He was a morbid youth and a nervous lover. Often had he wished to tell the maiden how he longed to make her all his own. Again and again had his nerve failed him. But to-night there was a "do-or-die" look in his eye.
They started for their usual walk, and rested awhile upon his favorite seat�a gravestone in the village churchyard. A happy inspiration seized him. "Maria," he said in trembling accents�"Maria! When you die�how should you like to be buried here with my name on the stone over you?"