ssing his arm
around her waist, imprinted a kiss upon her fair cheek. Fostina
thinking this a bold intrusion upon the sacred cause of her grief,
rose and left the apartment.

The day was fast drawing to a close, and the lovely maiden again
wandered forth to visit the sacred spot where slept her beloved
friends. After remaining there some time, she returned and seated
herself beneath a lofty elm, which stood near the cottage, and turning
her eyes in the direction of the Mountain, she beheld Rineldo
approaching, who, on seeing his cousin, immediately came forward and
seated himself near her, in the mean time, expressing great surprise
that she had again ventured out at that late hour alone.

Fostina made but little reply, and rose from her seat to depart;
Rineldo soon followed, not a little displeased with her seeming
indifference towards him, and the wish that she plainly manifested to
avoid his company.

Fostina had ever treated her cousin with respect, and regarded him as a
friend for the great kindness which he had ever manifested towards her
since she had resided in her uncle's family. She now saw that, by
receiving his attentions, she was placing herself in a dangerous
situation.

Rineldo sought every opportunity to converse with his cousin; he
declared his love and offered his hand, making every effort to win her
affections. Fostina in a resolute and determined manner made known to
him her love for Lewis Mortimer, which was forever unchangeable.
Rineldo, on hearing this declaration from the lips of his cousin,
passed the remainder of the day in silence, and made no farther
allusion to the subject.

Towards evening Fostina retired to her apartment, and seated herself at
an open window which overlooked the gardens belonging to the cottage.
The evening zephyrs moved gently the branches of a willow, which shaded
the window where she was seated. The lonely maiden sat musing awhile,
and then, with a low, musical voice, she sang the following lines:--

"Mournfully, O, mournfully,
This midnight wind doth sigh!
Like some sweet, plaintive melody
Of ages long gone by;
It speaks a tale of other years,
Of hopes that bloomed to die--
Of sunny smiles that set in tears,
And loves that mould'ring lie.

"Mournfully, O, mournfully,
This midnight wind doth moan!
It stirs some chord of memory,
In each dull, heavy tone;
The voices of the much-loved dead