r telling you soft tales of love, and swearing that your eyes are
the brightest in creation--as, to be sure, they are; and that never such
an angel walked the earth--as, to be sure, there never did; but who mean
it not well with you, cousin Jocelyne, and would but have their will to
desert you and leave you to sorrow, and who, with all their gilded
finery, are not worth one inch of the coarse stuff of a stout-hearted
honest artisan who loves you, and would see you happy; although I say
it, who should not say it."

Jocelyne drew up her head proudly as if about to speak; but, as her
melancholy pale hazel eyes met those of her cousin, sparkling with
animation and good-humour, she only turned herself away, whilst a bright
flush of colour overspread that cheek but a moment before so pale.

"Why, look ye, cousin Jocelyne," continued the youth once more, after a
moment's pause; "it will out, in spite of me, all that I have got to
say. I cannot see your pale cheek and tearful eye, and hear the sigh
that ever and anon breaks so painfully from your bosom, but that, all
simple as I be, I can tell it is not only for our poor grandmother you
sorrow. Mayhap I have heard what I have heard, and seen what I have seen
besides; but never mind that. Believe me, you sorrow for those who love
you not truly as there are others who love you--you pain your heart
until you will break it, for those who play you false."

"Alayn, I can hear no more of this! You know not what you say!" cried
the fair girl hastily; and, laying down upon the table her book, she
arose and walked away from him to lean out of the window.

"Nay, pardon me, cousin Jocelyne," exclaimed the youth in a pained tone,
also rising and advancing towards the window. "I do but speak as I
should and must speak, being your well-wisher--I mean you well, God
knows. And the time will come when you too will know _how_ well!"

Jocelyne turned her eyes, which were moist with tears, to her cousin;
and, stretching out her hand to him, she said, with all that romantic
fervour of the ingenuous girl which almost wears the semblance of
inspiration--

"Alayn, I know you love me, and that you mean it well with me. You are a
kind and sincere brother to me. But, oh! you cannot read the deep deep
feelings of the heart, or judge how little words have the power, like
the charms we read of, to heal its wounds and wrench asunder the chains
that bind it for ever and ever! The ivy, when torn from the s