irit of a dabchick, the book was missing. A scrap of
paper floating from the bramble just above the water, and looking as if
fire had caught its edges and it had flown from one adverse element
to the other, was all he could lay hold of; and he returned to land
disconsolately, to hear Miranda's murmured mixing of thanks and pretty
expostulations.

"Let me try again," he said.

"No, indeed!" she replied, and used the awful threat: "I will run away
if you do," which effectually restrained him.

Her eye fell on the fire-stained scrap of paper, and brightened, as she
cried, "There, there! you have what I want. It is that. I do not care
for the book. No, please! You are not to look at it. Give it me."

Before her playfully imperative injunction was fairly spoken, Richard
had glanced at the document and discovered a Griffin between two
Wheatsheaves: his crest in silver: and below--O wonderment immense! his
own handwriting!

He handed it to her. She took it, and put it in her bosom.

Who would have thought, that, where all else perished, Odes, Idyls,
Lines, Stanzas, this one Sonnet to the stars should be miraculously
reserved for such a starry fate--passing beatitude!

As they walked silently across the meadow, Richard strove to remember
the hour and the mood of mind in which he had composed the notable
production. The stars were invoked, as seeing and foreseeing all,
to tell him where then his love reclined, and so forth; Hesper was
complacent enough to do so, and described her in a couplet--

"Through sunset's amber see me shining fair,
As her blue eyes shine through her golden hair."

And surely no words could be more prophetic. Here were two blue eyes and
golden hair; and by some strange chance, that appeared like the working
of a divine finger, she had become the possessor of the prophecy, she
that was to fulfil it! The youth was too charged with emotion to speak.
Doubtless the damsel had less to think of, or had some trifling burden
on her conscience, for she seemed to grow embarrassed. At last she drew
up her chin to look at her companion under the nodding brim of her hat
(and the action gave her a charmingly freakish air), crying, "But where
are you going to? You are wet through. Let me thank you again; and,
pray, leave me, and go home and change instantly."

"Wet?" replied the magnetic muser, with a voice of tender interest;
"not more than one foot, I hope. I will leave you while you dry your
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