en informed.

"Beautiful!" cried Anne, clapping her hands. "We shall have a
_denouement_ fit for a novel yet. Oh, I do hope he may find his son.
And," added she, with a warm quick feeling, "I can see now reason for
the strange habits of our poor dear prophet. Oh, to think of the long
years of lonesome misery he must have passed!"

"He seems to have no doubt," said Pownal, "of discovering his lost
son. I confess that when I heard him in his animated way tell his
story, with eyes raised in thankfulness to heaven, I was swept along
by his enthusiasm, and felt no more doubt than himself of his success;
but when I reflect more calmly on the circumstances the prospect is
not so brilliant."

"Do not doubt: the prospect _is_ brilliant: Jeremiah shall cease his
lamentations: our prophet shall be made happy. Ah, why anticipate
anything but good!"

"I accept the omen, dear Miss Bernard," said Pownal, looking with
admiration upon her beaming countenance, "Men arrive at conclusions,
how often false, by a fallible process of reasoning, while truth comes
to your more fortunate sex by a happy inspiration."

"And I accept the compliment, since you accept the inspiration. I hope
it is with more than the ordinary sincerity of those in the habit of
making compliments."

"I wish you could see into my heart."

"You would wish the window closed immediately. What do you suppose I
should see there?"

"Yourself."

"Then it is a looking-glass," said Anne, blushing. "A valuable piece
of furniture certainly, in which any lady may view her face!"

"No! a portrait more true to life than Stuart's, and which I prize
above everything."

"You must be mistaken in fancying it mine. Only old pictures are
prized. The moderns have no reputation."

"You will always jest. I assure you I am serious," said Pownal, who,
however, was obliged to smile.

"I see you are very serious. Oh, I hate seriousness ever since I was
frightened by the long face of Deacon Bigelow, when he discovered my
ignorance of the catechism. It was as long," she added, looking round
for something to compare it to, "as the tongs."

"Or as your lessons of a June day, when the sunshine and birds, and
flowers were inviting you to join them."

"Or as the time when I do not see Faith for twenty-four hours."

"Or as my absence will be to me in New York."

"I wonder how you," said Anne, "who are accustomed to the bustle and
excitement of a large city, can be contented with the