garet Bell to Tom Hardwick, "for as to his seeing us here from the road, it's all stuff."
"A lie," uttered Mr. Tom. "If he had ten telescopes, and set 'em all up in a line, he could not see over to Beech Wood."
"Emily pretends to dislike and despise him," resumed Margaret, "but I saw him kiss her the other day, and slip a letter into her hand."
"You had better take care what you say, Miss Margaret," exclaimed Tom Hardwick, with an expletive we will omit, and growing very red in the face.
"It is the truth," answered the young lady. "I was peeping at them through the greenhouse window."
"Does he often write to her—does she write to him?" stuttered Mr. Tom, becoming purple with rage.
"I can't tell whether she writes to him," said Margaret, "but she is always locking herself in our bedroom, and two or three times I have looked through the keyhole, and seen her scuffling die ink away. Don't you tell her I said this."
"Oh, bother!" answered the gallant gentleman, "I'll have it all out at once, one way or another. Where is she now?"
Upon James Ailsa's leaving, he struck through the wood, intending to take the Beech Path, as it is called, to Mrs. Hudson's house. But scarcely had he gone many steps, when Emily stole after him, and called him, softly, by name. He turned and met her.
"James," she whispered, "are you not going to stay with us?"
"Am I going to stay!" he uttered, laying a painful stress upon every word. *< Emily, if your heart can truly say that it wishes me to do so, I will; and bear in silence."
"Dear, dear James," she said, the tears rising to her eyes, "why do you speak to me in so cold a tone—why do you look so reproachfully at me?"
"Have I not cause?" he rejoined, painfully excited; but even then he gave way to his enduring love, and throwing his arms round her, embraced her fervently.
"Why do you permit Hardwick to appear on these most familiar terms with you?" he remonstrated: "to all but me, he must be looked upon as your lover."
"James," she said, earnestly, raising her head from his shoulder, "indeed you need not be jealous of him. I have no love for Tom Hardwick; I have scarcely any liking for him. Believe me, dear, dear James."
He did not answer; but he pressed his burning forehead upon hers. She felt its throbbing.
At this moment, the voice of Mr. Tom Hardwick was heard. Emily started from her lover; and, pressing his hand in token of farewell, stole silently away amongst the trees.
"Who is that in the wood, Emily?" exclaimed Tom Hardwick, as she emerged from it. "I heard voices."
"The wind, perhaps," returned Emily, carelessly. " Or—I was humming a tune to myself; you may have heard that."
'Don't trouble yourself with any more falsehoods," rejoined Hardwick, dashing into the subject without ceremony; "you were talking
