ntain the conversation on indifferent
topics, the feelings of at least two out of the three necessarily
drew it back to one channel. There they sat, running over the slight
nothings, probable and improbable, which in hard suspense people count
up; though still the worst Nathanael seemed to fear was the temporary
hardship to which his uncle would be exposed.

"And he is not so young as he used to be. How often have I urged him to
be content with his poverty and come home. He _shall_ come home now. If
once I get him out of these red fellows' hands, he shall turn his face
from their wild settlements for ever. He can easily do it, even if I
must stay in Canada."

The young man looked at his newly-betrothed wife, and looked away again.
It was more than he could bear.

"Agatha," said Miss Valery, after a pause, during which she had closely
observed both the young people--"I may call you _Agatha_, for the sake
of my friend here, may I not?"

"Yes," was the low answer.

"Well then, Agatha, shall you and I have a little talk? We need not mind
that foolish boy; he was a boy, just so high, when I first knew him. Let
him walk up and down the room a little, it will do him good."

She moved to the sofa, and took Agatha by her side.

"My dear"--(there was a rare sweetness in the way Miss Valery said the
usually unsweet words _my dear_)--"I need not say, what, of course, we
two both think, that she will be a happy woman who marries Nathanael
Harper."

Agatha, with her eyes cast down, looked everything a young girl could be
expected to look under the circumstances.

"Your happiness, as well as your history, is to me not like that of an
entire stranger. I once knew your father."

"Ah, that accounts for all!" cried Agatha, delighted to gain this
confirmation of her strange impression in favour of Miss Valery. "When
was this, and where was I?"

"Neither born nor thought of."

Agatha's countenance fell. "Then of course it was impossible--yet I felt
certain--I could even believe so now--that I have seen you before."

While the girl looked, a quick shadow passed over Anne Valery's still
features, for the moment entirely changing their expression. But soon
returned their ordinary settled calm.

"We often fancy that strangers' faces are familiar. It is usually held
to be an omen of future affection. Let me hope that it will prove so
now. I have long wished, and am truly glad, heart-glad to see you, my
dear child."

She bent