rothers and lovers at balls; while Emilia's foreign court
held out till morning, and one handsome young midshipman, in special,
kept revolving back to her after each long orbit of separation, like a
gold-laced comet.

The young people lingered extravagantly late at that ball, for the
corvette was to sail next day, and the girls were willing to make the
most of it. As they came to the outer door, the dawn was inexpressibly
beautiful,--deep rose melting into saffron, beneath a tremulous morning
star. With a sudden impulse, they agreed to walk home, the fresh air
seemed so delicious. Philip and Emilia went first, outstripping the
others.

Passing the Jewish cemetery, Kate and Harry paused a moment. The sky was
almost cloudless, the air was full of a thousand scents and songs, the
rose-tints in the sky were deepening, the star paling, while a few vague
clouds went wandering upward, and dreamed themselves away.

"There is a grave in that cemetery," said Kate, gently, "where lovers
should always be sitting. It lies behind that tall monument; I cannot
see it for the blossoming boughs. There were two young cousins who loved
each other from childhood, but were separated, because Jews do not allow
such unions. Neither of them was ever married; and they lived to be
very old, the one in New Orleans, the other at the North. In their last
illnesses each dreamed of walking in the fields with the other, as in
their early days; and the telegraphic despatches that told their deaths
crossed each other on the way. That is his monument, and her grave was
made behind it; there was no room for a stone."

Kate moved a step or two, that she might see the graves. The branches
opened clear. What living lovers had met there, at this strange hour,
above the dust of lovers dead? She saw with amazement, and walked on
quickly that Harry might not also see.

It was Emilia who sat beside the grave, her dark hair drooping and
dishevelled, her carnation cheek still brilliant after the night's
excitement; and he who sat at her feet, grasping her hand in both of
his, while his lips poured out passionate words to which she eagerly
listened, was Philip Malbone.

Here, upon the soil of a new nation, lay a spot whose associations
seemed already as old as time could make them,--the last footprint of
a tribe now vanished from this island forever,--the resting-place of a
race whose very funerals would soon be no more. Each April the robins
built their nests