respect than amiability would do," said Ellinor. "I think
there is some design in all she utters."

"I don't know how it is, but the words and sight of that woman have
struck a damp into my heart," said Madeline, musingly.

"It would be wonderful if they had not, child," said Lester, soothingly;
and he changed the conversation to other topics.

As concluding their walk, they re-entered the village, they encountered
that most welcome of all visitants to a country village, the postman--a
tall, thin pedestrian, famous for swiftness of foot, with a cheerful
face, a swinging gait, and Lester's bag slung over his shoulder. Our
little party quickened their pace--one letter--for Madeline--Aram's
handwriting. Happy blush--bright smile! Ah! no meeting ever gives the
delight that a letter can inspire in the short absences of a first love
"And none for me," said Lester, in a disappointed tone, and Ellinor's
hand hung more heavily on his arm, and her step moved slower. "It is
very strange in Walter; but I am more angry than alarmed."

"Be sure," said Ellinor, after a pause, "that it is not his fault.
Something may have happened to him. Good Heavens! if he has been
attacked again--those fearful highwaymen!"

"Nay," said Lester, "the most probable supposition after all is, that he
will not write until his expectations are realized or destroyed. Natural
enough, too; it is what I should have done, if I had been in his place."

"Natural," said Ellinor, who now attacked where she before
defended--"Natural not to give us one line, to say he is well and
safe--natural; I could not have been so remiss!"

"Ay, child, you women are so fond of writing,--'tis not so with us,
especially when we are moving about: it is always--'Well, I must write
to-morrow--well, I must write when this is settled--well, I must write
when I arrive at such a place;'--and, meanwhile, time slips on, till
perhaps we get ashamed of writing at all. I heard a great man say
once, that 'Men must have something effeminate about them to be good
correspondents;' and 'faith, I think it's true enough on the whole."

"I wonder if Madeline thinks so?" said Ellinor, enviously glancing at
her sister's absorption, as, lingering a little behind, she devoured the
contents of her letter.

"He is coming home immediately, dear father; perhaps he may be here
to-morrow," cried Madeline abruptly; "think of that, Ellinor! Ah! and he
writes in spirits!"--and the poor girl clapped her h