er, had brought down and laid in the library, as a reminder
of her wish. As she looked at it, Sylvia's heart yearned toward it in
the fond, foolish way which women have of endowing the possessions of
those they love with the attractions of sentient things, and a portion
of their owner's character or claim upon themselves. It was like
Warwick, simple and strong, no key, and every mark of the long use which
had tested its capabilities and proved them durable. A pair of gloves
lay beside it on the chair, and though she longed to touch anything of
his, she resisted the temptation till, pausing near them in one of her
journeys to the window, she saw a rent in the glove that lay
uppermost,--that appeal was irresistible,--"Poor Adam! there has been no
one to care for him so long, and Faith does not yet know how; surely I
may perform so small a service for him if he never knows how tenderly I
do it?"

Standing ready to drop her work at a sound, Sylvia snatched a brief
satisfaction which solaced her more than an hour of idle lamentation,
and as she kissed the glove with a long, sad kiss, and put it down with
eyes that dimly saw where it should be, perhaps there went as much real
love and sorrow into that little act as ever glorified some greater
deed. Then she went to lie in the "Refuge," as she had named an ancient
chair, with her head on its embracing arm. Not weeping, but quietly
watching the flicker of the fire, which filled the room with warm
duskiness, making the twilight doubly pleasant, till a sudden blaze
leaped up, showing her that her watch was over and Warwick come. She had
not heard him enter, but there he was close before her, his face glowing
with the frosty air, his eye clear and kind, and in his aspect that
nameless charm which won for him the confidence of whosoever read his
countenance. Scarce knowing why, Sylvia felt reassured that all was
well, and looked up with more welcome in her heart than she dared betray
in words.

"Come at last! where have you been so long, Adam?"

"Round the Island I suspect, for I lost my way, and had no guide but
instinct to lead me home again. I like to say that word, for though it
is not home it seems so to me now. May I sit here before I go, and warm
myself at your fire, Sylvia?"

Sure of his answer he established himself on the stool at her feet,
stretched his hands to the grateful blaze, and went on with some inward
resolution lending its power and depth to his voice.

"