ome for my sake, for there is a
concern on my mind until all is clear between us. Or, stay,--will thee
walk home with Asenath, while I go with Moses?"

"Asenath?"

"Yes. There she goes, through the gate. Thee can easily overtake her. I
'm coming, Moses!"--and he hurried away to his son's carriage, which was
approaching.

Asenath felt that it would be impossible for her to meet Richard Hilton
there. She knew not why his name had been changed; he had not betrayed
his identity with the young man of his story; he evidently did not wish
it to be known, and an unexpected meeting with her might surprise him
into an involuntary revelation of the fact. It was enough for her that a
saviour had arisen, and her lost Adam was redeemed,--that a holier light
than the autumn sun's now rested, and would forever rest, on the one
landscape of her youth. Her eyes shone with the pure brightness of
girlhood, a soft warmth colored her cheek and smoothed away the coming
lines of her brow, and her step was light and elastic as in the old
time.

Eager to escape from the crowd, she crossed the highway, dusty with its
string of returning carriages, and entered the secluded lane. The breeze
had died away, the air was full of insect-sounds, and the warm light
of the sinking sun fell upon the woods and meadows. Nature seemed
penetrated with a sympathy with her own inner peace.

But the crown of the benignant day was yet to come. A quick footstep
followed her, and ere long a voice, near at hand, called her by name.

She stopped, turned, and for a moment they stood silent, face to face.

"I knew thee, Richard!" at last she said, in a trembling voice; "may the
Lord bless thee!"

Tears were in the eyes of both.

"He has blessed me," Richard answered, in a reverent tone; "and this
is His last and sweetest mercy. Asenath, let me hear that thee forgives
me."

"I have forgiven thee long ago, Richard--forgiven, but not forgotten."

The hush of sunset was on the forest, as they walked onward, side by
side, exchanging their mutual histories. Not a leaf stirred in the
crowns of the tall trees, and the dusk, creeping along between their
stems, brought with it a richer woodland odor. Their voices were low
and subdued, as if an angel of God were hovering in the shadows, and
listening, or God Himself looked down upon them from the violet sky.

At last Richard stopped.

"Asenath," said he, "does thee remember that spot on the banks of the
creek, wher