the Captain, that the storm would abate, and he
returned to the anxious Flora, to report the aspect of things without.

"It is a bad omen," said Flora, pouring out the coffee. "If we may judge
of the future by the present--it looks dark enough."

"Don't provoke me into anger, Flora, by talking in such a childish
manner, and placing reliance upon an exploded superstition. Women are so
fond of prognosticating evil, that I believe they are disappointed if it
does not happen as they say."

"Well, reason may find fault with us if she will," said Flora; "but we
are all more or less influenced by these mysterious presentiments; and
suffer trifling circumstances to give a colouring for good or evil to
the passing hour. My dear, cross philosopher, hand me the toast."

Flora's defence of her favourite theory was interrupted by the arrival
of two very dear friends, who had come from a distance, through the
storm, to bid her good-bye.

Mr. Hawke, the elder of the twain, was an author of considerable
celebrity in his native county, and a most kind and excellent man. He
brought with him his second son, a fine lad of twelve years of age, to
place under Lyndsay's charge. James Hawke had taken a fancy to settle in
Canada, and a friend of the family, who was located in the Backwoods of
that far region, had written to his father, that he would take the lad,
and initiate him in the mysteries of the axe, if he could find a person
to bring him over. Lyndsay had promised to do this, and the boy, who had
that morning parted with his mother and little brothers and sisters, for
the first time in his life, in spite of the elastic spirits of youth,
looked sad and dejected.

Mr. Hawke's companion was a young Quaker, who had known Flora from a
girl, and had always expressed the greatest interest in her welfare.

Adam Mansel was a handsome, talented man, whose joyous disposition, and
mirthful humour, could scarcely be trammelled down by the severe
conventional rules of the Society to which he belonged. Adam's exquisite
taste for music, and his great admiration for horses and dogs, savoured
rather of the camp of the enemy. But his love for these forbidden
carnalities was always kept within bounds, and only known to a few very
particular friends.

"Friend Flora," he said, taking her hand, and giving it a most hearty
and cordial shake, "this is a sad day to those who have known thee long,
and loved thee well; and a foul day for the commencement