ill!"

The young man turned round with a lighted eye and flushed cheek.

"And why, Walter?" said Lester, interrupting his thanks, "why this
surprise? why this long doubt of my affection? Could you believe I
should refuse a wish that, at your age, I should have expressed myself?
You have wronged me; you might have saved a world of pain to us both by
acquainting me with your desire when it was first formed; but, enough. I
see Madeline and Aram approach,--let us join them now, and to-morrow we
will arrange the time and method of your departure.

"Forgive me, Sir," said Walter, stopping abruptly as the glow faded
from his cheek, "I have not yet recovered myself; I am not fit for other
society than yours. Excuse my joining my cousin, and--"

"Walter!" said Lester, also stopping short and looking full on his
nephew, "a painful thought flashes upon me! Would to heaven I may be
wrong!--Have you ever felt for Madeline more tenderly than for her
sister?"

Walter literally trembled as he stood. The tears rushed into Lester's
eyes:--he grasped his nephew's hand warmly--

"God comfort thee, my poor boy!" said he, with great emotion; "I never
dreamt of this."

Walter felt now that he was understood. He gratefully returned the
pressure of his uncle's hand, and then, withdrawing his own, darted down
one of the intersecting walks, and was almost instantly out of sight.

CHAPTER IX.

THE STATE OF WALTER'S MIND.--AN ANGLER AND A MAN OF THE
WORLD.--A COMPANION FOUND FOR WALTER.

"This great disease for love I dre,
There is no tongue can tell the wo;
I love the love that loves not me,
I may not mend, but mourning mo."
--The Mourning Maiden.

"I in these flowery meads would be,
These crystal streams should solace me,
To whose harmonious bubbling voice

I with my angle would rejoice."
--Izaac Walton.

When Walter left his uncle, he hurried, scarcely conscious of his steps,
towards his favourite haunt by the water-side. From a child, he had
singled out that scene as the witness of his early sorrows or boyish
schemes; and still, the solitude of the place cherished the habit of his
boyhood.

Long had he, unknown to himself, nourished an attachment to his
beautiful cousin; nor did he awaken to the secret of his heart, until,
with an agonizing jealousy, he penetrated the secret at her own. The
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