y filled her heart with anything but
satisfaction; for on contemplating it, she saw that it was over-shadowed
by an expression of such settled sorrow and dejection, as it was
impossible to look upon without the deepest compassion and sympathy.

"We had betther rest a little, dear Mave," he said; "you must be
fatigued, and so am I. Turn back a little, will you, an' let us sit upon
the Grey Stone; it's the only thing in the shape of a seat that is now
near us. Have you any objection?"

"None in the world," she replied; "I'll be time enough at my uncle's,
especially as I don't intend to come home to-night."

They accordingly sauntered back, and took their seat upon a ledge of the
stone in question, that almost concealed them from observation; after
which the dialogue proceeded as follows:

"Condy," observed Mave, "I was glad to hear that you recovered from the
fever; but I'm sorry to see you look so ill: there is a great deal of
care in your face."

"There is, dear Mave; there is," he replied, with a melancholy smile,
"an' a great deal of care in my heart. You look thin yourself, and
careworn too, dear."

"We are not without our own struggles at home," she replied, "as,
indeed, who is now? But we had more than ourselves to fret for."

"Who?" he asked; but on putting the question, he saw a look of such
tender reproach in her eye as touched him.

"Kind heart!" he exclaimed; "kindest and best of hearts, why should I ax
such a question? Surely I ought to know you. I am glad I met you, Mave,
for I have many things to say to you, an' it's hard to say when I may
have an opportunity again."

"I know that is true," said she; "but I did not expect to meet you
here."

"Mave," he proceeded, in a voice filled with melancholy and sadness,
"you acknowledged that you loved me."

She looked at him, and that look moved him to the heart.

"I know you do love me," he proceeded, "and now, dear Mave, the thought
of that fills my heart with sorrow."

She started slightly, and looked at him again with a good deal of
surprise; but on seeing his eyes filled with tears, she also caught the
contagion, and asked with deep emotion:

"Why, dear Condy? Why does my love for you make your heart sorrowful?"

"Because I have no hope," said he--"no hope that ever you can be mine."

Mave remained silent; for she knew the insurmountable obstacles that
prevented their union; but she wept afresh.

"When I saw your father last, behind your gar