knew it, and felt she had found what her heart had so long and so ardently craved.  She had parted from him with a consciousness that she was never to meet him again; and yet his image was with her by day and by night—­her fancy kept him by day, and her dreams by night.  She loved him for the mellow civilization of his heart and for the wild savageness of his garb.  Oh, the heart of dear woman! it is her world.  Would that the realizations of life were as her heart paints and craves them!  He had again come as unexpectedly to her; but the figure was without its surroundings:  the diamond was there, but the setting was gone, and she was not agreeably surprised:  hence the indifference manifested by her when he discovered to her his identity.  Intercourse had revived the tenderness of the woman as it dispelled the romance of the girl.  Her affection she deemed was not a fancy, but a feeling now.  Her heart had wandered and fluttered like a wounded bird seeking some friendly limb for support—­some secluded shade for rest.  She had found all, and she was happy.  He was her future; she thought of none other—­of nothing else.  Was he as happy?  He had seen the rough side of the world, and thought more rationally.  His night was sleepless.  In a moment of feeling he had asked and received the heart of a lovely being whom he felt he could always love.  He knew she was more than anxious for a home where she was mistress, and he must prepare it—­but how, or where?  He was without means.  It was humiliating to depend on hers; and this was the first alloy which stained and impoverished the bliss of his anticipations.

They met in the early morning.  Her brow was clouded.  None were up save themselves.  Their interview was brief and explicit.  He saw her in a new phase; she had business tact as well as an independent spirit.

“You must leave this morning,” she said, “and immediately after breakfast.  My sister has put the servants through the gantlet of inquiry.  They knew what she wanted to know, and if inclination had been wanting, the fear of the stocks and torture would have compelled them to tell it to her.  She has heard all she wished, to her heart’s content.  She was in my chamber until midnight, and, as usual, we have quarrelled.  They have told her that I was constantly with you, and that I was in love with you, and a thousand things less true than this.  She has upbraided me for entering your chamber when you were sick.  She menacingly shook her finger at me, and almost threatened corporal punishment if I did not desist from your association.  I shall be surprised if she does not insult you upon sight.  Nothing will prevent it but fear of offending brother.  This she would not do for less than half of his estate—­for that, and even more, she is now playing.  She pretends devotion to him; and they profess a mutual attachment.  If this is sincere, it is the only love either of them ever felt.  You must express to brother, the moment