at was certainly not the palace that a beautiful
sea-princess should have inhabited. Where were the pine woods around it,
and the lofty hills, and the wild beating of the waves on the sands
below? And now it seemed strange and sad that just as he was about to go
away to the North, and breathe the salt air again, and find the strong
west winds blowing across the mountain-peaks and through the furze,
Sheila, a daughter of the sea and the rocks, should be hiding herself in
obscure lodgings in the heart of a great city. Perhaps--he could not but
think at this time--if he had only the chance of speaking to her for a
couple of moments, he could persuade her to forgive him everything that
had happened, and go away with him--away from London and all the
associations that had vexed her and almost broken her heart--to the free
and open and joyous life on the far sea-coasts of the Hebrides.

Something caused him to turn his head for a second, and he knew that
Sheila was coming along the pavement--not from, but toward the house. It
was too late to think of getting out of her way, and yet he dared not go
up to her and speak to her, as he had wished to do. She, too, had seen
him. There was a quick, frightened look in her eyes, and then she came
along, with her face pale and her head downcast. He did not seek to
interrupt her. His eyes too were lowered as she passed him without
taking any notice of his presence, although the sad face and the
troubled lips told of the pain at her heart. He had hoped, perchance,
for one word, for even a sign of recognition, but she went by him
calmly, gravely and silently. She went into the house, and he turned
away with a weight at his heart, as though the gates of heaven had been
closed against him.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

LAKESHORE RELICS.

We were sitting on the sand looking off over the blue water veiled with
the soft haze of Indian summer. A point covered with pine trees
stretched boldly out into the lake, its rocky cliffs rising
perpendicularly eighty feet above the beach, a sheer precipice from
whose summit a pebble dropped would strike the water below. On the west
a stream came rippling over the stones between bluffs high and massive
enough for a deep rapid river--bluffs of wild majesty worn into varied
outlines, as though a mighty torrent had once surged between them,
forcing the very rocks to crumble before its headlong career. But now
only a gentle stream wandered through the broad