vermore."

The old man was calmly enjoying the beauty of the morning, the freshness
of the air, the warmth of the dancing beam, and not least, perhaps,
his own peaceful thoughts,--the spontaneous children of a contemplative
spirit and a quiet conscience. His was the age when we most sensitively
enjoy the mere sense of existence,--when the face of Nature and a
passive conviction of the benevolence of our Great Father suffice to
create a serene and ineffable happiness, which rarely visits us till
we have done with the passions; till memories, if more alive than
heretofore, are yet mellowed in the hues of time, and Faith softens
into harmony all their asperities and harshness; till nothing within us
remains to cast a shadow over the things without; and on the verge of
life, the Angels are nearer to us than of yore. There is an old age
which has more youth of heart than youth itself!

As the old man thus sat, the little gate through which, on Sabbath
days, he was wont to pass from the humble mansion to the house of God
noiselessly opened, and Lady Vargrave appeared.

The curate rose when he perceived her; and the lady's fair features were
lighted up with a gentle pleasure, as she pressed his hand and returned
his salutation.

There was a peculiarity in Lady Vargrave's countenance which I have
rarely seen in others. Her smile, which was singularly expressive,
came less from the lip than from the eyes; it was almost as if the brow
smiled; it was as the sudden and momentary vanishing of a light but
melancholy cloud that usually rested upon the features, placid as they
were.

They sat down on the rustic bench, and the sea-breeze wantoned amongst
the quivering leaves of the chestnut-tree that overhung their seat.

"I have come, as usual, to consult my kind friend," said Lady Vargrave;
"and, as usual also, it is about our absent Evelyn."

"Have you heard again from her, this morning?"

"Yes; and her letter increases the anxiety which your observation, so
much deeper than mine, first awakened."

"Does she then write much of Lord Vargrave?"

"Not a great deal; but the little she does say, betrays how much she
shrinks from the union my poor husband desired: more, indeed, than ever!
But this is not all, nor the worst; for you know that the late lord
had provided against that probability--he loved her so tenderly, his
ambition for her only came from his affection; and the letter he left
behind him pardons and releases her,