rysting spot, seeking every pretext for
frequent meetings, as lovers will, until many were the heads in
Aberdeen which were shaken in wise prognostication; and the Misses
Simpkins, to their unspeakable relief, had found a new theme whereon
to exercise their powers conversational, while the children of the
village mourned the absence of their kind "Fairy," and wished with all
their little hearts that Miss Fanny would send away that "naughty man"
who kept her from their homes.

Poor Fanny! the hidden seal had been touched at length, and on the
deep waters beneath was shining Love's own meteor-light--a light that
was reflected on every thing around.

"It was as her heart's full happiness
Poured over _all_ its own excess."

How swiftly the days flew by, "like winged birds, as lightly and as
free." And, oh! how priceless, peerless was the gift she was yielding
to the stranger in such child-like confidence and trust. There was so
much up-looking in her love for him; it seemed so sweet to recognize
the thoughts which had lain dormant in her own soul, for want of
fitting expression, flowing from his lip clothed in such a
beauty-breathing garmenture. And now Fanny Layton was a child no
longer. She had crossed the threshold, and the "spirit of unrest" had
descended upon her, albeit as yet she knew it not. Her heart seemed so
full of sunshine, that when she ventured to peep into its depths, she
was dazzled by that flood of radiance--and how could she descry the
still shadow. Alas! that on this earth of ours with the sunlight ever
comes the shadows, too, which was sleeping there, but to widen and
grow deeper and darker when love's waters should cease to gush and
sparkle as at the first opening of that sweet fount.

But the day of parting came at length--how it had been dwelt upon with
intermingling vows, promises, caresses on his part, with trust, and
tenderness, and tears on hers! A sad, sad day it was for Fanny
Layton, the first she had ever known that was ever heralded by
sorrow's messenger. How she strove to dwell upon Edward Morton's
words, "It will not be for long;" and banish from her heart those
nameless, undefinable fears which _would_ not away at her bidding. The
sky looked no longer blue--the green earth no longer glad; and traces
of tears, the bitterest she had ever shed, were on that poor girl's
cheek, as she went forth to meet her beloved, for the last time.

It matters not to say how each familiar haun