Luke did not fear, he had once admired the man; and because he was a peace-maker by nature, and could himself keep the peace, he never took any of Bondo’s scathing speech in anger nor remembered it against him.  Usually he joined in the laugh, unless some brave, manly word were required; honorable in his nature, he could not be always jealous in maintaining that of which he felt so secure.

If Clarice did not penetrate the cause, she clearly saw the fact that Bondo Emmins had no love for Luke.  She might wonder at it, but Luke suffered no loss in consequence,—­it was rather to his praise, she thought, that this was so.  And she remembered the disputes between the young men which she had chanced to hear, only to decide again, as she had often decided, in favor of Luke’s justice and truth.

When the time of great trouble came, and this man was going out with her father in search of Merlyn and his son, her impulse, had she acted on it, would have prevented him.  He looked so strong, so proud, in spite of his solemn face!  He looked so full of life, she could not endure to think that his eyes might discover the dead body of poor Luke.

When she came home and found that he had returned with her father, before her, on the evening of that day of vain search for Merlyn and his son, a strange satisfaction came to Clarice for a moment,—­touched her heart and passed,—­was gone as it came.  When she said, “I shall find him,” conviction, as well as determination, was in the words,—­and more beside than entered the ears of those that heard her.

[To be continued.]

THE STORY OF KARIN.

A DANISH LEGEND.

  Karin the fair, Karin the gay,
  She came on the morn of her bridal day,—­

  She came to the mill-pond clear and bright,
  And viewed hersel’ in the morning light.

  “And oh,” she cried, “that my bonny brow
  May ever be white and smooth as now!

  “And oh, my hair, that I love to braid,
  Be yellow in sunshine, and brown in shade!

  “And oh, my waist, sae slender and fine,
  May it never need girdle longer than mine!”

  She lingered and laughed o’er the waters clear,
  When sudden she starts, and shrieks in fear:—­

  “Oh, what is this face, sae laidly old,
  That looks at my side in the waters cold?”

  She turns around to view the bank,
  And the osier willows dark and dank;—­

  And from the fern she sees arise
  An aged crone wi’ awsome eyes,

  “Ha! ha!” she laughed, “ye’re a bonny bride! 
  See how ye’ll fare gin the New Year tide!

  “Ye’ll wear a robe sae blithely gran’,
  An ell-long girdle canna span.

  “When twal-months three shall pass away,
  Your berry-brown hair shall be streaked wi’ gray.

  “And gin ye be mither of bairnies nine,
  Your brow shall be wrinkled and dark as mine.”