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?"