ers, and she see the fire burnin'. But it was dark in the bush. Silvy
heard 'em talkin' terribly. It was Beck and George Olver. 'I'll make an
honest home for you, Beck.' And she says, terribly, she no deserve. And
he says, she better than him, and won't she come? And she cries so, 'My
heart is broke!' And how good to live with him she knows, now--so honest
and true--but she no fit, and, oh, 'My heart is broke! my heart is
broke!'"

The scene, the vividness of these words had not yet faded in the least
from Silvy's memory.

"Then," said she; "they keep on talkin', terribly. But Silvy--she hears
so much--poor Silvy! She goes 'round very still, 'nother way. Silvy's
tired."

And, as unceremoniously as she had approached me, she turned and walked
slowly back to her old position before the fire. She did not look at me.
She seemed to have become utterly unconscious of my presence. The scant,
thin shawl had fallen back from her head. She shivered as she stood
gazing into the flames, but the dreamy expression was ever in her eyes
and the soft laugh on her lips, as she continued murmuring to herself.

The Wallencampers were not content to let the fire go out after the first
grand illumination. They were bringing up more brush from the landward
side of the hill, amid a confusion of wild shouts and excited laughter.

I found Rebecca among a group of girls.

"When you go home to-night," I said; "I want you to step in and see me.
Come up to my room."

"Yes," said Rebecca, and I noticed how pale she turned in the fire-light.
I did not say any more to her, then.

After hearing Silvy's story, I believed that Mr. Rollin had acted a
heartless and unmanly part towards Rebecca, made love to her which he
could not doubt the poor girl took in earnest, and even promises which
he knew he should lightly break sometime, and then, for his own purposes,
he begged her to keep silence. I thought I understood, and resolved to
instruct Rebecca to forget the red-haired fisherman; to be "sensible,"
and "marry good, honest George Olver," who loved her so devotedly.

Lute Cradlebow had come home, and was one among the many figures at this
brilliant fete. Indeed, the bonfire had been deferred until later than
usual in the season, by reason of his absence, and now he was noticeably
the lion of the evening, in a brave dark blue cravat that was borne
outward by the wind, or fluttered becomingly under his chin, to the envy
and despair of all the Walle