upil."

"I certainly wish to remain," said I, impatiently; "I have journeyed
quite a distance for that purpose, and shall be happy to commence the
instruction of my pupil immediately."

"Very well," said he. "Mary, take her to the nursery, and attend to any
of her wants."

The girl opened a door adjoining that which we had entered by; a narrow
hall and a flight of stairs led us to the room indicated.

A little solitary figure, breathing upon the window-glass, and tracing
thereon letters with long, thin fingers, was the first object that
presented itself to my eye,

"Here is your governess, Herbert," said Mary.

The little boy turned and surveyed me with his large, blue, mournful
eyes. They sent a quiver through my frame from their strange resemblance
to eyes I had seen but the night before in my dream.

He was apparently satisfied with his inspection, and his thin scarlet
lips parted into a smile.

I called him to me. He came forward timidly.

Taking his small hand, I asked him a few questions about his studies. I
found him intelligent, but grave beyond his years; very docile and
obedient, and ere the end of the day we became excellent friends.

CHAPTER III

I had lived six weeks at Bristed Hall, and, excepting on my first
arrival, had not interchanged a word with its master. 'Tis true I would
see him at times from the school-room window, walking through his park,
or smoking upon the long piazza, but he might have been across the ocean
for all the intercourse we had together.

It was early June; roses bloomed on every hedge. A season of dry weather
had succeeded the showers of spring, the mornings were sparkling, the air
delicious. I arose early one particularly sunny morn, that I might take a
walk, before the studies of the day commenced, to a natural lake which I
had discovered about a mile from the Hall.

Herbert begged to accompany me, and I, who loved at times the quiet of my
own thoughts, reluctantly granted his request.

We strolled out of the inclosure, and were leisurely wending our way over
the road, when our attention was attracted by the sound of wheels
emerging from a cross path. A carriage rolled briskly in view. The little
hand of my companion, which I held locked in mine, trembled violently.

"Oh, Miss Agnes, Miss Agnes!" he cried, pointing to the occupant of the
carriage, "there is Uncle Richard."

As it neared us, the driver reined in his horses, which snorted
impatiently as