giving to the Almighty, that He has vouchsafed us the power to taste on earth of such all-perfect bliss?"
Here follows another:
"Why, my love, do you mention forebodings so gloomy?—why should we separate? It is true my position, now, is not such that would warrant my demanding you of your father, but, Emily, know you not what such love as mine can dare to plan and effect? Rely upon it, though we see not the means yet, my fate in life shall not be an obscure one—it shall be such as to justify my asking yon to share it."
Then this:
"Emily, Emily, I am tortured nearly to madness. You tell me you do not like Mr. Hardwick; then why show him these marks of favour? Last night, when we left, I was close to you; my arm was ready; yet you passed me and took his. It cannot be that you did not see me: or if you did not see me, you do not love. I look for you: I see but you: at a distance, before another's eyes could possibly distinguish your form, my heart tells me it is you. On, Emily, if your love were but a tithe of what mine is, you could, not so act."
And this extract is from the last letter she had received from him:
"Forgive, forgive me, my only love. I did not mean to reproach you: I will believe, Emily, I am too exacting. I will believe, God knows how willingly, that your heart is wholly mine. But if you knew how I love, what I suffer for you, you would not wonder that I cannot bear even the semblance of an attachment to another."
Emily sat contemplating the characters of this last letter, and a smile and a blush stole over her face. Were they the tokens of love, or but of triumphant vanity?
Presently she reached her writing materials, and began a note to Ailsa, "My dearest James." Whilst thus occupied, some one tried the door of the room, and, finding it fastened, knocked loudly against it. Emily scuffled all signs of her employment away.
"What do you want now?" she pettishly asked, finding it was her sister, and vexed at being interrupted.
"What do I want!" repeated Miss Margaret, astonished at the question. "The room is as much mine as it is yours, and I want to come in."
Emily was silent, and her sister resumed:
"Tom Hardwick is down stairs. He has brought an invitation from Mary for us to join them in a pic-nic to-day; for they have visitors at the Hall, and are at a loss for amusement."
"That is not Hardwick's voice!" exclaimed Emily, listening.
"That is James Ailsa's: Tom Hardwick is in the drawing-room with mamma," answered Margaret "Ailsa has come up to see baby. Mind you don't tell him about the pic-nic, Emily, or we shall have him pushing himself into it"
"You are more likely to tell him than I," cried Emily, as she ran down stairs.
Mr. Ailsa was in the hall. His pale, sweet-tempered countenance lighted up with joy as he advanced to greet Emily.
"James," she whispered, as he threw his arm round her for a mo-
