the time," said her sister.

"Well," said Emilia, "in the mean time you can go to drive, or make
calls, or stay at home and make pretty little things to wear, as other
girls do."

"I can find time for that too, little sister, when I need them. But I
love children, you know, and I like to teach interesting studies. I have
splendid health, and I enjoy it all. I like it as you love dancing,
my child, only I like dancing too, so I have a greater variety of
enjoyments."

"But shall you not sometimes find it very hard?" said Emilia.

"That is why I shall like it," was the answer.

"What a girl you are!" exclaimed the younger sister. "You know
everything and can do everything."

"A very short everything," interposed Hope.

"Kate says," continued Emilia, "that you speak French as well as I do,
and I dare say you dance a great deal better; and those are the only
things I know."

"If we both had French partners, dear," replied the elder maiden, "they
would soon find the difference in both respects. My dancing came by
nature, I believe, and I learned French as a child, by talking with my
old uncle, who was half a Parisian. I believe I have a good accent,
but I have so little practice that I have no command of the language
compared to yours. In a week or two we can both try our skill, as there
is to be a ball for the officers of the French corvette yonder,"
and Hope pointed to the heavy spars, the dark canvas, and the high
quarter-deck which made the "Jean Hoche" seem as if she had floated out
of the days of Nelson.

The calm day waned, the sun drooped to his setting amid a few golden
bars and pencilled lines of light. Ere they were ready for departure,
the tide had ebbed, and, in getting the boats to a practicable
landing-place, Malbone was delayed behind the others. As he at length
brought his boat to the rock, Hope sat upon the ruined fort, far above
him, and sang. Her noble contralto voice echoed among the cliffs down
to the smooth water; the sun went down behind her, and still she sat
stately and noble, her white dress looking more and more spirit-like
against the golden sky; and still the song rang on,--

"Never a scornful word should grieve thee, I'd smile on thee, sweet, as
the angels do; Sweet as thy smile on me shone ever, Douglas, Douglas,
tender and true."

All sacredness and sweetness, all that was pure and brave and truthful,
seemed to rest in her. And when the song ceased at his summons, and she
came d