the light
shining on the crimson wall; even the merry faces of the circle round
the hearth. And, as if to chant the chorus of so sweet a scene, there
broke out on the clear frosty air the distant carillon of Oldchurch
bells--marriage-bells too--signifying that not far off was dawning
another scene of love and hope; that, somewhere in the parish, was
celebrated the "coming home" of a bride.

The young creature, born with a woman's longings--longings neither
unholy nor impure, after the love which is the religion of a woman's
heart--the sweetness of home, which is the heaven of a woman's
life--felt that from both she was shut out for ever.

"Not for me--alas! not for me," she murmured; and her head drooped, and
it seemed as though a cold hand were laid on her breast, saying, "Grow
still, and throb no more!"

Then, lifting her eyes, she saw shining far up in the sky, beyond the
mist and the frost and the gloom, one little star--the only one. With a
long sigh, her soul seemed to pass upward in prayer.

"Oh, God! since Thou hast willed it so--if in this world I must walk
alone, do Thou walk with me! If I must know no human love, fill my soul
with Thine! If earthly joy be far from me, give me that peace of Heaven
which passeth all understanding!"

And so--mournful, yet serene--Olive Rothesay reached her home.

She found her friend there. Sara looked confused at seeing her, and
appeared to try, with the unwonted warmth of her greeting, to efface
from Olive's mind the remembrance of what had happened the previous
evening. But Olive, for the first time, shrank from these tokens of
affection.

"Even Sara's love may be only compassion," she bitterly thought; but her
father's nature was in the girl--his self-command--his proud reserve.
Sara Derwent only thought her rather silent and cold.

There was a constraint on both--so much so that Olive heard, without
testifying much pain, news which a few days before would have grieved
her to the heart. This visit was a good-bye. Sara had been suddenly sent
for by her grandfather, who lived in a distant county; and the summons
entailed a parting of some weeks--perhaps longer.

"But I shall not forget you, Olive. I shall write to you constantly. It
will be my sole amusement in the dull place I am going to. Why, nobody
ever used to enter my grandfather's house except the parson, who lived
some few miles off. Poor old soul! I used to set fire to his wig, and
hide his spectacles. But