On the table lay an old quarto Bible, bound in leather. Liddy looking at it said,―
"Did you ever find out, miss, who you are going to marry by means of the Bible and key?"
"Don't be so foolish, Liddy. As if such things could be."
"Well, there's a good deal in it, all the same."
"Nonsense, child."
"And it makes your heart beat fearfully. Some believe in it; some don't; I do."
"Very well, let's try it," said Bathsheba, bounding from her seat with that total disregard of consistency which can be indulged in towards a dependent, and entering into the spirit of divination at once. "Go and get the front door key."
Liddy fetched it. "I wish it wasn't Sunday," she said, on returning. "Perhaps 'tis wrong."
"What's right week days is right Sundays," replied her companion in a tone which was a proof in itself.
The book was opened—the leaves, drab with age, being quite worn away at much-read verses by the forefingers of unpractised readers in former days, where they were moved along under the line as an aid to the vision. The special verse in the Book of Ruth was sought out by Bathsheba, and the sublime words met her eye. They slightly
