as never bless'd before,
And the heart of thy belov'd shall be most gentle, kind and pure;
But thy red hand shall be lifted at duty's stern behest,
And give to fell destruction the head thou lov'st the best.

"Feel! the air! the air!" she exclaimed, suddenly dropping the child's
hand, and lifting her own toward the sky.

"Yes, I told you it was going to rain, but there will not be much, only
a light shower from the cloud just over our heads."

"It is going to weep! Nature mourns for her darling child! Hark! I hear
the step of him that cometh! Fly, fair one! fly! Stay not here to listen
to the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely!" cried the wild
creature, as she dashed off toward the forest.

Marian and Edith looked after her, in the utmost compassion.

"Who is the poor, dear creature, Edith, and what has reduced her to this
state?"

"She was an old playmate of my own, Marian. I never mentioned her to
you--I never could bear to do so. She was one of the victims of the war.
She was the child of Colonel Fairlie and the bride of Henry Laurie, one
of the most accomplished and promising young men in the State. In one
night their house was attacked, and Fanny saw her father and her husband
massacred, and her home burned before her face! She--fell into the hands
of the soldiers! She went mad from that night!"

"Most horrible!" ejaculated Marian.

"She was sent to one of the best Northern asylums, and the property she
inherited was placed in the hands of a trustee--old Mr. Hughes, who died
last week, you know; and now that he is dead and she is out, I don't
know what will be done, I don't understand it at all."

"Has she no friends, no relatives? She must not be allowed to wander in
this way," said the kind girl, with the tears swimming in her eyes.

"I shall always be her friend, Marian. She has no others that I know of
now; and no relative, except her young cousin, Thurston Willcoxen, who
has been abroad at a German University these five years past, and who,
in event of Fanny's death, would inherit her property. We must get her
here, if possible. I will go in and send Jenny after her. She will
probably overtake her in the forest, and may be able to persuade her to
come back. At least, I shall tell Jenny to keep her in sight, until she
is in some place of safety."

"Do, dear Edith!"

"Are you not coming?" said Edith, as she led her little girl toward the
house.

"In one moment, dear; I wish only to bi