eaning against a vine-wreathed pillar, his blue eyes fixed
with a sort of wistful, longing look upon Elsie's graceful figure and fair
face, as she sat in a half-reclining posture on a low couch but a few
feet from him.

"A wife," he answered, compelling himself to speak lightly.

"Don't let her do it," said Mr. Dinsmore, taking a seat by his daughter's
side; "I've warned her more than once not to meddle with match-making."
And he shook his head at her with mock gravity.

"I won't any more, papa; I'll leave him to his own devices, since he shows
himself so ungrateful for my interest in his welfare," Elsie said, looking
first at her father and then at Harold with a merry twinkle in her eye.

"I don't think I've asked how you like your new home and prospects,
Harold," said Mr. Dinsmore, changing the subject.

"Very much, thank you; except that they take me so far from the rest of
the family."

A few months before this Harold had met with a piece of rare good fortune,
looked at from a worldly point of view, in being adopted as his sole heir
by a rich and childless Louisiana planter, a distant relative of Mrs.
Allison.

"Ah, that is an objection," returned Mr. Dinsmore; "but you will be
forming new and closer ties, that will doubtless go far to compensate for
the partial loss of the old. I hope you are enjoying yourself here?"

"I am indeed, thank you." This answer was true, yet Harold felt himself
flush as he spoke, for there was one serious drawback upon his felicity;
he could seldom get a word alone with Elsie; she and her father were so
inseparable that he scarcely saw the one without the other. And Harold
strongly coveted an occasional monopoly of the sweet girl's society. He
had come to Viamede with a purpose entirely unsuspected by her or her
apparently vigilant guardian.

He should perhaps, have confided his secret to Mr. Dinsmore first, but his
heart failed him; and "what would be the use?" he asked himself, "if Elsie
is not willing? Ah, if I could but be alone with her for an hour!"

The coveted opportunity offered itself at last, quite unexpectedly. Coming
out upon the veranda one afternoon, he saw Elsie sitting alone under a
tree far down on the lawn. He hastened towards her.

"I am glad to see you," she said, looking up with a smile and making room
for him on the seat by her side. "You see I am 'lone and lorn,' Mr. Durand
having carried off papa to look at some new improvement in his sugar-house
mach