thousand times during his boyish life; "I wonder what she'll think of it, so coarse and rude to present myself in this fashion after her first sweet sleep. Dear, dear Lina." Gen. Harrington was gracefully out of sorts, as your polished man of the world sometimes proves when his circle of admirers is a household one. The absence of his wife was an annoyance which, under the circumstances, he could not well resent, but that Lina should He reached forth his hand timidly, and with a pleashave been so indolent, or so forgetful, he considered a | ant tremble in all the nerves, drew it back, attempted just cause of complaint. Thus in that smooth, ironical | again, and ended with one of the faintest possible taps way, which usually expressed the General's anger, he against the black walnut panelling. began a series of complaints, that in another might have been considered grumbling, but in a man of Gen. Harrington's perfect breeding, could have been only an expression of elegant displeasure. Ralph, radiant with his new-born happiness, and full of generous enthusiasm, strove to dissipate this gloom by extra cheerfulness; but this only irritated the grand old gentleman, who stirred the cream in his coffee, and buttered his delicate French rolls in dignified silence, to which his displeasure had at last subsided. James Harrington, unlike his irritable father, or the bright animation of his brother, was so rapt in heavy thought, that he seemed unmindful of all that was going on. He had cast one quick, almost wild glance at the head of the table as he entered, and after that took his seat like one in a dream. "Let me," said Ralph, taking the second cup from the servant, and carrying it to the General, "let me help you, father." "My boy," said the General, "when will you learn to comprehend the refined taste which I fear you will never emulate? You ought to know, sir, that a breakfast without a lady is an unnatural thing in society, calculated to disturb the composuro and injure the digestion of any gentleman. As Mrs. Harrington is not able to preside, will you have the goodness to inform Miss Lina that her seat is empty?" "I-I don't know where Lina is, father. Indeed, I have been searching and searching for her all the morning," answered the youth with a vivid blush. "Go knock at her door. She may be ill," answered the General, "and, in the meantin e, inquire after Mrs. Harrington, with my compliments." Ralph grew crimson to the temples. A hundred times before, he had summoned Lina from her slumbers, but now it seemed like presumption. It was strange, but James Harrington had not inquired after either of the ladies; but he looked up with an eager flash of the eyes when the General gave his message; and, as Ralph hesitated, he said in a grave voice "What are you waiting for, Ralph? There is something strange in Lina's absence." "Is there? Do you think so?" exclaimed the excitable boy, and the crimson came and went in flashes over his face. "Oh, brother James, do you think so?" The General set down his cup, and began tinkling the spoon against its side, softly, but in a way which bespoke a world of impatience. Ralph understood the signal, and disappeared. "Upon my word, I'd rather be shot," thought Ralph, pausing before the door he had knocked at heedlessly a No answer came. The knock was repeated, louder and louder, still no answer came. But at last the door was suddenly opened, and while Ralph stood in breathless expectation, he saw a mulatto chambermaid before him, beating a pillow with one hand, from which two or three feathers had broken loose, and stood quivering in her braided wool. "Oh, it's you, is it, Master Ralph? Thought, mebbe, it was Miss Lina a-coming back agin. Everything sixes and sevens, I can tell you, since Miss Mabel took sicknow I tell you." "Can you tell me where Miss Lina is?" "Don't know nothin' 'bout her, no how-cum in here a little while ago, and didn't speak a word when I said 'Good mornin',' as pleasant as could be-but jist turned her head away and went off, as if I'd been the dirt under her feet." With these words the exasperated damsel punched her right hand ferociously into the pillow, as if that had been in fault, and added half a dozen more feathers to those already encamped in her dingy tresses. Ralph was troubled. What could this mean? Lina was never ill-tempered. Something must have grieved Ralph went to his mother's boudoir, and after knocking in vain, softly opened the door. Fair-Star came towards him with his serious eyes and velvet tread, looking back toward the inner room, where Ralph saw his mother through the lace curtains, asleep and alone. He saw also the shrubs in motion at the window, and fancied that a rustling sound came from the balcony. "Hist, Lina-sweet Lina, it is I!" Before he reached the balcony, all was still there, but certainly the sound of a closing door had reached him, and the plants at one end of the balcony were vibrating yet. "Ah, she is teasing me," thought the boy, and his heart rose with the playful thought. "We'll see if Lady Lina escapes in this way." He opened a door leading from the balcony, and entered a room that had once been occupied by General Harrington's first wife. It was a small chamber, rich in old-fashioned decorations, and gloomy with disuse. The shutters were all closed, and curtains of heavy silk | quiet craft, which no one remarked; but there was desdarkened the windows entirely. Still Ralph could see tiny in it. a high post bedstead and the outlines of other objects equally ponderous. Beyond this, he saw a female figure, evidently attempting to hide itself behind the bed drapery. Ralph sprang forward with his hands extended. "Ah, ha, my lady-bird, with all this fluttering I have found you!" There was a quick rush behind the drapery, which shook and swayed, till the dust fell from it in showers. Again Ralph laughed, "Ah, lapwing, struggle away, I have you safe." He seized an armful of the damask drapery as he spoke, and felt a slight form struggling and trembling in his embrace. Instinctively his arms relaxed their hold, and with something akin to terror, he whispered: : "Why, Lina darling, what is this? I thought that we loved each other. You did not tremble so, when I held you in my arms yesterday!" A smothered cry, as of acute pain, broke from beneath the drapery, and then, while Ralph stood lost in surprise, the curtains fell rustling together, and the faint sound of a door cautiously closed, admonished him that he was alone. Altogether the breakfast was a gloomy meal. There was discord in every heart, and a foreshadowing of trouble which no one dared to speak about. For some time after his father had left the table, Ralph sat moodily thinking of Lina's changed manner. A revulsion came over him as he thought of his singular encounter with her that morning, and with the quick anger of youth, he allowed her to rise from the table and leave the room without a smile or a word. James saw nothing that was passing. Self-centred and thoughtful, he was scarcely conscious of their presence. Lina sought Mrs. Harrington's chamber, but found it perfectly quiet, and the lady asleep. Then she took a straw flat from the hall, and flinging a mantilla about her, went out into the grounds, ready to weep any where, if she could but be alone. Ralph saw her pass, from the breakfast-room window, and his heart smote him. What had she done, poor, dear girl, to warrant his present feelings? What evil spirit possessed him to think ill of her, so pure, so truly good, as she was? Ralph took his hat and followed Lina through the grounds, up to a hollow in the hills, where a great "Lina, dear Lina," he called, reluctant to believe that white pine tree sheltered a spring that sparkled out from she had left him so abruptly. its roots, like a gush of diamonds. It was a heavy day, There was no answer, not even a rustle of the not without flashes of sunshine, but sombre heaps of damask. He was alone. When satisfied of this, the young man found his way to the light again. But for the terror and evident recoil of the person who had evaded him, he would have considered the whole adventure a capital joke, in which he had been famously baffled; but there was something too earnest in that struggle and cry for trifling, and the remembrance left him with a heart-ache. When Ralph came back to the breakfast-table, he found Lina seated in his mother's place. A faint color came into her cheek as she saw him, but otherwise she was calm and thoughtful. Nay, there was a shade of sorrow upon her face, but nothing of the flush and tumult that would naturally have followed the encounter from which she was so fresh. Spite of himself, Ralph was shocked. The delicacy of a first passion had been a little outraged by the rude way in which he and Lina had just met, and struggled together, but her composure wounded him still more deeply. "So young, so innocent, and so deceptive," he thought, looking at her almost angrily, "I would not have believed it." Lina was all unconscious. Full of her own sorrowful perplexities, she experienced none of the bashful tremors that had troubled her in anticipation. That interview in Mrs. Harrington's room had chilled all the joy of her young love. Thus she sat, pale and cold, under the reproachful glances of her lover. And General Harrington sat watching them with his keen, worldly glances. A smile crept over his lips as he read those young hearts, a smile of cool clouds drifted to and fro across the sky, and the wet earth was literally carpeted with leaves beaten from their branches by the storm. Amid all these dead leaves, and within the gloomy shadow of the pine, Lina sat alone weeping. She heard Ralph's tread upon the wet foliage, and arose as if to flee him, for with all her gentleness, Lina was proud, and his presence made her ashamed of the tears that her little hand had no power to dash entirely away. "Lina," said Ralph, holding out his hand, rejoiced by her tears, for he longed to think that she was offended by his rudeness in the dusky room, "Lina, forgive me. I was a brute to wound you with my rough ways." Lina turned away and sobbed. "It was not that, Ralph. You were only silent, not rude. But I have seen your mother this morning. Oh, Ralph, she will never consent to it-we must give each other up." "What did she say? Tell me, Lina, tell me!" cried Ralph, full of emotion. "She said nothing, Ralph, but her face-for a moment it was terrible. Then she fainted!" "Fainted, Lina!-my mother?" "I thought her dead, she looked so cold and white. Oh, Ralph, if my words had killed her, what would have become of us?" "Lina, you astonish me. My mother is not a woman to faint from displeasure. It is the effect of her accident. You should not have spoken to her now!" "I could not help it. Indeed, I was so happy, and it seemed right and natural to tell her first of all." "But, what did you tell her, darling?" Lina looked up, and regarded him gratefully through her tears. Lina was chilled by these winds, and drew her shawl closely, with a shivering consciousness of the change. "I don't know-something that displeased her-that The young man's ardent hope had no power to reassure almost killed her, I'm afraid." her. The subtle intuition of her nature could not be reasoned with. Sad and disheartened, she followed Ralph slowly homeward. "Don't cry, don't, Lina-it will all come out right." "No, no-I feel it-I know it-we must give each other up. The very first hint almost killed her, and no wonder. I did not think of it before-so much kindness made me forget. But what am I? Who am I, to dare equal myself with her son?" "What are you, Lina!" said Ralph, and his fine face glowed with generous feelings. "What are you! An angel! the dearest, best!" Lina could not help being pleased with this enthusiasm, but she cut it short, placing her hand upon his mouth. "It is kind of you to say this, but the facts-oh! these facts are stubborn things. What am I but a poor little girl, who wandered from, no one can say where, into your house, a miserable waif, drifted by chance upon the charity of your parents? I have no antecedents beyond their kindness-no name, save that which they gave me-no past, no future. Is it for me to receive affection from their son to climb ambitiously to the topmost branches of the rooftree that sheltered my happiness and my poverty?" And this was the girl he had dared to think coarse and forward in not blushing at the liberties he had taken. This fair, noble girl, who, with all her delicacy, could utter such true, proud thoughts. For the moment, Ralph would have dropped on his knees, and asked her pardon in the dust. But, beware, young man-he that doubts a beloved object once, will doubt again. When you could, even in passing thought, judge that young creature wrongfully, it was a break in the chain of confidence that should bind true hearts together. Ralph! Ralph! a jewel is lost from the chain of your young life, and once rent asunder, many a diamond bead will drop away from that torn link. A few hours after the scene we have described, the governess was half-way up the hill, on which the house of her mother or nurse stood. She had walked all the way from General Harrington's dwelling, and her person bore marks of a rough passage across the hills. Her gaiter boots were saturated with wet, and soiled with reddish clay. Burdock burs and brambles clung to the skirt of her merino dress, which exhibited one or two serious rents. Her shawl had been torn off by a thicket of wild roses, and she carried it thrown across her arm, too much heated by walking to require it, though the day was cold. On her way up the hill, she paused, and flinging her shawl on the ground, sat down. Opening the vellum-bound book, she read a few sentences in it, with a greedy desire to know the most important portion of its contents, before resigning it into hands that might hereafter deprive her of all knowledge regarding them. But the winds shook and rustled the pages about, till she was obliged to desist, and at last made her way up the hill in a flushed and excited state, leaving her shawl behind. The moment she rose to a level with the houses, the door opened, and the woman whom she claimed as a slave nurse, came forth advancing towards Agnes with almost ferocious eagerness. She called out: "Back again so soon! Then there is news." "Look here," answered Agnes, holding up the volume, from which the jewelled heart still dangled, cleft in twain as it was. "In less than an hour after entering the house I had it safe. Isn't that quick work?” hear?" But Agnes, who had again opened the volume, held it back. "Give it to me-give it to me. You are a good girl, Agnes, a noble girl, worth a hundred of your lily"Believe me," said the youth, burning with en-faced white folks. Give me the book, honey-do you thusiastic admiration of the young creature before him. "These proud words slander the noblest heart that ever beat in a woman's bosom. My mother loves you for yourself. All the better that God sent you to her unsought, as he does the wild flowers. Lina, the pride which reddens your cheek, would be abashed in her presence." "It is not pride, Ralph, but shame that such thoughts should never have presented themselves before. I have dreamed all my life; up to this morning, I was a child. Now, a single hour has surrounded me with realities. The whole universe seems changed since yesterday." "Not yet, mother-I have only read a little-don't be too eager-I have a right to know all that is in it!" "Give me that book. Her secrets belong to meonly to me. Hand over the book, I say!" "But I wish to read it myself-who has a better right?" The dark eyes of the slave flashed fire, and her hands quivered like the wings of a bird when its prey is in sight. She clutched fiercely at the book, hissing out her impatience like a serpent. "Take it!" exclaimed Agnes fiercely, but don't expect me to steal for you again." Lina looked drearily around as she spoke. The hillsides were indeed changed. The boughs, twelve hours before, so luxuriously gorgeous, were half denuded of their foliage. The over-ripe leaves were dropping everywhere through the damp atmosphere. A gush of "Hist!" answered the woman, crushing the book wind shook them in heavy clouds to the earth. All under her arm; "here comes one of the Harringtons the late wild flowers were beaten down and half-on horseback. Clear that face and be ready to meet uprooted. Nature seemed merely a waste of luxurious him, while I go in and hide Mabel Harrington's beauty thrown into gloomy confusion, among which the soul!" high winds tore and rioted. (To be continued.) A ROMANOE OF YOUTH. OAKENDEN was the ideal of an English village. The low; and there her heart-contracted by the littleness old church, with its square tower covered with ivy, and | and prejudice and unkindness of man-learned peace its avenue of limes up to the west porch; the village- in the greatness of creation, and in the love of the green, where bowls and cricket went on in the summer evenings; the national school, with its rustic porch hidden in jessamine and clematis, as befitteth an orthodox English village school; the low, one-storied parsonage, buried in the white petals of the Ayrshire rose, till it looked like a mass of snow in the green summer days; the trim cottages, with gardens full of flowers and aromatic herbs; the stately Hall, with its grand old park stretching round for miles, till it met the property of young Mr. Rollestone, the squire of Oakenden West; were all so many typical features of an English village of the midland counties, the like of which no other land upon earth contains. Creator. But this mode of life was so unusual that, added to her peculiar appearance and unknown history, it made her name become in time a name of dread to the peasant, and she herself a person of doubtful fame to the educated of Oakenden. The common people thought, to be sure, she was a witch; and picked up horseshoes, laid straws, and said her prayers with equal diligence; and the gentry shook their heads, and though they did not affirm, yet they were afraid there was no good in her. However, be she what she might, it was certain that Oakenden morality held its eyes wide open to her, and that Maud made not a single step which was not watched, commented on, and, alas! condemned. The moral elements of Oakenden were no less char- So by degrees she had become a lonely, strange, susacteristic than its physical: its society was as national pected woman, without a friend to bear her company as its architecture. First in dignity, in popularity, and through this long wilderness of life, without a smile in wealth, was Squire Gray of the Hall, his wife, his between her and despair. Even kind Mrs. Fortescue, son, and daughter; then came the vicar, Dr. Mathison, who still continued her cottage visitings, and charities, a fellow of Magdalene, and an old bachelor; then in as in the days of her legal pastorship, would not visit the large white house, without garden or field, at the Maud of the Hollow" she had daughters," she said; entrance of the village, with urns and statues on its and Paul himself had become so far infected with the one small terrace, and elaborate iron gates opening into popular superstition, stranger and artist as he was, as to its narrow gravel-walk, was the Hon. Mr. Domville and overlook all the rare mental beauty in the girl, blinded his handsome London wife; then quiet, gentle, lady- by the cruel shadow the world threw over her. Horace like Mrs. Fortescue, and her four daughters in waning Gray never met her but to miscall her, and Eva-the womanhood, in the pretty cottage on the road to Oak- tall, beautiful, queenly Eva-joined her brother in his enden West, with a conservatory and a shrubbery, and sarcasms; and added to them too. So that of all the a large meadow all attached; and last of all, young human hearts beating beneath the blue sky of OakenPaul Desprez, the artist, who had been in Oakenden for den, none beat kindly for the poor gipsy Maud. And about six months now, and who was popularly believed when Maud's soul was dark, as she thought of the to be the greatest painter of the day, and whose health heavy sorrows so ruthlessly wrought her by superstition used to be drunk at the little supper-parties after loo and prejudice, she used to go out into the broad home and commerce, as the "talented young stranger whose of nature, and forget them there; doing her best, too, sojourn amongst them was to make Oakenden famous." to love those who hated her, to forgive, pity, and to But thoroughly English as Oakenden was, and small, pray for them; for underneath all her wild exterior, lay conventional, sifted, and precise as was its society, it as true a woman's nature as ever received sorrow, and held one most unusual, most unconventional, most un- gave out blessing; and if it was a nature misunderstood English inhabitant-the gipsy-girl living in the little and slandered, it was so only because of its superiority cottage down the sandy lane-Maud of the Hollow, as to those around her; being stronger in its feelings and she was called. Maud was no vulgar gipsy-no wander- deeper in its thoughts than others. And without being ing fortune-teller, obnoxious to the stocks; but merely vain or self-deceptive, Maud could not help acknowa solitary young woman, with some kind of small inde-ledging this to herself; and so she blessed with one pendence for her support. Her manner was good-even breath the gift whose consequences she deplored with lady-like; and perhaps she would have passed without the other. much question, but for the oddity she betrayed in her choice of an abode, and her uncivilized mode of living. Her ways and habits were so strange, no wonder she was made an object of suspicion and of dread. She used to spend days and nights together in the depths of woods, and out in the meadows by moonlight, on heaths and by morasses, ponds and rivers, plucking herbs, and chasing insects, and learning many a secret hidden from the rest of the world. Wherever there were solitude and nature, there was Maud of the Hol One afternoon the clatter of horses' hoofs startled her from under the bushes where she had been hidden almost the whole day, watching her favorite insect world in some of its mysterious economy, and spying out a secret of transformation she had long wished to know. It was a secret by which she hoped to get the clue to a wide range of entomological arcana which had long baffled her. Curiosity, at all times a prominent feature in Maud's character, roused her up to see who it was that ventured down her lane; and running |