a smiling nature, and she felt quite reassured. The dream had
been so pleasant and sweet; life seemed so peaceful and full of hope;
nature smiled so brightly on this holy morn, that she almost forgot the
hot words of the pastor and her jealousy of the night before. She began
hoping with all her strength, without knowing why, and suffered from a
contraction of the heart. It was a bright day; but the sunbeam was still
nearly horizontal, so she reasoned that it was quite early; but she
thought she ought to rise in order to assist Charles' mother in her
household duties. She would see Charles himself, feel the warmth of his
glance and hear the music of his voice. No objection was admissible; all
was certain. It was monstrous enough to have suffered the pangs of
jealousy on the night before; but now that the bright dreams and
glorious dawn had dispelled these, she felt sure that good news had come
at last. Youth is so constituted, that it quickly wipes its tears away,
for it is natural for youth to be happy, while its breath is made up of
hope.

Cora could not have recalled a single instance in which Charles Stevens
had uttered a word of hope or encouragement to her. Her thoughts seemed
to play at hide and seek in her brain, and she was so strangely,
peculiarly happy this morning, that she preferred to enjoy the revels of
day-dreams to the realities of life. Leaving her bed, she bathed her
face and said her prayers.

Voices were heard without, and she listened. One was the well beloved
voice of Charles Stevens. He was speaking with some one, whom she
rightly guessed had just arrived. The voice of the new-comer was too far
distant for her to recognize it at first: but her eye, glancing through
the lattice, descried the form of a man coming toward the house. That
tall form, with thin, cadaverous features and stern, unbending eye, was
the man who had publicly condemned her and held her up to the scorn of
the whole congregation, because she was the child of a player. Cora did
not hate him, for she was too pure, too good, too heavenly to hate even
the man who had declared her to be a firebrand of perdition. What was
his object this lovely morn? His appearance dispelled all the rosy
dreams and once more plunged her into that horrible, oppressive gloom,
which seemed heavier than lead upon her heart.

"You are abroad early, this morning, Mr. Parris," Charles answered to
the minister's morning greeting.

"Not too soon, however,"