h is sad. Its
messenger should not be gay."

"It is the soul that sees and hears. Beauty and music are created
quickly if the heart be joyful. So my book says, and it is true. You
have had no cause to think that bell a hideous thing."

"Yet I have suffered youth's severest loss. I have lost a mother."

"You speak the truth. Yes, I have a kind father left me--and you"--

"I am an orphan, friendless and deserted. God grant, Miss Fairman, you
may be spared my fate for years."

"Not friendless or deserted either, Mr Stukely," answered the young lady
kindly; "papa does not deserve, I am sure, that you should speak so
harshly."

"Pardon me, Miss Fairman. I did not mean to say that. He has been most
generous to me--kinder than I deserve. But I have borne much, and still
must bear. The fatherless and motherless is in the world alone. He needs
no greater punishment."

"You must not talk so. Papa will, I am sure, be a father to you, as he
is to all who need one. You do not know him, Mr Stukely. His heart is
overflowing with tenderness and charity. You cannot judge him by his
manner. He has had his share of sorrow and misfortune; and death has
been at his door oftener than once. Friends have been unfaithful and men
have been ungrateful; but trial and suffering have not hardened him. You
have seen him amongst the poor, but you have not seen him as I have; nor
have I beheld him as his Maker has, in the secret workings of his
spirit, which is pure and good, believe me. He has received injury like
a child, and dealt mercy and love with the liberality of an angel. Trust
my father, Mr Stukely."--

The maiden spoke quickly and passionately, and her neck and face
crimsoned with animation. I quivered, for her tones communicated
fire--but my line of conduct was marked, and it shone clear in spite of
the clouds of emotion which strove to envelope and conceal it--as they
did too soon.

"I would trust him, Miss Fairman, and I do," I answered with a faltering
tongue. "I appreciate his character and I revere him. I could have made
my home with him. I prayed that I might do so. Heaven seemed to have
directed my steps to this blissful spot, and to have pointed out at
length a resting place for my tired feet. I have been most happy
here--too happy--I have proved ungrateful, and I know how rashly I have
forfeited this and every thing. I cannot live here. This is no home for
me. I will go into the world again--cast myself upon it--do any t