im a sentiment once to him, as he
hinted, a reality connected with the young heart when it was lusty, and
his pulse strong and thick with the blood of young life--- she went to
the bureau, and, taking three of the ounces, she left the room. In the
gloaming, she was again on her way to Paul's workshop, where she found
the artist, as usual, with his head bent over the bright desk on the
bench, engaged in some of his fanciful creations. Having seated herself
in the chair where she had so often sat, she commenced her story of the
circumstances of the day,--how Walter Grierson had acted and spoken to
her; how he had accounted for the locket and inscription; how he
intended to change the latter, and substitute her name for that of Agnes
Ainslie; how he had sought her love, and succeeded in his seeking; how
she was satisfied that he was sincere in his professions; and how she
had got the ounces from her father to make a love-token, to give in
exchange for Walter's. All which Paul listened to with deep attention,
now and then a faint smile passing over his delicate face, and followed
by the old pensive expression which was peculiar to one so deeply imbued
with the conviction that he was an organism in nature's plan, acted upon
to fulfil a fate of which he could know nothing.

"And so the powers work," said he, as he looked in the hopeful face of
his friend. "You are now happy, Rachel, because you believe what Walter
has said to you, and you have no power over your belief. But," he
continued, after a moment or two's silence, "I _may_ have power over
you, but not over myself. Walter Grierson has told you a falsehood, and
his motive for it is adequate to his nature. Since he gave me the order
for the locket, he has learnt that you are to inherit the whole fortune
of your father, on the condition that you are to marry him; and his love
for Agnes has been overborne by another feeling--the desire to possess
your wealth. Neither the one nor the other of these feelings could he
manufacture, or even modify, any more than he could charm the winds into
silence, or send Jove's bolt back to its thunder-cloud; and now, look
you, his game is this: if you succeed to the money, he will marry
without loving you; if not, he will marry the woman he loves--Agnes
Ainslie."

"You alarm me, Paul," said she, involuntarily holding forth her arms, as
if she would have stopped his speech.

"And you cannot help your alarm," said he calmly; "neither can I