"Look," said Ernest, "how much beauty is continually lost to mortals. In that good town there are people preparing even now, from habit, to retire to rest, thinking it sinful to sit up beyond a certain hour, and already tired of themselves and everything else. Try and tempt them out by telling them of such a sight. See how wave succeeds wave, as if each contained a life which perished in that sudden brightening up and sad moan. Surely, surely, so much beauty must have been intended for beings more capable of appreciating it than man."

Hush," said Miss Fairweather, " do not

talk that way. Some people would say it was not canny at this time of night, and in this place."

It was certainly a night to be remembered. Along the west yet glimmered a faint line of light, that inexpressibly beautiful tint of the evening sky which painters and poets do so love, cut sharply by a steep promontory which in its strong contrast of shadow might be likened to the material and the present,

shutting out the spiritual far-off, typifyed by that evening sky-a passing glimpse only to be recorded by the few imaginative lovers of nature amid the millions of slaves to mammon.

Here then, on the same spot where he had first breathed his affections, the lovers repeated their mutual vows of love. There by the gentle lullaby of the waves, stood these two mortals launching themselves forth from the happy present into the unfathomable sea of futurity, by vows which it is out of their power to keep, of which a few revolutions of weeks, days, or it may be hours, may show the fallacy. Oh, invisible spirits of earth, sea, and air, do you never weary of hearing these magnificent promises made by perishable beings who will, by the flight of time become estranged to each other and to themselves? Did no prescience of coming trouble, of the lightness of woman's vows then intrude in Ernest's heart? Did no whispering of the invisible spirits around, which are called voices of nature, did nothing in the sigh of the wind, or the solemn dash of the

wave, or the wild illumination which accompanied it, inspire a doubt of the good faith or constancy of the being who stood by his side? None whatever.

It may, or it may not be deemed a singular circumstance that Aggy (who all the time the lovers were conversing together so earnestly was practicing her manœuvres as vidette,) found something very interesting to look at in every direction but that in which the young gentleman and lady stood. Whether Aggy was a lover of nature, or whether she was thus hindering herself from being qualified to give any important testimony in case of being subponed by Mrs. Grainger as queen's evidence, it is impossible to say.

Aggy," said Mrs. Grainger, when Miss Fairweather had gone to her own room to remove her out-door habiliments, "tell me at once, was Mr. Basil with Miss Fairweather!" Thus hard pushed Aggy made answer.

"I'se no deny, mem, that Maister Basil may hæ forgathered wi' Miss Constance and

just convoyed her home like, but indeed he's a douce gentleman and-"

"Send Miss Constance to me," said Mrs. Grainger.

"Constance," said Mrs. Grainger when they were alone, "I have learned through young Flaccid that you have been in correspondence with Mr. Basil for some time." The good lady did not add that she had intercepted one of that gentleman's letters. "You had

better tell me all about it."

There is no occasion to retail the conversation which passed. Suffice it to say, that Constance confessed all to Mrs. Grainger, and received from that lady-such a lecture as might have been expected.

The influence of this tête-à-tête on Miss Fairweather's conduct will be partially seen in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XIII.

A CHANGE OF SENTIMENTS.

MISS FAIRWEATHER

ACTS LIKE A PRUDENT YOUNG LADY.

Ir any one had dared to impugn the faith of Constance Fairweather, on Saturday night, Ernest would have defended it as he would have done a mother's or a sister's. He slept peacefully that night, little thinking what mental anguish would intervene, ere he should again enjoy sweet rest. On Sunday morning he went forth to church, the happiest man in Y————, with a letter for Constance between the leaves of his prayer-book. It was on Sunday evening that the first cloud appeared in the horizon of hope. He and Constance were returning from church along with Alec Flaccid, who seemed to be very pertinacious in inflicting his company, and hindering the unreserved communication for which Ernest was so anxious, for something in the manner and words of