUd  be  a  disas¬ 
trous  clrcumslauce;  for  these  two  exert  a  great 
inQuencc!  Natlonillty,  moreover,  may  expand 
itiielf  until  It  becomes  affectation,  and  the  devel¬ 
opment  of  the  century  may  run  wild  with  your 
work,  as  youth  often  runs  wild.  1  quite  realize 
the  fact  that  none  of  you  will  be  anything  real, 
however  much  you  m  iy  believe  In  yourselves. 
But,  do  what  you  like,  I  wlU  not  resemble  you ;  1 
shaU  keep  on  the  outside  of  things,  and  criticise 
whatever  you  produce.  To  every  work  there  is 
attached  something  that  l.s  not  right— something 
that  has  gone  wrong ;  and  I  ivlll  ferret  out  and 
find  fault  with  It;  and  that  will  be  doing  some¬ 
thing.” 
And  he  kept  ULs  word ;  and  everybody  said  con¬ 
cerning  this  fifth  brother,  “There  is  certainly 
something  In  him;  he  has  a  good  head;  hut  he 
does  nothing.'’  And  by  that  very  means  they 
thought  something  of  him. 
Now’,  .vou  see  this  13  only  a  little,  story;  but  It 
will  never  end  so  long  as  the  world  lasts.  But 
what  beca  nie  of  the  live  brothers  7  Why,  that  Is 
nothing  and  not  something.  Listen.  It  Is  a  capital 
story. 
The  eldest  brother,  he  who  manufactured  brick, 
soon  became  aware,  of  the  fact  that  every  brick, 
how  ever  small  It  might  be,  produced  for  him  a 
little  coin,  though  Mils  coin  was  only  copper; 
many  copper  pcnnlos  laid  one  upon  the  other  can 
be  changed  into  a  shining  dollar;  wherever  one 
knocks  with  such  a  doUnr  In  one's  ha  ml,  whether 
at  the  baker’s  or  tbe  butcher's,  or  the  tailor's— 
wherever  It  tiiay  be,  the  door  files  open,  and  the 
visitor  1.3  welcomed,  and  gets  what  he  wants.  You 
see  that  Is  what  comes  of  bricks.  Some  of  those 
belongt'ig  to  the  eldest  brother  certainly  crumbled 
away,  or  broke  In  two,  but  there  was  a  use  even 
for  thi'se. 
On  the  high  rainpari  — the  wall  that  kept  outthe 
sea— Margarets  a  poor  woman,  wLsherl  to  build  her¬ 
self  a  mile  house.  .All  the  faulty  bricks  were  given 
to  her,  a.  few  perfect  ones  Into  the  bargain,  for  the 
elder  brother  was  a  good-natured  man,  though  he 
certalnlj’  did  not  achieve  anything  beyond  the 
manufacture  of  brlck.s.  The  poor  woman  put.  to- 
ge.tUer  the  house  for  herself.  Ft  was  lUtle  and 
narrow,  and  tfie  single  window  w'aa  qult^  crooked. 
The  door  was  too  low,  and  the  thatched  roof  might 
have  .shown  better  workmanship.  But  after  all, 
It  w.as 'a  shelter ;  and  from  the  little  house  you 
could  look  fur  arrro,3.s  the  sea,  whose  waves  broke 
vainly  agaluat  the  proleotlog  rampart  on  which  It 
is  built.  The  salt,  billows  spurted  t  heir  spray  over 
the  ivholc  liotisp,  which  was  still  standing  when 
he  who  had  given  the  bricks  for  Us  erection  had 
long  been  dead  and  burled. 
The  sci  oud  brother  know  better  how  to  build  a 
wall,  tor  he  had  served  an  apprenticeship  to  It. 
When  he  had  served  his  time  and  pa.srtcd  his  ex¬ 
amination,  be  packed  his  knapsack  and  sung  the 
Jonrneyinan’s  song : 
While  I  uni  yimna  I’ll  wnndt  r.  from  place  to  place  f’ll 
roam. 
And  everywhere  build  hnusca,  until  I  come  back 
home  1 
And  youth  will  irlve  me  courafre,  and  my  true  love 
won’t  foritet; 
r  Hurrah  then  for  a  workman’s  Ufe !  I'll  bo  a  maatcr 
yet ! 
And  he  carried  his  idea  Into  effect.  When  he 
had  come  home  and  liecomc  !i  muster,  ho  built 
one  house  after  another  lii  I  he  town.  IlcbuUta 
whole  street;  and  when  the  street  wiw  finished 
and  became  an  ornament  to  the  place,  the  houses 
l^mt  a  house  for  lilm  lii  return  that  was  to  be  his 
own.  Bui  hoir  cun  houses  build  a  house  7  It  you 
ask  them  they  will  not  answer  you ;  but  people 
win  undci-stand  what  Is  meant,  by  t  he  cxprcs-slon 
and  say,  “t'erlalnly,  It  was  the  street  that  built 
the  house  for  Idin.” 
It  was  little,  and  Mie  floor  was  covered 
with  clay;  but.  when  he  danced  with  his  bride 
upon  the  clay  floor,  it  seemed  fo  become  polished 
oak;  and  from  every  stone  In  the  wall  sprung 
forth  a  llower,  iind  the  room  was  gay,  as  If  with 
eostllesl  paper  luinger’s  work.  It  was  a  pretty 
house  and  lull  lived  a  happy  piilr.  The  fiag  of 
the  guild  lliittered  before  the  liou.se  and  the  Jour¬ 
neymen  and  apprentlees  shouted  hurrah  !  Vea, 
he  certainly  was  som<;i  Idng !  And  at  last  he  died, 
and  Mull  w.is  someMiliig,  too. 
Now  (  Itne  tbe.  an  bliect.  the  thlnl  brother,  who 
hud  been  at  first  a  l.•Ilrpenlel•’s  apprentice,  hud 
worn  a  cai)  ami  servcil  a.s  an  errand  boy,  hud  after¬ 
ward  gone  to  the,  iicademy  and  had  risen  to  be¬ 
come  an  architect  and  to  be  called  "  honored  sir.”  I  ( 
Yes,  If  the  houses  nf  the  street  Imd  built  a  house  ’ 
tor  the  brother  who  had  become  a  bricklayer,  tlie  l 
street  now  received  Us  name  from  tUo  arcliltect,  I 
and  the  handsomest,  house  In  It  became  his  prop-  ' 
erty.  That  was  something  and  he  was  something ;  ' 
and  he  had  a  long  title  before  aud  after  his  uaine.  1 
His  children  were  railed  genteel  chUdJ'cn,  .and  < 
when  he  died  his  widow  was  "  a  widow  of  rank,”  i 
and  that  Is  something  I— and  his  name  always  re¬ 
mained  at  the  corner  of  the  street  and  lived  on  In 
the  mouth  of  every  one  as  the  street’s  name — and 
that  was  something  1 
Now  came  the  genius  of  the  family,  the  fourth 
brother,  who  wanteil  to  Invent  something  new  and 
orlglnnl,  and  an  addUlon.al  story  on  top  of  It  for 
hlm.self.  But  the  top  SUiry  tumbled  down  and  he 
came  tumbllog  down  with  It  and  broke  his  neck. 
Nevcnheless  he  had  asiilendlil  funcrnl  wIMi  guild 
Hags  and  music;  poems  in  the  papers  and  llowers 
strewn  on  the  pavlsig  stones  in  the  streets;  and 
three  funeral  orattons  were  held  over  him,  each 
one  longer  than  the  last,  which  would  have  re- 
(olced  him  grea  tly,  for  he  always  liked  It  when 
people  talked  about  him ;  and  a  monument  was 
also  erected  over  his  grave.  It  was  only  one  story 
high,  but  still  It  was  something. 
Now  he  was  dead,  like  the  other  three  brothers ; 
but  the  last,  the  one  who  was  a  criilc.  outlived 
them  all  t  and  that  was  quite  right,  for  by  this 
means  he  got  the  last  word,  and  It  was  of  great 
impoiTauee  to  him  to  have  the  la.st  word.  The 
people  always  said  he  had  agood  head  of  his  own. 
.\t  last  his  hour  came  and  lu>  died,  and  came  to 
the  gates  of  I’nnidlse.  There  souls  always  enter 
iwo-and-two,  and  he  come  up  with  another  .soul 
that  wanted  to  get  Into  I’armllse  too.  but  who 
should  this  be  but  old  Dame  Margaret,  from  the 
liouse  upon  the  sea-wall  7 
“  I  suppose  this  Is  done  for  the  sake  of  contrast, 
that  I  and  this  wretched  soul  should  arrive  here 
at  exactly  the  same  time,"  said  the  critic.  “  Pray, 
who  are  you,  my  good  woman  7”  he  asked.  “  Do 
yon  want  to  get  in  here,  too  7” 
And  the  old  woman  eourtaled  ns  well  as  she  1 
could ;  she  thought  It  must  lie  3t.  Peter  himself, 
talking  Lo  her. 
"I  am  a  poor  old  woman  of  a  very  huinhle  fam¬ 
ily,"  idle  repliwl.  “  I'm  old  .Margaret  that  lived  In 
the  house  on  the  sea-wall.” 
“Well,  and  what  have  you  done  7  What  have 
you  accomplished  down  there  7" 
,  “  I  have  really  aeeoinpllsheil  nothing  at  all  In 
1  the  world;  nothing  that  I  can  plead  to  have  the 
■  doors  here  opened  to  me.  It  would  he  a  real  mercy 
1  to  allow  me  Ui  slip  in  through  the  gate.” 
.  "In  what  manner  did  you  leave  the  world?" 
asked  he,  just  for  the  sake  of  siiylng  something; 
I  lor  It  was  wean.somc  work  stiiudlug  there  and 
>  j  saying  nothing. 
I  “  Why,  I  rciUly  don’t  Icnow  how  1  left.  I  was 
r  sick  and  miserable  during  my  last  year,  and  could 
I  not  well  bear  creeping  out  of  bed  and  going  out 
'  ^  suddtajly  In  the  frost  and  cold,  it  wa.s  a  hard  wln- 
f  I  i*t',  but  I  have  got  out  of  it  all  now.  For  a  few 
*  I  days  the  weather  was  quite  culm  lint  very  cold,  as 
i  '  your  honor  must  very  well  know.  The  sea  was 
>  I  covered  with  Ice  a.s  far  as  one  could  look.  All  the 
I  people  from  l.he  town  walked  out  upon  the  Ice, 
a  and  1  think  they  said  I  hero  was  a  ihinee  there  and 
1  skating.  There  was  beau tirnl  music  and  a  great 
■-  feast  ihere,  too ;  the  sound  came  into  my  iKior 
-  little  room  where  I  lay  111.  And  It  was  tov  ard  the 
AVnVl>H  Ol-"  MuVllC’M. 
evening;  the  moon  had  risen  beautifully,  but  11. 
was  not  yet  In  Its  lull  splendor.  I  looked  from  my 
bed  out  over  the  wide  sea,  and  far  off,  Just  whore 
tbe  sea  and  sky  Join,  a  strange,  white  cloud  came 
up.  I  lay  liHikliig  at  the  cloud  and  I  saw  a  little 
black  spot  In  the  middle  of  It  thal.  grew  larger  and 
larger;  and  then  l  knew  what  It  meant,  for  I  am 
old  and  experienced,  Uiougti  the  token  Is  not  often 
.seen.  I  knew  It.  and  a  shuddering  came  upon  me. 
Twice  In  my  life  have  I  seen  the  same  thing;  and 
1  knew  there  would  he  iiu  awful  tempest  and  a 
.spring  flood,  whlcli  would  overwhi'lm  the  poor 
people  who  were  now  drluklng,  dancing  and  re- 
lolelng— young  and  old,  the  whole  city  hasls,sued 
fort.h;  who  was  to  warn  them  If  no  one  saw  what 
was  coming  yonder  or  knew,  as  l  did,  what  It 
nic.ini  7  1  wasdrcadfully  alarmed,  aiid  felt  more 
lively  than  I  had  done  for  a  long  time.  I  crept  out 
of  hell  and  got  to  the  window,  but.  could  not  crawl 
further,  1  was  so  exhausted.  But  I  managed  to 
open  the  window,  f  saw  the  people  outside  run¬ 
ning  and  jumping  about  on  the  lee.  I  could  see  i 
f.he  bpautlful  flags  that  waved  In  the  wind.  I 
Iiard  the  boys  shouting  “  hurrah  !"  and  the  .serv- 
it  men  and  maids  singing,  riicre  ivere  all  kinds 
merriment  going  on.  But  the  white  cloud  with 
black  spot!  I  cried  out  as  loud  us  I  could,  but 
)  one  heard  me ;  I  was  too  far  from  the  people. 
)on  the  storm  would  burst  and  the  Icc  would 
reuk,  and  aU  who  were  upon  it  would  be  lost 
IMiout  remedy.  They  could  nor.  hear  me,  and  I 
mid  not  come  out  to  them.  Oh  1  If  I  could  only 
ring  them  a,shorn;  Then  kind  heaven  Inspired 
le  with  the  thought  of  setting  fire  to  my  own  bed, 
nd  ralber  to  lot  the  hoitse  burn  down  than  that 
11  those  people  perish  .so  miserably.  1  succeeded 
)  lighting  up  a  beacon  for  them.  The  red  flames 
hi/.cd  up  on  high  and  1  eseiiped  out  of  the  door, 
lit  feU  down  oti  the  threshold  ami  could  get  no 
iirther.  The  (lames  ntslied  out  toward  me,  fllek- 
iTiig  through  the  window,  and  rose  high  above 
he  roof.  All  the  people  on  the  Ice  yonder  beheld 
I,  atid  ran  as  fast  us  they  could,  to  give  aid  to  the 
KMU-  old  woman  who,  they  thought.,  was  being 
inrued  to  deuih.  Not  ono  remained  behind.  I 
leard  them  enmlng;  but  1  also  became  aware  of 
I  rii.slilng  hound  In  the  air;  I  heard  a  I'umbllng 
Ike  the  sound  of  heavy  artillery ;  thn  spring  flood 
viis  lifting  tne  covering  of  lee,  ivhlch  presently 
iraeked  and  hursMnt.oathou.sa.ud  fragments.  But 
he  people  succeeileil  in  reaching  the  sea-wall.  I 
saved  them  all !  But  I  fam-y  I  could  not  bear  the 
;old  and  fright.,  and  .so  1  euiiie  up  here  to  the  gates 
)t  Paradise.  I  am  told  they  aroopen  to  poor  crea- 
.iires  like  me— and  now  1  have  no  homo  left  down 
iipon  the.  nunpsirt.s;  not  tha  t  I  think  this  will  give 
aic  admission  here." 
Then  the  gates  of  heaven  were  opened  and  the 
iingel  led  the  old  woman  In.  Hhe  left  a  straw  be¬ 
hind  her,  a  straw  that  had  been  In  her  bed  when 
she  set.  i.he  bed  on  tiro  to  .savo  the  lives  of  many; 
and  t.h1.3  straw  had  heoii  etmnged  Into  pure  gold— 
Into  gold  that  grow  and  grow,  and  spread  lulo 
bi’auliful  leaves  and  tlowers. 
“  Look ;  this  Is  'aIiuI  Urn  iioor  wmnan  bronghti,” 
said  the  angel  to  the  erlMe,  “What  dost  thou 
laing?  I  know  Uiat  thou  hast  aicuiii[ili.shod  noth¬ 
ing— thou  hu.sl  not  made  a-iinueh  as  a  single  brick. 
Ah.  II  thou  eouldst  only  return  and  effect  at  least, 
so  mueh  a.s  that  1  Probably  the  brick,  wlien  thou 
hast  made  it,  will  not  be  worth  much;  but  If  It 
wt:re  made  with  good  will,  II,  would  at  Ica.st  be 
sometbiug.  nut.  thou  e.anst  not  go  back,  and  1  can 
do  nothing  lor  Mice !” 
'I  hcn  the  poor  .soul,  the  old  woman  who  had 
lived  on  the  dike,  put  In  a  petition  tor  him.  She 
<,,,1(1  ;_•<  him  Brother  gave  me  the  bricks  and  the 
pieces  out  of  whU!h  1  built  my  house,  ami  that  was 
a  great  deal  for  a  poor  woman  like  me.  Could  not 
all  those  bricks  and  pieces  bo  counted  as  a  single 
brick  In  his  favor?  It  wn.s  an  act  of  mercy.  He 
wanes  It  now;  and  is  not  this  the  very  founUilii 
of  mercy  ?” 
Then  the  angel  said “  'I'hy  brother  whom  thou 
ha.st  regarded  as  tne  least  among  you  all,  he 
whose  honest  Industry  seemed  to  thee  as  the  most 
luunbh.’,  hath  given  I  hee  tills  Uevivenly  gift.  Thou 
Shalt  not  be  turned  away.  It  shall  be  vouchsafed 
to  thee  to  stand  here  wit  hout  the  gate  and  lo  re- 
ileet  and  repent  Of  thy  llte  dowji  yonder;  but  thou 
Shalt  not  be  atlmitted  until  thou  hastlu  real  earn¬ 
est  accomplished  soinetldug.” 
“I  could  have  said  that  in  bett-er  words!’ 
thought  the  critic ;  but  he  did  not  And  fault  aloud 
—and  for  him,  after  all,  that  was  “something.” 
THE  FAKMER’S  DAUGHTEE. 
“The  Idea  Is  simply  preposterous  !” 
Cleve  Fairfax  drew  his  tall,  well-proportioned 
figure  to  Its  utmost  hlght,  his  lip  curled  as  he 
did  so. 
“  Yes,”  said  his  elder  brother,  Irresolutely,  feel¬ 
ing  his  moustache;  ’’but,  you  eee,  Charlie  Is  so 
set  on  It,  and - " 
“That  makes  no  dlfferonce,  one  way  or  the 
other,”  Interrupted  Cleve,  with  that  quiet  firm¬ 
ness  ■winch  made  one  think  he  might  bo  molded 
In  Iron.  “  It  Is  Impossible— neither  more  nor 
less!  Y'our  son,  my  nephew,  to  marrj’  a  country 
girl  — a  WLsconsln  farmer's  daughter  —  simply 
because  she  has  a  pretty  face  and  a  pair  of  hazel 
eyes!  Why,  man.  It  would  be  n  lifelong  mis¬ 
take." 
And  thus  saying,  Mr.  Fairfax  passed  down  the 
broad  aisle. 
Mabel  Thorpe,  sitting  In  tlu;  crowd  under  the 
balcony  of  the  Academy  of  .Music,  had  heard  all 
the  brief  colloquy  with  a  stinging  through  her 
veins  and  a  tmmtng  tiusli  upon  her  cheek. 
“Cruel!  cruel!”  she  thought,  os  they  passed 
on,  “  and  needlessly  -so,  too  I  I  did  not  care  for 
Charles  Fairfax.  I  should  tiever  have  Infringed 
on  the  dignity  of  their  race  by  marrying  him. 
Tlipy  need  not  iiovc  been  afraid.” 
