rd songs, and the zephyrs rushed
into my window and staggered me like so many sentinels. One day I
slept fitfully, and dreamed that I was poor and orphaned, with the
alternatives of death or work before me. I had wandered to a village
and thrown myself beneath some elms, with a horrible despair sealing
my eyelids. Suddenly the grass was stirred by some human footfalls,
and two soft voices were speaking close beside me.

"'It is strange,' said the first voice; 'he is pale and delicate, but
with no evidences of heavier afflictions.'

"'You do not know him,' murmured the other; 'wait and see!'

"A face bent down to mine, and the lips of a woman touched my cheek. I
started in my sleep, caught my breath gaspingly, and quivered like an
aspen.

"'This is indeed terrible,' said the soft voice compassionately; 'but
do not despair. It cannot be nature. It must be habit, or bashfulness,
or the effect of some childish and forgotten fright. Cheer up, and
hope!"

"'Be kind to him, Heraine,' resumed the other; 'you are my last resort,
and becoming his companion you become my child. Do not vex, do not excite
him. Be yourself--always calm, gentle, and affectionate--and the kindness
which you show my boy may God return to you in mercy and blessing!'

"I unclosed my eyes; the scene was resolved to my quiet library.
Something glided through the door, but a form from the other side
flung a shadow across my face. A premonition of the keeper thrilled me
a moment, but I turned slowly at length and looked into the intruder's
face.

"A woman, or rather a girl with a woman's face, serene and placid, as
if never ruffled by care or passion, sat between me and the window,
and the gloomy light softened her calm countenance. As I looked up her
lashes fell, and her blue eyes were bent fixedly upon the floor. She
seemed like one of my sedate portraits, which had come down from its
case. She waited, apparently, for some sign of recognition, or until
my surprise should have passed away, and did not move while I ran her
over with keen curiosity. She was, probably, of my own age, though her
self-possession might have stamped her as much older; but the bloom of
her cheek and her bosom just ripening were indices of a girl's year's.
She raised her eyes at length and bade me good afternoon in a voice
which reminded me of the faintest lullaby. The quiet tone was seconded
by an assuring glance, and directly we were conversing without
restraint, as if fri