ring thoughts were ever turning to the past, and where
by no exertion could she keep pace with those who "sorrowed not as she
sorrowed."

"We did not dare to talk to her of the future," said poor
MacNaghten,--"her grief was too holy a thing to be disturbed by such
thoughts; but amongst ourselves we spoke whisperingly of when we were
all to meet again, and she seemed to listen to us with interest. It
was strange enough," remarked he, "how sorrow had blended all our
natures,--differing and discordant as Heaven knows they were--into some
resemblance of a family. I felt towards Polly as though she had been
my sister, and totally forgot that Gabriac belonged to another land and
another people: so humanizing is the touch of affliction!"

It struck three; and at four o'clock Dan was to sail. As he stood up, he
caught sight of my mother, and saw that her eyes were full of tears. She
made a signal to him to approach, and then said, in a fervent whisper,--

"Come and see him before you go;" and led the way to the adjoining room,
where her baby lay asleep. "I know," said she, in broken accents, "that
you will be a friend to him always; but if aught were to befall you--"

MacNaghten cast his eyes heavenward, but made no answer.

"Yes," cried she, "I have that hope;" and, so saying, she knelt down
beside the little cot to pray.

"It was odd," said he, when telling me this. "I had never heard words of
prayer in the French language before; but they struck upon my heart with
a power and significance I cannot explain. Was it some strange inward
consciousness of the power of Him before whom I was standing, and who
knows every tongue and every people, and to whom all hearts are open,
let their accents be ever so unlike or so various? I was in the street,"
added he, "without knowing how I came there, for my brain was turning
with a thousand thoughts.

"'Where to, sir?' said the carman.

"'The Pigeon House,' said I, seating myself on the vehicle.

"'Ain't you Mr. MacNaghten, sir?' asked a large, well-dressed man, in a
civil voice, as he touched his hat respectfully to me.

"'That is my name,' replied I.

"'Mr. Daniel MacNaghten, of Garrah Lynn?' asked he, again.

"'When I owned it,' rejoined I, trying to smile at a sad recollection.

"'Then I have a writ against you, sir,' continued he, 'and I'm sorry I
must execute it, too.'

"'At whose suit, and for what sum?' asked I, trying to be calm and
collected. He answered my last q