ry evening that General Belch and Abel Newt were sitting
together, smoking, taking snuff, sipping wine, and discussing the great
principles that should control the action of American legislators and
statesmen, Hope Wayne and Mrs. Simcoe sat together in their pleasant
drawing-room talking of old times. The fire crackled upon the hearth, and
the bright flames flickering through the room brought out every object
with fitful distinctness. The lamp was turned almost out--for they found
it more agreeable to sit in a twilight as they spoke of the days which
seemed to both of them to be full of subdued and melancholy light. They
sat side by side; Hope leaning her cheek upon her hand, and gazing
thoughtfully into the fire; Mrs. Simcoe turned partly toward her, and
occasionally studying her face, as if peculiarly anxious to observe
its expression.

It might have happened in many ways that they were speaking of the old
times. The older woman may have intentionally led the conversation in
that direction for some ulterior purpose she had in view. Or what is more
likely than that the young woman should constantly draw her friend and
guardian to speak of days and people connected with her own life, but
passed before her memory had retained them?

After a long interval, as if, when she had once broken her reserve about
her life, she must pour out all her experience, Mrs. Simcoe began:

"When I was twenty years old, living with my father, a poor farmer in the
country, there came to pass the summer in the village a gentleman, a good
deal older than I. He was handsome, graceful, elegant, fascinating. I saw
him at church, but he did not see me. Then I met him sometimes upon the
road, idly sauntering along, swinging a little cane, and looking as if
village life were fatiguing. He seemed at length to observe me. One day
he bowed. I said nothing, but hurried on. When I was a little beyond him
I turned my head. He also was turning and looking at me.

"I was old enough to know why I turned. Yes, and so was he. How well
I remember the peaceful western light that fell along the fields and
touched the trees so kindly! Every thing was still. The birds dropped
hurrying homeward notes, and the cows were coming in from the pasture.
I was going after our cow, but I leaned a long time on the bars and
looked at the new moon timidly showing herself in the west. Then I looked
at my clumsy gown, and thick shoes, and large hands, and thought of the
gracef