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when he could get it, drank whisky on the same terms, and was a burthen to the family it was his duty to support. But how eagerly the speaker turned from that unwelcome theme, to dwell on the perfections of her sister Ellen! And as she did so, the varying cheek, the eyes sometimes smiling, sometimes tearful, and the occasionally tremulous tones, spoke in her own favor as eloquently as if Ellen had been there in turn to tell the tale, and more than that we need not say. Ellen was the eldest, though she looked so small; but an early accident had made her lame, and checked her growth; and in those days of suffering she had learned to use her needle with such skill, as to enable her to contribute materially to their livelihood now. "She could never come with me, ma'am, when I went out to play with other girls, or follow me when I was clambering on the rocks, or picking shells on the shore; but she was always on the watch for me, as a mother looks for her child. I never found her missing from the door when I was coming home; and if, as sometimes happened, I forgot to be back in time, I saw the trouble in her pale cheeks and sad eyes, though she never said a word, so that made me careful not to wander any more. And she taught me to be tidy, ma'am; for I was very wild and careless, and would never have cared about tearing my clothes, only she always took and mended them, without ever noticing it; and she taught me to be gentle, and to curb my hasty spirit, for I saw her suffer pain and sorrow without murmur or complaint; and above all, ma'am," and here the tearful eyes filled entirely, "she taught me hope when my heart was sinking, and the power to bear when sorrow in earnest came

She stopped short, and drew her hand across her eyes; then looking archly into Mrs. Villars' face, who, deeply interested, was quite unprepared for the sudden transition, she added gaily-"Here I am all the time praising myself-tidy, gentle, and strong-hearted! Oh, lady, they are all but feathers from that sweet dove's wing!"

As she spoke they approached a whitewashed cottage, poor, but neater than is usually seen. In place of the dunghill there was a narrow little strip of garden, paled off from the road, filled with gay flowers glowing brightly in the morning sun; and at the door, as Mary had just been telling, was Ellen, looking out for her with the watchful habit of their early days. A few quick steps forward, a whispered word from Mary, and Ellen turned to the lady with a pleased smile of recognition, and invited her in to rest. She gladly accepted the invitation; and soon found herself seated in the clean, and tidy, though poorly-furnished dwelling. The only articles of superior comfort were a small work-table, placed near the window, and beside it a sort of easy-chair, made of straw, both evidently adapted to the occupation and infirmity of poor Ellen. Oh yes, we had nearly forgotten, the room was not quite unornamented either; for over the fireplace was arranged a large piece of coral, and some foreign shells, and near the window hung a cage in which was a bird with brilliant plumage, all telling plainly of some friend from over the sea.

Mrs. Villars had at this time the good fortune to escape an interview with the good-for-nothing father, and had the pleasure of talking, without interruption, to the two young girls, so different, and yet so united. This interview was succeeded by many others. Ellen was supplied with as

much work as she could accomplish; and Mary, who, under her instructions, had also become very expert at the needle, would hasten with double diligence through her more active employments, that she might gain some time to share in the occupation of her sister. And sweet it was to see those two young creatures seated, with busy fingers, at their work on the quiet summer's eve; Ellen earnestly dwelling on some instructive lesson, while, with deferential gentleness, Mary would raise her loving eyes now and then, in silent assurance that the words were going home to her heart; or, in turn, those eyes would sparkle gaily, and a happy smile would brighten Ellen's graver face as she listened to some passing jest or merry narrative from her light-hearted Mary. But were they thus alone? We reckon the father as nothing; for, with his hands in his pockets, he lounged in the sunshine while sunshine lasted, and then took his supper, and went off early to bed. He had his cottage and a little plot of ground rent free for his own life, and, caring only for himself, considered any exertion for a future provision quite superfluous. Even so: the girls had another companion who would often, as Ellen would say, come in "to idle them" in the evening; sometimes to make them laugh and talk-sometimes to read while they worked-and, oftener still, when the sun was sinking low, and the evening waves curling gently towards the shore, to coax them to lay aside their stitchery," and saunter with him for half an hour along the cliffs. Notwithstanding the difference in their station, Mrs. Villars was soon regarded as a friend by those two motherless girls, and each meeting increased the interest she felt in them. She had given them employment and encouragement, and, more welcome still, had on more than one occasion given them affectionate sympathy and advice; but still she observed that at times some cloud was hanging over them, heavier even than poverty, and she determined not to conclude her visit to the sea-side without, if possible, winning their entire confidence, and making some effort for their happiness.

66

One morning Ellen was alone in the cottage, when Mrs. Villars entered with a small parcel in her hand, and asked her gaily, "Well, Ellen, would you like to make your fortune at once?'" Ellen returned her smile with one as gay; but in an instant the bright expression vanished, and clasping her hands tightly, while her delicate figure actually trembled with emotion, she answered earnestly, Would I wish to make my fortune? Oh, lady, I would give all the work these poor hands can ever do while life is spared me, to make a fortune of ten guineas before another month passes by!" Then burying her quivering features in her hands, she sank back into the little chair from which she had just risen, and burst into tears. Mrs. Villars, amazed at an agitation so unlike the usual placid and collected demeanor of Ellen, sat down beside her, and sought to comfort and calm_her with tones even kinder than her words. For a while all would not do; but at last Ellen raised her head, hurriedly wiped away her tears, and putting back her hair with her still trembling hands, in faltering accents asked pardon for her foolishness; then, gaining confidence with the effort, she related, even as friend would tell to friend, the sorrow that was weighing on her heart.

She told what a young and helpless creature Mary was when they were left even worse than

orphans; how she, older by a few years, was still older from suffering and much inward thought; and how, from that hour, she had taken the little darling to her heart, and resolved to fill a mother's place to her through life. Then she told how the task was more difficult, because her beauty won indulgence from every one, and how she feared to lose her love in the checks she found it needful to impose. "But there was a deep mine of truth and sense in that seemingly thoughtless nature; and even in childish anger, she never forgot that I was her best and truest friend-even then her chief care was not to grieve me; and you know, ma'am, how she loves me now," said Ellen, looking up with a glow of intense feeling; and reading her answer in the lady's eyes she dropped her own as she softly murmured, " Yes, even as I love her!"

There was a moment's pause; and then in lighter tones Ellen went on to say that even such love, perfect as it was, could not entirely satisfy a heart like Mary's; that she always knew the time must come when she should be contented with a sister's place; and instead of regret, felt proud and happy when she found that Mary's heart was gained by one who had loved her almost from childhood-the most dutiful son, the best conducted and most industrious boy in the place. "I rejoiced in their happiness, and I encouraged it," continued she; "little dreaming that I was building on the very sand. Garret Mahony was a sailor, and had been more than once abroad; but his father was grown old and infirm, and as he was the last of many children, he made him promise never to leave him again. So he had a good deal of idle time, except when out fishing, and those leisure hours were mostly spent in the company he loved best; while I, proud of my own sweet Mary, and seeing no one in the world to compare with her, never for one moment dreamt that any could look on her with other eyes. One evening Garret came in, and at the first glance I saw something was the matter. Happily, Mary was out; gone to carry home some work; and I was able to bear the first wild burst of sorrow alone. But there was anger too, as well as sorrow; and though I had to bid my heart be still, that I might quiet his, yet it was the bitterest hour of my life.

thing but herself, unless she met with one as badly off, and then they might pull on together; but as long as the husband had any income, the wife that never knew the value of money of her own would think there was no end to his, and would soon grow discontented when her wishes were refused. Then would come extravagance, then anger, then bitterness, then want; and no knowing how many more evils he would have added, only Garret's fiery countenance showed he could bear no further. He changed then so far as to say that this was not out of covetousness, for the day Garret married to please him, he would give him up his share in the hooker, and that was well worth twenty guineas; but that he expected his wife would bring at least as much again; and unless she did, they never should have his consent or blessing.

"Garret was cut to the heart. There was a show of reason in his father's words; but it was calculating, heartless reason; so, without pretending to answer it, he tried to touch his feelings; but all in vain. The old man was not to be shaken; and at last poor Garret, as he himself confessed, lost patience, temper, respect itself; and, in words which no child should have spoken, no parent could forgive, reproached his father with cruelty and covetousness, withdrew his promise of never leaving him, vowed to go to sea again, and, sink or swim, never to return till he could bring home an independence for himself and Mary. Oh, lady, those words are few and cold to convey the feelings that were poured like a torrent from his heart! All were mixed and struggling together

anger, disappointment, self-reproach, love for Mary, duty to his father; each feeling so true, and yet so opposing, my very heart bled for him, for her-for all. But before I could well picture the consequences, in came Mary herself, her sweet face glowing from her walk, and from pleasure at being home with me again. One glance, and Garret buried his face in his folded arms on the table; the smile and the color fled from Mary's cheek, and without even a look at me, she sprang forward, and grasping his shoulder, asked wildly what was the matter. I had thought to break this reverse to her myself, to spare him the telling, and her the hearing it from him: but, as I said, she came back before a plan was formed, and now there could be no disguise; his look had prepared her for the worst, and I saw by her terrified countenance that even the truth would be a relief.

"He told me that his father that morning had questioned him as to all the time he latterly spent here, and that, glad of the opening, he had at once avowed his love for Mary, and tried to speak of her "And so he told it all again; but this time, oh, as she well deserved; that his father had listened how different! The presence of her he loved quietly until he was done, and after he was done, came like sweet dew upon his heart, and melted and then at last asked coldly what she had, along away all the fierce and stormy feelings which had with what she was? This was a question that made me doubly grieved. With touching, yet never had occurred to Garret; but he well knew manly sorrow and repentance, he related his disthere could be but one answer, and so he told appointment and his fault, and he told it to one his father, adding, that Mary was more precious whose generous nature fully felt his confidence, than money or land. But the old man smiled, as and lost the first sharp sting of grief in sympathy some will do when they think young hearts have for the estrangement between the father and the spoken in their folly, and he told his son the time son. She wept, without doubt, long and sadly; would come when he would see with different but her face was turned away, and she listened, eyes. Garret grew impatient, and was answering without interrupting, from beginning to end. warmly, when his father silenced him, and, in a Then, when all was over, she raised her head; voice of command, desired him to attend. He is a her face was very pale, and her lip trembled; but proud and stern man, dear lady, old Maurice Ma- there was a light in her eyes, and a steadfast look, hony, and with a name for sense that has given that made me remember the high, proud spirit of him power over all that come within his shadow; | her childish days, and tremble for the words she so no wonder that his son listened with respect, was about to speak. I wronged her in that passing though his heart was rebelling at every word. fear, even I that should have know her well. It The father went on to say that he never knew any was no pride, but a holy resolution that was shingood come of marrying a girl that could bring no-ing in that earnest look. She laid her hand affec

THE WORK-GIRL.

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faint smile rested on her lip as her heart told her Garret felt such a thought impossible; and, after a moment's pause, she continued, Then, Garret, our first thought must be of him. Go to him at once, and gain his pardon for that disrespect, and comfort his heart, even as you did mine, by the You will feel nothing goodness of your sorrow. but misery till you have his forgiveness; and think how he must be grieving now! Then, for the future, we are both very young, and may well wait, with trust in God and in each other, for the changes time may bring. Your father made no objection to me except for poverty, and as that is no real fault, who knows but he may change his mind.'

"Garret shook his head despondingly as he answered, Ah, Mary, you little know him; but I'll go at once and ask his forgiveness, for, as you truly say, I cannot have rest or peace until I do so. But as to remaining idle any longer at home, when gold is to be made, and happiness depends on it, it is out of the question, Mary! You must not ask me to do that.'

"But indeed I do, Garret; that is what I ask you. You gave a promise to your old father, and you must not leave him. God always grants his blessing to the dutiful son; and would I be the one to tempt you to disobedience, and so provoke his curse! No, Garret; it surely is not we that wish for money all we want is your father's consent; and that would be farther off than ever if you were to desert him, and make him look on me as the cause.'

tionately on Garret's arm, and in a very calm, low | him hope against hope. It was also evident that
tone, asked him, Did the old man say anything no change had been wrought in old Maurice's de-
He gave termination; so, convinced that matters could not
against me, Garret-against myself?'
A mined to make an effort to bring about some
her a look of surprise, almost of reproach, as he long continue in this state, Ellen inwardly deter-
It was enough.
exclaimed, 'Oh, Mary!'
understanding. And an effort indeed it was for
her. Naturally timid, and rendered still more
diffident by her infirmity and secluded life, nothing
but the power of an affection which was the first
object of her existence, a love stronger than death,
could have induced her to take the step she now
meditated. This was to obtain an interview her-
self with old Maurice, and with her own lips
plead the cause so dear to her heart. She knew
She had heard, too, of
him, as she had said, by report to be a hard and
stern man; but she had also always heard he was
a sensible and just one.
his having, in early life, loved his wife to idolatry,
would never allow him to replace her; this, com-
and cherishing her memory with a constancy that
bined with his genuine love for Garret, inspired
her with the hope that his feelings might be
touched by her appeal; and she resolved on mak-
ing an attempt to convince him that arithmetic
We need not enlarge upon this interview.
was not the only rule for measuring human hearts.
surprise she was received with civility and kind-
Enough to say, that, though at first causing some
ness, which gave her courage and even hope; and
though she found it impossible to remove an opin-
ion which had become a fixed idea in old Maurice's
mind, still, conquered by her earnestness, he modi-
fied it so far as to promise that if, at the end of the
year, Mary could bring him half the sum origin-
ally demanded-namely, ten guineas, and this
fairly earned by their united industry-he would
In the mean time, he also required a promise from
be proud and happy to welcome her as his daughter.
Ellen to keep both this meeting and agreement a
"From Garret!" asked Ellen pleadingly.
secret from every creature except Mary herself.
"Yes, from Garret especially," said the old
"Can Mary be depended on to oblige me

"Garret still remonstrated; but Mary's simple
faith and sense of duty finally conquered so far as
to gain his promise to wait one year; and then he
declared impetuously that if his father by that
time had not changed his mind, he would no long-man.
er yield to his unreasonable whims.

Satisfied with averting the present evil, Mary
urged him no farther then; but hurried him away,
not to lose a moment in becoming reconciled to
his father. Then, worn out with her long effort
at composure, my poor girl threw herself into my
arms, and wept without restraint her long-repressed
But Mary's heart is like an
and bitter tears.
April day-sunshine ever following the showers;
and after a while she raised her head, and with a
cheerfulness that took me by surprise, exclaimed,
Well, Ellen, at any rate we shall not be parted;
life will glide along the same as ever; and with
hope to gladden, and the sense of doing right to
bear us up, I think we ought to be even happier
than before we were tried. And now from this time
out,' added she, with increasing liveliness, I
must be very careful, steady, and diligent, and so
win a good character for old Maurice, as I have no
money to buy one:' then sitting down to work
Now, Ellen,
with an air of diligence, she cried,
you'll have to bear witness in my favor; so here's
to begin!'"'

in this?"

"You shall see," answered Ellen proudly. Old Maurice smiled; and ratifying the treaty with a warm benediction and shake of the hand, they parted, mutually pleased. Since then, long months had passed away, and yet not so very long, for hope and constant industry had made the time seem short; and if Garret would sometimes, without those aids, wax impatient, a gentle word from "You are our pilot, Ellen, reminding him of his promise, would induce him to keep it with a good grace. He would good-humoredly say, Ellen, and in such hands it would be hard indeed if we refused to answer the helm." While Mary, assenting with beaming eyes, would think to herself, "Ah! if he knew but all.”

But now the time was drawing very near. The "Sarah Jane," the vessel in which Garret was to have taken a berth last year, was to sail again in another month; and more than once of late he had mentioned this in a way that plainly showed girls worked harder, more perseveringly than ever; his mind was dwelling on the voyage. The two Ellen then told how, in the evening, Garret re- but they lived in a remote place, and, until Mrs. turned; but though his heart was evidently light-Villars' kindness had provided them with employened by his father's forgiveness, still it was also ment, their tasks had been precarious, and remuplain that he had not recovered his own disappoint-neration small; so that when, on that very morning, ment. His impetuous, active nature found wait-after a painful interview with Garret, the sisters ing and submission a hard trial; and it required a reckoned over their little hoard, they found it double exertion of fortitude on Mary's part to make scarcely amounting to two thirds of the requisite

I see him still, as when every morning brought us | name was known to me scarcely two days before together-only you are a little taller. You are my father mentioned it to me. Notwithstanding, welcome, my dear boy, as a friend-as a son-if, it is a year since I first loved her; and I will love as I hope, your heart and that of my Cecilia's her all my life. There is the truth, sir. The rest come to a mutual understanding. And now, sit is to me an incomprehensible mystery." down and rest yourself, while I read your father's letter, and consider you more at my ease."

"Incomprehensible, indeed!" replied M. Savernier with an anxious air-" quite incomprehensible; for I do not suppose you could be guilty of a falsehood. And yet

"And yet I have disguised nothing from you. Is it not an instance of those mysterious sympathies which sometimes unconsciously take possession of us, and carry us away with all the vehemence of a passion? It is what I am profoundly ignorant of; however, I must believe it, for I have no other explanation to give you."

The kindness of this reception brought tears to my eyes, which I sought to restrain by taking a survey of the room. A straw-hat, trimmed with blue ribbons, hung upon a nail: it was Cecilia's. There was a harp in one corner of the room: it was Cecilia's harp. A bag had been carelessly left upon a chair close to mine, on the steel-clasp of which my eye quickly detected the initials that had struck me on the night of my vision. Yet the idea suddenly occurred to me, what if Cecilia was Pshaw!" replied the colonel; " you will next not the right person after all? The thought froze have me believe that you have seen and loved me with terror. I found myself engaged in the each other in a dream. If the secret of that kind most sacred, the most irrevocable manner, by the of rendezvous get abroad, it will be all over with wishes I had expressed to my father, by my pres-paternal surveillance. But what matters it, proent proceedings with respect to M. Savernier, and my blind precipitation was perhaps about to separate me forever from the bride who had been promised me. A mortal shudder ran through me when I perceived, at a distance, the portrait of a young female wearing a straw-hat. I collected all my strength, and hastened across the room to examine it more closely. I was struck with despair. It was the portrait of a charming woman, but whose face bore no resemblance to that of my imaginary Cecilia. It was not she! My limbs were sinking under me, when the arm of M. Savernier, passed round my body, held me up. "Alas!" said he, wiping away a tear, "you will never see her! That is Lidy! my fair and gentle Lidy! the mother of our Cecilia. May you never experience the grief of surviving what you love!"

vided yon love each other?—just as I wish things to be. This is what we shall all know before long in a more positive manner; for you shall dine tomorrow with Cecilia."

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To-morrow!" I exclaimed in a tone of disappointment.

“To-morrow," said he, smiling. It is not so soon as you would wish; but the delay is not long enough to cause you any real affliction. I have not told Cecilia of your expected arrival. I reserved to myself the pleasure of discovering at your first interview, when I had known you a little, whether there is any reality in the sympathy between you; and I was not sorry that an opportunity offered to get my daughter out of the way at the moment I expected you. A country family, in which Cecilia counts no less than six friendsall sisters—solemnize to-day the anniversary of the birth of their excellent grandmother, who is an old friend of mine. As the long retirements of the Chandeleur are over, and the rest of the time

consecrated to amusements more or less innocent, but which religion itself does not forbid, they dance, they disguise themselves, and I even believe they will be masked. Don't be alarmed, my friend; the programme of the fête admits females only, nor will any man be received there, whether father, husband, or brother, till the hour appointed for the sweet lambs to return to the fold. Meanwhile we shall dine tête-à-tête, for there is Dorothy calling us."

My terror vanished, leaving only a profound sympathy for my friend, who seemed to appreciate my feelings, for he said, "Yes, you shall be my son! for you have a soul! You shall be the hus-between this and Lent is, by immemorial custom, band of Cecilia, if she consent. And why should she not?" After a pause, he added, "My dear young friend, a regard to propriety will not permit that you should stay at my house; but we shall see you every day while you remain at Montbéliard, before going to resume your studies. The sweet intimacy that ought to precede a serious and inviolable engagement will grow up of itself. One ought not to proceed lightly with affairs of life and eternity. But I learn with much surprise, from your father's letter, that you already love my "Do you know," said he suddenly, when we Cecilia; and, what is still stranger, if it be possi-were about to leave the table, "an idea occurs to ble, her artless heart, which has never concealed me. Since to-morrow seems so long to your imanything from me, feels drawn towards you by the patience, we shall at least try to deceive her till same inclination, though you have never seen each then. I shall tell you how. At the hour of other; unless, indeed, my vigilance has been deceived by some of those artifices which youth practices by instinct, and old age forgets. That, I own, is a point on which I am anxious for an explanation; and my friendship for you gives me some right to expect it."

The colonel cast a searching look on me; and the trouble into which his question plunged me could not have escaped his notice. I cast down my eyes, hesitated, and vainly sought for an

answer.

"I swear to you, upon my honor, sir," I at length replied, "that I have never seen Cecilia; that I have never seen her portrait; that I have never presumed to write to her; and that her

breaking up this evening, you shall accompany me when I go for Cecilia. I shall enter alone, and in a few words smooth all difficulties. A servant, at my appointed signal, will introduce you as a friend of the family. We must seem to be entire strangers to each other. In this way I shall be enabled to appreciate the reality of those marvellous sympathies you speak so much of: for there will be nothing to prevent you, if not from seeing Cecilia, at least from conversing with her without restraint. I hope you will have no difficulty in distinguishing her in her disguise as a bride of Montbéliard."

She is disguised as a bride of Montbéliard, say you! Can it be possible?"

"Why, yes; as a bride of Montbéliard,” he replied. It is a good omen, is it not? But this costume is so graceful, that more than one of her companions may have also chosen it. In that case you will know her from the others by a little sprig of myrtle, separated from her bouquet, which she took a fancy to attach to her bosom, and by which I am myself to recognize her."

This second circumstance, which recalled so vividly the particulars of my dream, renewed my emotion; but I soon mastered it, and answered to the proposal of M. Savernier by testifying the most tender gratitude. An hour afterwards, he had executed his project on all points, and I was In the presence of Cecilia, whom I easily recognized by the tokens her father had given me. On her side she had shown some emotion at my approach, and when I had taken my place beside her, I thought I perceived her tremble. "Excuse," sad 1, "a liberty which the mask and disguise will in some degree explain. The vicinity of a stranger may perhaps be unpleasant to you; yet I doubt much whether my features are wholly strange to your recollection?",

"Indeed," she replied, "I do not think I have had the honor of ever seeing you before." "Never ?" said I.

"Never," she returned with a forced laugh, "unless it was perhaps in a dream; and you may believe my word, for I am incapable of feigning. I have not even tried to disguise my voice."

Although the colonel had told me something of this circumstance, which inspired no fear, the expression of suffering that accompanied those words froze my blood. Besides, her father was standing before us at the moment that she seemed to be seeking him through the room with an uneasy look. I was surprised that she had not seen him. "I am near you," said he, encircling her with his arm, for she was going to faint. She leant upon him, and passed one of those moments so long to pain.

The friends of Cecilia had gathered around her, and, in the cares they lavished on her, displaced her mask. Alas! all my doubts were dissipated; but a frightful pallor covered those features so dear to my memory. I felt as if life was about to leave me, when Cecilia breathed, raised her head, and looked at the persons who surrounded her. "Ah! all is well now," said she. "I am better. I no longer suffer. I ask pardon, and thank you all. This crisis is never long, but I would have wished to have spared you the pain of witnessing it. In that case I should not have come, or have gone away sooner. I will no longer interrupt your pleasures; the air and a walk will complete my recovery.'

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Shortly after we set out, and M. Savernier entrusted his daughter's arm to me. She was near me-close to my heart. I conversed freely with her. I spent ten minutes of the fullest, the purest happiness that ever mortal was permitted to enjoy on earth. Cecilia walked with a light and firm step. She seemed happy. Her father, with one arm passed round her, congratulated himself on

It was indeed the voice I had heard a year before, and which still echoed in my heart. "Permit me, then," said I with warmth, "to seek some motive which may supply the pleasing cus-seeing her so well, and attributed her late illness toms of established acquaintanceship. My name, or rather that of my father, must have often been mentioned to you by yours, and I am not ignorant that I speak to the daughter of M. Savernier. Would this name be happy enough to awaken any kind of sympathy in your soul?”

I had hardly pronounced my name, when Cecilia started, and turned on me a look expressive of tenderness, mingled with terror. "Yes, yes!" the replied; "your name is well known to me. It is dear to my father and to me also; it recalls to as recollections which are never effaced from an honest heart-those of gratitude! It is true, then!" she continued, speaking to herself, as if she had suddenly forgot my presence; "it was not an illusion. All has been thus far fulfilled -all will be fulfilled without doubt! The will of God be done!" And she fell into a state of gloomy dejection, in which all her ideas seemed to be absorbed. One of her hands nearly touched mine. I took it without her making the slightest effort to withdraw it. She only looked at me more attentively. It is he!" she said.

"Oh, let not the sight of me give you any alarm!" said I, pressing her hand. "The sentiment which has led me to you is as pure as your own heart, and it has the sanction of a father whose only thought is your happiness. You are free, Cecilia; and our future destiny depends only on you."

"Our future destiny depends only on God," she replied, letting her head droop with a deep sigh. "Bat you have spoken of my father. You have surely seen him? He knows that at this hour of the night, for some time past, I suffer from an inexpressible affection which stifles and kills me. I wished so much to prevent its approach! How is it that my father is not come?""

to the fatigue of dancing, or to some sudden emotion, the secret of which he gaily refused to penetrate. The space we had to walk was very short. We arrived. "Adieu till to-morrow," said the colonel-" till to-morrow! To-morrow, the fairest day of all our lives, if my hopes be not deceived. But the night is past, and this fair to-morrow must be near its second hour. At four o'clock in the evening," said he, embracing me; "and at this time we shall all three sit down to table. Sleep, the toilet, and hope, will help to shorten the time till then." They retired. I still hear Cecilia's adieu.

Next day was Sunday. The hour so impatiently expected at length arrived-the hour at which I was to see Cecilia! Cecilia, by whom I believed myself loved! Cecilia, whom I adored! The street through which I had to pass, and which I had seen nearly deserted the evening before, was now filled with people. I attributed this difference to the solemnity of the day; but I could not explain why the crowd formed itself here and there into motionless and silent groups. I rapidly threaded my way through those little assemblies, and only by chance caught a few confused words to the following effect:-"An aneurism?" said one; "persons do not die of aneurism at that age." "One dies when the hour of death is come," replied his neighbor. A little farther on was a young girl, adorned and veiled, to whom one of her companions was listening in tears. "At half past two, when leaving the ball, she said truly that she would never be married!" A horrible light glanced in upon my mind. I was not more than twenty steps from the house. I ran. The many years which have elapsed since then cannot weaken the impression of that fearful moment. The door was hung with white; in

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