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The short daylight fades; the wind grows higher; the whole scene is curious, and very nearly fantastical. The pretty girl in her clinging satin gown, and her gleaming neck and arms, bare and soft and white, and the tiny lace-fringed cap that crowns her fairness. The gaunt trees branching overhead that are showering down upon her all their fading wealth of orange and crimson and russet-colored leaves, that serve to throw out the glories of her dress. The brown-green sward is beneath her, the river runs with noiseless mirth beside her, rushing with faint music over sand and pebble to the ocean far below. Standing before her is her lover, gazing at her with adoring eyes.,

"No; eccentricity is farther from him than villainy. But, my darling, what a terrible ordeal for you to come in and find him here! Enough to frighten you to death, if you were any one but my own brave girl.",

"In spite of all that has passed, I do entreat you to meet me at three o'clock this afternoon at the river, beneath the chestnut-tree. Do not refuse. Let no shrinking from the society of such as I am deter you from granting me this first and last interview, as what I have to say concerns not you, but those you love. I feel the more sure you will accede to this request because of the heavenly pity in your eyes last night, and the grace that moved you to address me as you did. I shall wait for you until four o'clock. But let me not wait in vain.—P. R.",

At this the laughter grows universal, Geoffrey and Nicholas positively distinguishing themselves in this line, when just at the very height of their mirth the door opens, and Violet enters, followed by Captain Rodney.

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But that she masked it in modestie,,

Just now his forehead is drawn up into a deep frown, as he reads the fatal letter that has reduced his mother to a Niobe. Another young man, his brother, Captain Rodney, who is two or three years younger than he, is looking over his shoulder, while a slight, brown-haired, very aristocratic looking girl is endeavoring, in a soft, modulated voice, to convey comfort to Lady Rodney.,

No one answers; the very moanings of the old crone in the chimney-corner are hushed as the clear young voice rings through the house, and then stops abruptly, as though its owner is overcome with emotion. The men move back a little, and glance uneasily and with some fear at her from under their brows.,

Here the old woman at the fire, who has been getting up and down from her three-legged stool during the past few minutes, and sniffing at the pot in an anxious manner, gives way to a loud sigh of relief. Lifting the pot from its crook, she lays it on the earthen floor.