She put on her clothes silently, went downstairs and opened the
back-door. The ever-watchful dog, hearing in his deepest slumbers the
slightest noise, moved in his kennel, but recognised her at once and
was still. She called to him to follow her, and he joyfully obeyed.
He would have broken out into tumultuous barking if she had not
silenced him instantly, and he was forced to content himself with
leaping up at her and leaving marks of his paws all over her cloak.
Not a soul was to be seen, and she went on undisturbed till she came to
her favourite spot where she had first met Mr. Armstrong. She paced
about for a little while, and then sat down and once more watched the
dawn. It was not a clear sky, but barred towards the east with cloud,
the rain-cloud of the night. She watched and watched, and thought
after her fashion, mostly with incoherence, but with rapidity and
intensity. At last came the first flash of scarlet upon the bars, and
the dead storm contributed its own share to the growing beauty. The
rooks were now astir, and flew, one after the other, in an irregular
line eastwards black against the sky. Still the colour spread, until
at last it began to rise into pure light, and in a moment more the
first glowing point of the disc was above the horizon. Miriam fell on
her knees against the little seat and sobbed, and the dog, wondering,
came and sat by her and licked her face with tender pity. Presently
she recovered, rose, went home, let herself in softly before her
husband was downstairs, and prepared the breakfast. He soon appeared,
was in the best of spirits, and laughed at her being able to leave the
room without waking him. She looked happy, but was rather quiet at
their meal; and after he had caressed the cat for a little while, he
pitched her, as he had done before, on Miriam's lap. She was about to
get up to cut some bread and butter, and she went behind him and kissed
the top of his head. He turned round, his eyes sparkling, and tried to
lay hold of her, but she stepped backward and eluded him. He mused a
little, and when she sat down he said in a tone which for him was
strangely serious--

"Thank you, my dear; that was very, very sweet."

MICHAEL TREVANION.

Michael Trevanion was a well-to-do stonemason in the town of Perran in
Cornwall. He was both working-man and master, and he sat at one end of
the heavy stone-saw, with David Trevenna, his servant, at the other, each
under