sound, whether from within and sent up from her mighty heart, or from without and borne by the multitudes of the waves, I cannot tell ; but it is not to be forgotten when once it has been heard, and it seemed like a message sent up into the heaven to remind her Maker, how he had held her in hand very long, and sent her on very fast, and she was not wearied, but altogether amazed, at the greatness of the way. I was so strangely impressed with these sensations, that I often came up in the night, and sometimes Tom-who saw how awful and tender the night-time seemed to me-would call me when there was anything more than usually beautiful to be seen. It was always the same, there was a message, and it was going up to God. Sometimes when I slept after such a midnight watching, I have dreamed that I heard an answer, "It was not long, it was only a very little while that she had rolled. It was not far-but a very little way."

While we remained, which we did all the winter in the glorious heat, Tom was sometimes very genial, and generally he was calm ; but as we gradually drew up homeward again, I observed the same silent brooding of thought in his manner that had struck me so much months before. Every day as we came up northward, it fell down over him. He was very dull-almost spiritless. Oh, how different from that Snap whom once I had played with; he was altered even since I had come on board, more silent and more absent. I could now hardly recognise a trace of what he had been in his early boyhood, and his evident avoidance of all confidential talk, his dislike of being alone with me, and his restlessness, made me often seriously afraid that something-I knew not what-was impending.

I had been greatly struck with his silence and alteration of character when first I left school, but I had made myself believe that he felt shy in my company, on account of our having been parted so long.

Afterwards, when I saw how listless he was, and then, that when we were at Southampton, there was a sort of unnatural eagerness about him, I was compelled to give up that fancy; the change had nothing to do with me, I could neither influence him nor interest him, I must be content to talk to him and play to him when he wished it. I must take him as I found him.

;

When we got to Southampton, and sent for our letters to the hotel where they were always directed, I knew—or at least felt-that there would be none for me. I had no correspondents, my father never wrote. Amy only wrote twice a year. So I went forth with Mrs. Brand to take a walk, and I thought I had never seen anything so lovely as the airs the daisies were giving themselves, and the golden celandines, that April morning, so small and so pleased to show themselves. How different from the great trailing passion-flowers I had come from! creatures obviously so indifferent who looked at them. The whole of these northern flowers looked so modest, and

yet so conscious of man. I gathered a few daisies, and as I came back to our sitting-room at the hotel, Uncle Rollin tossed me a letter, saying,

"There, Dorothea, you may do as you like, but I shall decline, of course."

It was a letter from Mr. Mortimer, and contained a pressing invitation to him, Tom, and myself to come and stay with him and his family. The country, he said, was looking beautifully, the weather was fine; his son was impatient to renew his acquaintance with Tom; his daughters longed to make mine, &c., &c.

"Do you wish to go?"

I could not tell; I had been away so long that I felt as if I should be awkward and shy, and I faltered and said that I had never paid a visit in my life, and that this one seemed formidable.

"You will want some new gowns," said Tom, who now entered, and evidently knew the contents of the letter.

The notion of a visit in the country among green hills, fields, and hedges, away from the sound of the sea, and where I might ramble far and wide, was delightful to my yearning heart; but then, the conversation with Tom, and Mr. Brandon's look when he saw my red eyes, came into my mind, and a kind of sensitive pride and shame kept me silent.

"You cannot hesitate, of course, Dorothea," said Tom, "and I shall go certainly; I never argued in my life so much as I did with that fellow, and I should like to have it out with him if I could!"

"If she prefers to stay, she may," observed Uncle Rollin.

But no, I did not prefer it; the yacht was calm, and safe, and quiet, and this visit, I knew, would lift me into a different world. I was very much excited, even at the thought of it, and Mr. Brandon's face and voice, which I had lost from me, and almost for a time forgotten, seemed to come near to me again now that I was approaching his home, and make me feel awkward and shy; but I longed for the land, so I told Tom I would accept the invitation. During the winter, delightful as I had found its splendid light, colour, and heat, I had often felt an extraordinary pining for the green grass of my own country, and for the cheerful voices of my own country folk. I wanted to use my tongue, my hands, to be busy, even to be teased; also, to be in a house!

I thought of a landsman's life with romantic interest; I had visions moreover of Christmas gatherings, things which I had actually never seen, and would often dream that I was digging, or that I was gathering buttercups, or that I was walking to a village church, and could hear the bells ring. Yet I did not like to leave the yacht, because it was my home, nor Uncle Rollin because he and I suited cach other so well. I was getting on with my navigation, too, and he

was so fond of me. Yet it made me far more content to go that I was to have Mrs. Brand with me; whatever I might fear as to his leaving me with some motherly woman in a sea-port, I knew he would never leave her behind; she and Brand were necessary to his comfort; so I felt sure that however long we stayed he would wait for us, and set about my preparations for the visit with some security of heart.

As usual he heaped a quantity of finery on me, and showed an unaccountable desire that I should do him credit as far as all my habiliments were concerned. I took several walks with him, during which we inspected the outside of shop windows, and a large assortment of things went with me, which I resolved should never see the light unless I found the family just the very reverse of the sort of people I expected.

I have so many journeys to describe, my life has been so much spent in travelling, that I shall say nothing of this one, but pass on to the moment when Tom and I took leave of Uncle Rollin, and got into a railway carriage in a pouring rain.

We spent four hours in the train. I shall never forget what happy hours they were. I quite forgot Mr. Brandon and all the strangers I was going to, for there were real English cottages to see, and homely farm-yards, with poultry, cattle, trees just breaking into leaf, fallows soaked with spring rain, lambs,-all common things, but to me they were opening paradise.

The weather grew fine, and then sunny, as we advanced westward. The little station we were bound for appeared at last, the train stopped, and in the balmy delightful air I smelt the perfume of violets.

"There's Brandon," exclaimed Tom, "and a great tall boy, and two ladies."

We were soon out of the carriage; introductions were going on, laughter and welcome. A tall girl was introduced as "my sister, Miss Grant," and another as "my sister Elizabeth," and the youth as "my brother Valentine." This last was a remarkably fine young fellow, with light-brown eyes, a smiling face, and a cracked voice. A countrified servant was soon dragging out our luggage under Mrs. Brand's superintendence, and while we waited, my eyes in spite of myself were drawn to a bunch of primroses that one of the girls held. I pretended not to care for them, but could not help taking another and another look, whereupon the cracked voice spoke in my behalf. "Lou, Miss Graham wants your primroses."

The tall boy took them from her without ceremony, and gave them "Would you like some violets?" he continued;

to me.

"this is a

"Yes."

66

'Keep up Miss Graham's spirits while I'm gone, by timely allusions to her own demesne; talk about shell-fish, the grampus, and anything else that's cheerful and salt."

By this time the train had gone on, and Mrs. Brand, looking as if she was going to be led to immediate execution, was sitting still while the luggage was deposited in a cart, by the thin old servant, who wore a suit of drab. I was obliged to leave her to herself; and Mr. Brandon put me into a large heavy old carriage which was waiting. The two girls followed, and then he said he should wait behind to bring on an old Scotch aunt, who was coming in a few minutes by a train from the west. Tom declared his intention of remaining behind also; and at the last minute before we started, Valentine came up without his cap, which was full of violets, white and blue, and plenty of wet green leaves.

"Now what do you mean by this imprudence," said his brother, "when your voice is cracked in three places already?"

As if that was a sufficient answer, Valentine replied that the flowers were for me, and he insisted on getting inside; and he helped me to make them up into a large bunch, while we drove slowly on through a country lane.

I felt almost too happy to speak, the scent of the flowers was so sweet, and the green hedges, with their half-opened leaves, were so fair.

I looked out and saw daffodils hanging their yellow heads in the warm air; rooks were sailing and cawing over a group of elms, under which we were passing.

"Romantic, isn't it?" said Valentine, again coming near to my thought.

After the rain there was a delightful smell of fresh earth. I made some remark about it, and he replied: "We call that clay. Ruts a foot deep. Lou, I say, there are some goslings. I know Miss Graham wants some goslings."

He stopped the carriage and got out. We were passing through a little wood; I saw wild anemones, and heard birds piping on the boughs; the delicate sunshine of the north was sifting through them and dropping about on the grass as lightly as if it felt that it was taking a liberty. Down in a hollow, gleaming white in the creases between cushions of moss, I saw wandering patches of snow, for the spring had been late, and warm weather had come on suddenly.

The Miss Grants, now left alone with me, made a few remarks, which I answered mechanically; while with eyes and ears I took in the delightsomeness of my home.

Presently Valentine returned, with some twigs of willow covered with downy catkins.

"Called goslings by the native children," he observed, as he got in;

"for this is an inhabited island. Do you see that red erection, with a green door?"

"Yes, certainly."

"That is one of the houses of the native population;, places where, as you would say, they turn in;' but where, as we say, they 'hang out.' Liz, I know by the look of you that you're going to speak. There's no need."

"Really, Val," exclaimed the sister, "you must not be so impertinent."

"You don't understand the nautical temper. I ought to do. Haven't I got up the names of no end of ropes and spars? Don't I know all about the Gulf Stream? Why, I've studied tonnage and pennons, and stores, that I might meet her in her own element; but now she has run aground I find I'm cut adrift, for her thoughts are set upon dirt and weeds. You like me, don't you, Miss Graham?" "Very much, indeed."

There's another cottage.

"Ah, I told you so, Lou. Now you wouldn't have found out, unless I told you, that I helped to paint When I was young-youngish-I was very fond of

that door.

paint."

"You were about seven years old,” said Liz.

"Yes," replied Valentine. "Our gardener once lived there, and when he went away, St. George got papa to let him whitewash the inside himself, for his own pleasure. I helped, of course; and then he painted it up. And I remember to this day what joy it was to hear the slap of the brush upon the wood! We laid out the garden, too; then we built a pigstye. Papa and mamma used to come down every day to look at us. I helped, as well as I could; and it was very good fun. You see that donkey-shed. St. George built that, too; but I fell off it and broke my arm."

"Is St. George a bricklayer?"

"To think of your not knowing! Why, we call Giles so because mamma did. Now we are coming to a turn in the lane, and you will see our house-my father's house-described in The County GuideBook' as 'the modest but substantial residence of Daniel Mortimer, Esq., Justice of the Peace, with one long wing.'"

"Which has the wing?"

"You will judge of that when you have seen Daniel Mortimer, Esq., and his modest residence; but I thought you had seen my father. Haven't you?"

"Yes; I shall not easily forget him.”

"Ah! everyone says I'm my father's own son; and that's more than Giles can say,-or, indeed, others who shall be nameless. Liz and Lou look very prim just now; but you should see them on Sunday morning, quarrelling as to whose turn it is to walk to church. with papa. That's a painful spectacle."