med Ernest. The name of
Richard Clyde was to his impatient, jealous spirit, as is the rowel to
the fiery steed.

"And what will become of all our beautiful flowers, and our rich,
ripening fruit?" I asked. "Must they waste their sweetness and value on
the unappreciating air?"

"I think we must make Dr. Harlowe and Mr. Regulus the guardians and
participators of both," said Mrs. Linwood.

"Give him the flowers, and leave the fruit to me," cried Dr. Harlowe,
emphatically.

"That the sick, the poor, and the afflicted may be benefited by the
act," replied Mrs. Linwood. "Let it be so, Doctor,--and may many a
blessing which has once been mine, reward your just and generous
distribution of the abounding riches of Grandison Place."

I left one sacred charge with the preceptor of my childhood.

"Let not the flowers and shrubbery around my mother's grave, and the
grave of Peggy, wilt and die for want of care."

"They shall not. They shall be tenderly and carefully nurtured."

"And if Margaret comes during our absence, be kind and attentive to her,
for my sake, Mr. Regulus."

"I will! I will! and for her own too. The wild girl has a heart, I
believe she has; a good and honest heart."

"You discovered it during your homeward journey from New York. I thought
you would," said I, pleased to see a flush light up the student's olive
cheek. I thought of the sensible Benedict and the wild Beatrice, and the
drama of other lives passed before the eye of imagination.

Gloomy must the walls of Grandison Place appear during the absence of
its inmates,--that city set upon a hill that could not be hid, whose
illuminated windows glittered on the vale below with beacon splendor,
and discoursed of genial hospitality and kindly charity to the
surrounding shadows. Sadly must the evening gale sigh through the noble
oaks, whose branches met over the winding avenue, and lonely the
elm-tree wave its hundred arms above the unoccupied seat,--that seat,
beneath whose breezy shade I had first beheld the pale, impassioned, and
haunting face of Ernest Linwood.

CHAPTER XLIV.

It is not my intention to describe our journey; and I fear it will
indeed be an act of supererogation to attempt to give an idea of those
majestic Falls, whose grandeur and whose glory have so long been the
theme of the painter's pencil and the poet's lyre. Never shall I forget
the moment when my spirit plunged into the roar and the foam, the
thunders and the rainbo