in her conversations with Mary, and her letters to Lester, her daily prayer had been, “Leave me not alone." She might be weeks, or even months, before it would be possible to leave her, and both the lovers felt that, under such painful circumstances, their own feelings could not be allowed to operate selfishly. Thus as an unmarried rector he was bound to enter Crosswood, but his hope was, before long, to shelter beneath his own roof both a wife and a sister.

The love of Lester for his accomplished and beautiful cousin, was not of that kind or degree which admits of being demonstrated by means of outward show, or through the utterance of any series of sentences, however eloquently expressed; it was alike too full and deep for words; and all the ordinary tokens, employed by prosaic minds, were as valueless for its display, as the lifting an ounce weight would be for demonstrating the strength of a giant. The love he felt was hidden away-was treasured in the profounder depths of his nature, as something too holy to be lightly alluded to, and too secure to be shaken by the changes and chances of fortune. Like some simple unheeded forest flower, it had grown up unperceived, but had struck so deep a root, that its fibres had twined themselves in with all that was strong and noble in his nature. It had now become so much a part of himself, so distinctly a part of his own life, that he scarcely ever alluded to it, or stated its existence; feeling, in fact, that there was no more reason for speaking of it, than there was of telling that his own body was endowed with life. Mary, herself, had learnt what she knew of its extent and fulness rather through the power of spiritual and emotional intuition, than through his distinct confessions; she had read its character traced upon her own heart, and felt sure the counterpart was traced upon his; she had learned it, not through the length, the beauty, or the pasionate fervour of his speeches, but rather through the fine eloquence of his silence, and the perceptible tremor of his voice when they two either met or parted. With one exception, presently to be described, and considered as intended to be read as those of a lover, his letters were decidedly original. Many young ladies would have scouted them as nothing more than friendly epistles-as being too far removed from the allimportant topic; for they contained no romantic love passages similar in absurdity to those which are found in sentimental novels. Yet the manful earnestness of his devotion was more fully proven by the absence of all statements respecting its heat, dimensions, and durability, than it could have been by all the miserable abortions, ycleped "love letters," which figure in the productions of the Minerva press. Running through them, there was an undertone of respect and reverence, of tenderness and confidence, which said more for the purity and genuineness, for the permanence and depth of his attachment, than could have been conveyed in any more direct style of declaration.

It is, however, but an act of justice to Lester that the reader should be made acquainted with the fact of his not having been always thus uncommunicative upon this point. As children, they had grown up together, loving and being loved as brother and sister. So rarely had they been separated for more than a week, that, although, as they grew older, each had become aware of their being but cousins, until after the entrance of George upon his life as an Oxford Graduate, there had been no change in their conduct and treatment of each other. During their separation they had learnt the true state of their feelings toward each other. After long pondering upon it, Lester wrote to his cousin, but not in his usual style. Dashing away all

reserve, paying no attention to formalities, he told of the new consciousness which had arisen within him, of the love he cherished, and of the terrible fears which haunted him, lest, having so long been treated merely as a brother, he could not, or ought not to, hope for being received in the character of a lover. There was nothing either weak or affected in this composition, for, as with all he said and wrote, it came from his heart. It appeared strange to him that this letter remained unanswered. Up to that time Mary had written with great regularity, then she ceased. But not, as he imagined, because of anger, or through desiring to close the correspondence. She had spoken to Mrs. Lester upon the subject, and that lady was not only "pleased to find events were happening as she had desired," but of opinion also, that, as George was to return home within a month, the answer had better be reserved for his arrival.

But what was he to do, and think, and suffer during the interval? Had the mother no thought about the anxiety of her son? Upon that point, and that only, the feelings of woman rise superior to those of the mother. In the latter capacity she hastens to subdue pain and to banish trouble from the breast of her child; but when the trial is one of the affections, she is neither so hasty nor so desirous to remove the difficulty. Instinctively has she learnt that, as a little pain in the gathering adds a charm to the fruit, so the pains of the lover, when not doomed to terminate in hopeless despair, do but serve to increase in his estimation the value of the prize for which he is striving. Mrs. Lester acted wisely in advising Mary to wait.

When George reached home the fact that Mary was not upon the landing to meet him, as usual, had struck a chill through his frame. But although he missed, he could not inquire after her. For years he had never once returned to the house, not even from a short excursion, without finding Mary waiting to receive him, and, under the circumstances, her absence upon this occasion was felt most acutely. He fancied that all had been decided against his wishes; fancied-But why tell his wandering thoughts, when each reader knows more of what he imagined than could be described in a volume? Yet it was unnecessary pain. Unable, after receiving his letter, to receive him as of old, and feeling that before others she could not venture upon giving him his first greeting in a new character, she had retired to the little garden house to await him. The refreshments stood untasted upon the table, and all the mother's pressing was, powerless to induce him to eat. Not without feeling herself to be somewhat wronged, she intimated where the missing one was to be found. The first greeting was sufficient to chase away all doubt, and to render the two hearts happy. And yet the spoken words were few. He did but say

"Mary do not receive me merely as a brother; I must be more than that, or for the sake of our mutual peace I must quit home for some distant land."

Those were the precise words she wished him to utter; and yet, when as some new draught of life she had drank them in, and although striving to do more, she could but repeat them.

Yes, more than a brother, much more than a brother."

Good spirits are ever on the watch to supply content when two full hearts are thus blended. They ministered, as those two sat, in the calm evening, hand in hand, uttering no word, yet feeling and learning more of heart-lore than the loftiest genius of the pen could trace upon paper, or the greatest musician express in his symphonies. When through excess of feeling

the tongue is paralyzed and can utter the least, the eye and hand take up the tender tale, to express the most tender and beautiful of all the emotions. Whole volumes are occasionally expressed in a single glance of the eye. Undoubtedly the power of ordinary speech is great; but what can be said of that sort of speech in which, while no words are uttered, distinct ideas and exalted thoughts are conveyed which sink deeper, and cannot be allowed to fade from the memory? In ancient days, one glance of Medusa sufficed to change her victim into stone; are there none in the living world who can shoot forth death from their eyes, or change the heart of flesh into adamant? Happily, there is power also in the eye to soften and subdue. Some there are which beam a new life, and reviving hope and faith in the hearts of those who are sinking down into ruin, they inspire with courage, while indicating the folly of abject submission; others have flashed forth a reproof and an admonition far more powerful than the most logical of sermons, to redeem the erring and to strengthen the weak. The eye is still an unknown quantity waiting its conqueror. At present we can only point out, and wonder at its power, but, bye-and-bye, the discoverer will arrive to lead us through the deeper mysteries of its mechanism, and to unfold the secret of its magical influence.

And the hand, too, doth it not speak? The gentle pressure which is felt throughout the frame, and felt right on through sixty years, doth it not tell more than can be entrusted to the tongue? If men would inspire others with confidence in their intentions, if they would express sympathy with them in their afflictions, or would indicate the intensity and unwavering nature of their friendship, they do more with the hand than with the tongue to make a lasting impression. And when young hearts are stirred to their inmost depths, by the joy of knowing their love to be faithfully returned, who shall wonder that through the hand they endeavour to convey a due intimation of the fulness of their content, and of the inestimable value of their happiness?

The physiology of such happiness remains yet to be explored. The fountains of the great deep were opened up, and as the long pent up stream of love overflowed its ordinary channels, it swept away all worldly thoughts and petty cares; wealth, and power, and fame, all were forgotten and swallowed up in the blessedness of that hour. Had the portals of Heaven been thrown open for their admission, they would not have moved from their seats to enter in; for to conceive a degree of blessedness beyond that which they then enjoyed was impossible. Multiply all the imagined joys of Paradise, a million times, and then concentrate the whole into a perfect essence of bliss, it would still be inferior to that pure content, to that indescribable joy which was flowing through the spirits of those happy yet speechless lovers. Within their souls a sense of concord reigned supreme, for each felt assured of possessing the unalterable love of the other; and as no sound of earth or air broke the stillness of evening, so they had no jarring thought, no inward doubt, no horrible fear, to mar their perfect harmony of confidence and trustful love.

Fortunately the garden was retired, so that none of those cool and practical persons were present whose sole business in life seems to be that of putting poison into every cup of joy which in their presence is raised to the lip by a fellow-mortal. Moving in an atmosphere of suspicion, they fail not to scatter doubts and fears abroad which strike at the root of all our simple joys. If ever they are thoroughly contented, it is when they have succeeded in rendering all around them miserable. Such persons are not to be per

suaded into looking with satisfaction upon those whose silence is speech and a source of knowledge. They instantly and sneeringly ask, "Ah, and what of forty years to come? Must not all who love change and die? If they are invited to a wedding, they carry a coffin in their thoughts, and even in the hottest day of summer, they shiver at the bitterness of winter's cold, to which, as by the law of antagonism, their minds have reverted. How fortunate that, for the one evening at least, this class was wholly excluded from the Lester domain.

Why should such repose, content, and blessedness, be destroyed? Why should that unutterable satisfaction be made the butt of fortune? Why does even Nature herself set forces in motion to effect the destruction of such a state of feeling? For it is not alone from the deeds and passions, the folly and the injustice of man, that the blow comes which shivers the peace which at such hours blossoms into beauty in the soul. Love and imagination are the builders, but the necessities of our mortal life stretch forth their ruthless hands to destroy the fairy-like formations. It seems as if Nature did but hold up the Ideal in order to torture us by the sense of our loss when she has shattered the picture; and yet, may it not be, that by showing the possible she is but endeavouring to woo us into labouring after the transformation of our dreams into facts, and the conversion of our earth into the heaven of our imagination?

Several weeks passed away after that tacit confession, without either of them making, or desiring to make, any allusion to the one subject which absorbed their hours of quiet thought. They knew each other's hearts, and wished for no other knowledge; they felt an inward security, and were content to enjoy the passing hour, neither thinking nor speaking of the future. But upon one occasion, like happy children, they strolled away beyond Hill, and far along the Millbrook road, to that point where sight-seers pause to watch the rising tide spread over the shallows. Here they sat down and talked ; talked of the caverns, corals, and other mysteries of the sea; talked of the blue vault above, and its profound depths, whose inhabitants are giant worlds, which dwell in peace, though not without sharing the universal sympathy which shows itself in attraction and repulsion; talked of beauty in all its manifold forms, and how wondrously it exerts its power upon the human spirit; nor did they omit to speak of life and sleep, with its twin-brother death.' The golden hours flew rapidly by, but they heeded them not; for just then, like beings of another sphere, they sat upon the hill apart, and talked of all things mighty and beautiful, finding their all of life in each other's words, and seemed to have nought to do with time. Evening at length closed in with unusual splendour; and then, in the distance, shone the warning lights which mariners hang upon the masts; the calm waters were spread out like a floor of crystal, which here and there dimpled into life, or shone resplendent with phosphorescent fire; while over all, the star-studded heavens, like a mantle endowed with life, fell gracefully down to adorn and curtain the half-slumbering world. Both George and Mary loved, and with no mere idle passion, the calm blessedness of evening; as a star-gazer, she had enjoyed it more frequently than he had done; yet never, until that night, had either truly felt the whole of its mystical and soul-entrancing power. For the first time they were privileged to feel the omnipotence of that Spirit which shines through the forms of Nature into the soul of man, to emancipate, to etherealise, and to ennoble.

There are granted unto all of us a few magical moments in life, wherein

it is our lot to feel that man, the mortal, while still treading upon the material, is capable of casting off his earthly garniture, so as to become one of those who see all things with the immortal spiritual eye. It is then that the emancipated can give expression to emotions, which, during many preceding years, had vainly striven for utterance, and can speak or write those words of psalm and song, which ever after are treasured as among the priceless properties of humanity. It was one of those moments which had now found Lester with the pearl of his life hanging upon his arm, looking with joy, awe, and wonder, into the mingled sea of life and light, festooned off by clouds and darkness which hung or rolled around them. It was then that his tongue was loosed, and he was enabled to pour forth those holier intimations of his love, which seemed to be delivered more in the language of heaven than of earth, and which once heard were never to be forgotten, but could not be repeated. They were full of life, energy, strength, and holiness, all uttered in music, but unhappily their full value can only be known in the great Hereafter.

For now as through a glass we do but dimly see,
And, 'mid the uproar, can but partly hear:
Once there, our spirit eyes, and ears, will open be,
And man become the true Immortal Seer.

What those words were we dare not tell. Enough for us that we shall lift up the veil to show their unlooked-for fruit. The words themselves, if indeed repeatable, must remain unrepeated. The still toiling man must not be stripped of that which gives him power to labour on to his life's end, still to bear and still to conquer. He may be all that the ethics of heroism demand, yet that is no reason for stripping him of that single source of power. And what treasure of a true man or woman can be greater than is that which is composed of the first words of love breathed into their ears by one whose voice was as that of a spirit from heaven, and whose speech was as the most sacred psalm? In this God's world, are thousands who even today have nothing left save that single treasure; men, and women too, who are doing battle in life for what is noble and pure; who live not for themselves but for their race, who are misrepresented, misunderstood, despised, or even accursed and down-trodden, and who have only that blessed memory left them wherewith to make life bearable. From the hot blasts of calumny, from the bitterness of injustice, and the oppression of wrong, they can retreat within themselves to enjoy the summer and bird music of their own souls; weary, and almost crushed by despair, they fall back upon this never-ceasing fountain of joy to refresh themselves for the ever-recurring battle of life. They recall the first words of love with the memory of the heaven which then hung about them, and as by the power of some mighty cordial they are again made whole. How, then, can we repeat and make common property of such magical and holy words? The true soul would as soon agree to hold a drunken carnival upon his mother's grave as to publish abroad the early whispered words of love.

Enough to know that they were powerful to convince, and so thoroughly earnest and honest, so evidently from the heart, that if love shafts were being prepared at Rose Hall, they would necessarily fall quite powerless upon the already occupied heart of George Lester.