fore us, Bessie, at the end of life, filling our souls with dismay, because of opportunities neglected, gifts unemployed."

In putting these letters away, I touched accidentally the spring of a secret drawer in the little boudoir bookcase, which my father had caused to be made expressly for my use. I had forgotten to examine this repository on the day I had prepared the bookcase for the sale, and now upon an inadvertent pressure it sprang from its concealment. Here I found flowers, withered blossoms, plucked and given me years before, by Larry Esterlyn, when I scarce knew what the fragrant tokens served to represent; yet I put them carefully away then, and here they were now, and where was he, and what was I? Large drops fell from my eyes upon the scentless petals; heartwrung and bitter tears for a faded past. wept unrestrainedly. "Mother! Mother!" I cried in a passionate woe, "if I might lie in your arms-be pressed to your bosom! Your unfailing love, your strength and tenderness, are all that I may henceforth claim."

I

A step approached, and a hand was laid

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It was

upon the fastening of the door. locked, and I sat unmoved while the handle was gently turned in an ineffectual effort to gain admittance. Soon I heard retreating steps-Mildred's, I conjectured; and closing the drawer with an averted countenance, I arose, bathed my flushed face, smoothed my hair, and dressed for dinner, for it was near sunset. Then I descended to the garden, and walked up and down one of its least-frequented paths, until the bell summoned me to the dining-room. Mildred was standing upon the piazza steps, when I approached from a side walk.

"Where have you been, Bessie ?" she said, as soon as she perceived me. "I have sought everywhere for you, truant, in vain."

There was a new joyous sound in her voice, and as I looked up at her, I became aware of an added beauty in her face, impossible to describe.

"Where have you been?" she repeated, smiling down upon me. "Where had you hidden, Bessie ?"

"What have you been doing to yourself?"

I asked, looking at her, and disregarding her questions.

"What do you mean, Bessie? I-ILolotte has been dressing me for dinner."

"Did she give you brighter eyes, redder cheeks, and gayer tones?" I interrogated. "Did she put three smiles, instead of one, into the corners of your mouth? I repeat, what have you been doing to yourself?"

"What nonsense you are talking, Bessie," she said, blushing. "Hark! I hear papa's voice in the hall. He is going in to dinner. Come." And putting her arm through mine, we entered the dining-room by one of its windows, which opened upon the piazza.

Mildred was more than usually quiet during the meal, and when a servant entered with a note for her mother, I observed her anxiously scan her face during its perusal. After an exclamation of satisfaction, Mrs. Forrester was about to read the note aloud, when Mildred, in attempting to offer me a dish of some vegetable, let it fall suddenly, breaking the china and scattering the contents.

"Poulett," said Mrs. Forrester, addressing

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the waiter, "you should be more attentive. Miss Mildred cannot lift those heavy dishes. Mildred, my love," she added, "do not attempt such a thing again."

Mildred's face was scarlet, and I observed that Walworth watched her with a covert smile. "Mother," he said, still keeping his eyes fixed on Mildred's face, "what does Dana Poinsett say, for I presume that note to be from him?"

"He regrets," replied Mrs. Forrester, "that an unlooked-for and late visit from a friend prevents his coming to dinner, but he hopes to be able to see us in the evening."

Mildred's fork rattled down upon her plate. Her hand was strangely unsteady.

"Mildred," said Walworth, mischievously, pray do not break any more china. I cannot say what effect it will have upon my

Mildred's red lips pouted, but she did not raise her eyes to glance at her brother, and soon after we rose from table.

On entering the drawing-room, I sought and found a book of new prints which I had

been interrupted in examining the day before. It was soon finished, and I turned to observe Mildred, who sat near me, for I had a habit of looking at her whenever an opportunity offered her beauty was so rare in its character, not without a nameless fascination. Her costume this evening was very becoming. The exceeding fairness of her complexion contrasted well with her dress, which was of blue silk, of that peculiar color called the azureline shade. I took a quiet pleasure in looking at her, and regarded her some time unobserved, for her eyes were bent upon the intricate pattern of her work. Suddenly a rosy tide dyed neck and throat; and the color in her cheek, that had before been not much larger or deeper than a rose-leaf, deepened into a crimson I might not cover with the palm of my hand. I looked at her in the greatest surprise, and was about to rally her on the thought that could send the blood to her cheek like that, when the door opened and the servant announced Mr. Poinsett.

Had Mildred heard his entrance? I could not tell.