ould I weep gall?"

"Mateless, solitary bird!" was the only answer.

"And are not you too mateless, Shirley?"

"At heart--no."

"Oh! who nestles there, Shirley?"

But Shirley only laughed gaily at this question, and alertly started up.

"I have dreamed," she said, "a mere day-dream--certainly bright,
probably baseless!"

* * * * *

Miss Helstone was by this time free enough from illusions: she took a
sufficiently grave view of the future, and fancied she knew pretty well
how her own destiny and that of some others were tending. Yet old
associations retained their influence over her, and it was these and the
power of habit which still frequently drew her of an evening to the
field-style and the old thorn overlooking the Hollow.

One night, the night after the incident of the note, she had been at her
usual post, watching for her beacon--watching vainly: that evening no
lamp was lit. She waited till the rising of certain constellations
warned her of lateness and signed her away. In passing Fieldhead, on her
return, its moonlight beauty attracted her glance, and stayed her step
an instant. Tree and hall rose peaceful under the night sky and clear
full orb; pearly paleness gilded the building; mellow brown gloom
bosomed it round; shadows of deep green brooded above its oak-wreathed
roof. The broad pavement in front shone pale also; it gleamed as if some
spell had transformed the dark granite to glistering Parian. On the
silvery space slept two sable shadows, thrown sharply defined from two
human figures. These figures when first seen were motionless and mute;
presently they moved in harmonious step, and spoke low in harmonious
key. Earnest was the gaze that scrutinized them as they emerged from
behind the trunk of the cedar. "Is it Mrs. Pryor and Shirley?"

Certainly it is Shirley. Who else has a shape so lithe, and proud, and
graceful? And her face, too, is visible--her countenance careless and
pensive, and musing and mirthful, and mocking and tender. Not fearing
the dew, she has not covered her head; her curls are free--they veil her
neck and caress her shoulder with their tendril rings. An ornament of
gold gleams through the half-closed folds of the scarf she has wrapped
across her bust, and a large bright gem glitters on the white hand
which confines it. Yes, that is Shirley.

Her companion then is, of course, Mrs. Pryor?

Yes, if Mrs. Pryor owns six feet of stature, and if s