e some of the strutting fan-tailed
inhabitants were perched, swelling out their snowy breasts, and
discoursing of their domestic trials in notes of dulcet melancholy;
while lower down, three or four ring-doves nestled on the roof in a
patch of sunlight, spreading up their pinions like miniature sails, to
catch the warmth and lustre.

Within the deep, shadowy embrasure, like a jewel placed on dark velvet,
was seated a girl spinning,--no other than the mysterious maiden of the
shell cavern. She was attired in a plain, straight gown, of some soft
white woolen stuff, cut squarely at her throat; her round, graceful arms
were partially bare, and as the wheel turned swiftly, and her slender
hands busied themselves with the flax, she smiled, as though some
pleasing thought had touched her mind. Her smile had the effect of
sudden sunshine in the dark room where she sat and span,--it was radiant
and mirthful as the smile of a happy child. Yet her dark blue eyes
remained pensive and earnest, and the smile soon faded, leaving her fair
face absorbed and almost dreamy. The whirr-whirring of the wheel grew
less and less rapid,--it slackened,--it stopped altogether,--and, as
though startled by some unexpected sound, the girl paused and listened,
pushing away the clustering masses of her rich hair from her brow. Then
rising slowly from her seat, she advanced to the window, put aside the
roses with one hand, and looked out,--thus forming another picture as
beautiful, if not more beautiful, than the first.

Lorimer drew his breath hard. "I say, old fellow," he whispered; but
Errington pressed his arm with vice-like firmness, as a warning to him
to be silent, while they both stepped farther back into the dusky gloom
of the pine boughs.

The girl, meanwhile, stood motionless, in a half-expectant attitude,
and, seeing her there, some of the doves on the roof flew down and
strutted on the ground before her, coo-cooing proudly, as though
desirous of attracting her attention. One of them boldly perched on the
window-sill; she glanced at the bird musingly, and softly stroked its
opaline wings and shining head without terrifying it. It seemed
delighted to be noticed, and almost lay down under her hand in order to
be more conveniently caressed. Still gently smoothing its feathers, she
leaned further out among the clambering wealth of blossoms, and called
in a low, penetrating tone, "Father! father! is that you?"

There was no answer; and, afte