ow he bent, assiduously creating little breezes for her benefit with her sandal-wood fan. She wished he would come up, and speak to her.

But the evening was quite far advanced, and Faith was about to retire to her room, when he approached her. Neither Mr. Morelle nor his sister was at her side. A gentleman held them in conversation, for which Homer was unutterably thankful. "No," he said, as Faith motioned him to seat, I shall not sit down. I want a breath of fresh air, and I want to talk with you. Come out, please, on the grounds. It is a lovely night, light as day, and many a couple is promanading on the green. You must not refuse," he added peremptorily, as he noted her air of indecision.

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She cast a glance at the Morelles, but they were still conversing with the gentleman, and, glad to be with Homer, she took his arm, and they were soon sitting apart from the rest on a rustic bench, just big enough for two, at the foot of a mountainash.

The night was alive with the sounds of nocturnal birds and insects; the green ablaze with fire-flies and glow-worms. Faith leaned contentedly back in her seat, "The night is perfect," she said; "the air is fresh and deliciously tempered, a crescent moon swings in a sea of deepest blue, the evening star has filled his chalice of silver splendor, and "

"Happy couples are about on every hand. Faith, do you know the name of that narrow shaded path, where so many young people are slowly wending their way? he asked half mischievously.

"No," curiously. "What is it?"

"Flirtation walk. Appropriate rather, insomuch as under cover of the umbrageous boughs, far away from mammas' vigilant eyes, the girls coquette to their heart's content. The proprietor of the American delights in fanciful, suggestive titles. The name of this seat, for instance, is full of significance."

"Indeed!"

Not caring to question him, and feeling very uncomfortable under the impassioned glances of his eyes.

"It is "slowly uttering the words, and not removing his mesmeric eyes from hers "the wooing bench. It is said that a lady who accepts a seat here with her escort always grants him the petition she knows he'll ask. How is it, Faith?" his tone losing its levity and becoming serious, “dare I repeat the question which was so cruelly treated in the days of auld lang syne? Dare I trust my fate once more in your hands? Darling, has n't the truth reached you at last? Don't you believe in your heart that the words that created such a disturbance

there were spoken merely in jest? Faith, do you love me?"

She had gathered in his words as the flowers drink in the dew. They were inexpressibly sweet to her. But she made him no reply; only sat there and trembled, and worked her fingers in a white knot. Her silence appalled him as of yore. After searching for her two years, and finding her, was he to lose her, let her slip out of his life again?

"Faith," taking the unresisting, tightly clenched fingers in his, "can you give me no hope? Am I to see you another man's wife, Mr. Morelle's? Somehow I hoped against hope,- thought that at the last you would turn to me, and say, 'Homer, I am yours; your great love has made me all your own.' How can I bear to give you up!"

He bowed his head sadly on his hands; again his glowing dream vanished into nothingness as a brilliant soap-bubble blown from the lips of a child. Love and marriage were not for him.

At this juncture a soft hand was laid on his. He did not feel its touch. He was thinking of the miserable future, unblessed by Faith's love, stretching a dreary waste before him. Then she spoke his name, but in such a low, tremulous voice, that it fell upon his ear unheeded. Dead to her voice and touch, what more could she do to convince him that she loved him even as he loved her, with a love that could not die, - that must prove the blessing or curse of her life? Even in the moonlight her sweet face grew hot with blushes of shame. There was no other way, and if they drifted apart this time, it might be forever. So one white arm stole timidly around the silent man's neck, and a pair of soft lips just touched his bearded cheek.

The change in him was decided and instantaneous. He gathered her to his breast, and showered kisses on her blushing face.

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"You do, you do love me," he cried rapturously. "O my darling, I will care for you so tenderly, that you shall never repent giving yourself to me. Tell me in words, Faith, that you do love me," man-like he persisted.

She drew herself away from his encircling arms, and slowly said,

"There is no need for me to deny what I am proud to own. Yes, Homer, I love you, and much unhappiness would have been spared me if I had proved myself less of an unbeliever in the days dead and buried. I am ashamed of my want of confidence in you. You must think me a very foolish girl."

"On the contrary, I think you a remarkably sensible woman to give me the right to care for you in the days to come. Bonny one, I have been so jealous of Mr. Morelle,

“Did you truly?”

A tumultuous rain of kisses silenced further words, and they sat there in the deepening night happy beyond expression, all doubts and suspicions at rest forever. The moon shone, the fire-flies danced, will-o'-the wisp fashion, on the green, the insects kept up their tiresome din, and the music rose and fell in waves of sweetest melody. A beautiful, beautiful night, and Homer would have been content to sit there a good while longer, but, remembering the Morelles, Faith started guiltily up, and made him take her back to the hotel.

A man stood on the piazza, leaning against one of the uplifted white pillars. It was Mr. Morelle. As Faith withdrew her hand from her lover's arm, he came toward her, and said,

He dropped her arm, and confronted her, his face pale and sad in the silvery moonlight.

"I hope you will be happy, Faith. It is no secret to you that you have won my love, and if you could have reciprocated it I should have been very, very happy. As it is, I cannot blame you. I can only say with all my heart, God bless you."

Over her he bent, and a passionate kiss fell on her quivering lips. Then he turned from her, and she saw him no more that night.

"A noble man," she murmured, "and deserving of a noble wife. God grant that he may forget me."

Did he? Ah, no! There could never be another so dear to him as Faith; but just six months after her marriage with Homer, he led to the altar the dashing young widow, Lulu Hilton. They led a resonably happy life, but whenever the Southerner thinks of the beautiful wife of Homer Gilbert, whose every wish is gratified as soon as made known, a yearning look comes into his eyes that is sad to see. Try as hard as he may he cannot forget her.

lay just beside the narrow path leading without

just under the shadow of the stately, gray, ivy-grown pile itself. It seemed so solitary in its snowy simplicity and purity, so out of place amid the old weather-beaten gravestones, with their quaintly worded and spelled epitaphs, in which "Here lyeth ye bodye," was much more frequent than "In memory of," and 1700 much oftener the date than 1800. So solitary and so lonely, so pure and still, was the little grave! Yet so exquisite was the sculptured beauty that none would have passed it by unnoticed, even had the inscription been a prosaic one. The old churchyard would have been interesting to any antiquarian, with its ancient tombstones, rough hewn, weather beaten, and ivy-grown, and its winding paths where

one least expected to find them; while the church more visits. It had been recently restored; but its characteristics had been so respected that it preserved its appearance of antiq uity to perfection. I had visited the church, entering by a quaint, iron-studded door in the wall,- had admired the rich stained windows, the carved stone pillars, the ancient carved pulpit, the recumbent figures of Crusaders lying on their tombs, almost effaced now by age; and then, passing out at the church door, I came upon the white tombstone lying just under the shadow outside the porch. Its dazzling whiteness, and the beauty of the carved cross entwined with drooping and broken lilies, first attracted me, and the inscription increased my interest. It was as follows:

And I saw him exchange a glance with Katie.

"Of course it has a story," I went on. "It must have. Do you know it, Colin?" "Hardly any one living knows it better," answered the rector gravely. "Are you really interested, Hugh, or is it idle curiosi

I assured him it was not, and, after a little persuasion, Colin began, his handsome face growing very grave, and his tone deepening as he went on.

Having mused a while over the interesting tomb, I turned homeward, thinking sentimentally of poor Frank Stafforde, who had lost his young wife and son within a few days of each other. I wondered too what the story was, for surely there was a story attached to that stone, and what the guilt could be to which the text pointed; or was it merely the sweet humility of a good and true woman which had wished to have that prayer, which says so much in so few words, engraved over her resting place?

So thinking, I arrived at the rectory just in time to hear the first bell ring, which caused me to hurry over my toilet, in order to be in time for dinner, my sister-in-law one of the most charming little women in the world being rather a martinet in that particular.

After dinner we strolled out lazily upon the lawn, Katie busy with some dainty work, which, dainty as it was, seemed to require but little attention, - while Colin and I, stretched on the velvet sward.at her feet, talked in disjointed sentences of old times and college days, parish work, and my prospects.

The shadows were lengthening, the golden glory of the setting sun was disappearing behind the trees, and we had remained in silence for some little time, when I began:

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Colin, can you tell me anything about a white marble tombstone lying under the

shadow of the church?"

My brother started a little at my abruptness, or at my question, perhaps, and did not answer for a moment.

"What tombstone?" he said then. "You are rather vague, Hugh."

"I'm not at all vague," I answered resentfully. "There is only one white tomb

Some few years ago the rector of Eastlingham and his curates, of whom I was one, were thrown into a terrible dilemma by the departure of our organist, who received the offer of a more lucrative appointment in London, which he could not be expected to refuse; and we had the utmost difficulty in finding a successor. I dare say, if Eastlingham had been within easy distance of Paddington or Waterloo stations, we should easily have found an efficient organist. As it was, the case seemed hopeless. The rector, who was passionately fond of music, and had been justly proud of his choral services, which were declining sorely, was in despair, and grew gloomy and irritable under the decadence of the musical glories of his church. In vain Katie devoted hours daily to the organ, trying to arrive at anything like efficiency. In vain we, the curates, advertised on weekdays, and on Sundays intoned the service in emulation of one another. All our efforts were unavailing to raise the cloud from our rector's brow. This distressing state of things had lasted three months, when a fortunate advertisement elicited a reply, accompanied by such satisfactory testimonials that Doctor Lumley instantly engaged the lady who wrote, and appointed an early day for her arrival at Eastlingham, giving orders that the Cot - a cottage allotted to the organist-should be made ready for her arrival.

One afternoon, three or four days afterward, I was leaving the church after afternoon service, when I saw coming up the centre aisle a young lady whose appearance was sufficiently remarkable to induce me to arrest my steps, and watch her. She was of, about the medium height, and dressed so, simply, and yet so gracefully, that I, usually unobservant as I am about such things, could not help noticing it. She wore a long, straight dress of some gray, soft stuff, finished off at the throat and wrists by a narrow linen band and black silk knots; and her hair was gathered up high and coiled round a shapely but haughty little head. I

Upon this I opened the organ, and stood aside to let her sit down.

She started a little - - a very little, however at my sudden appearance; and then, with a little bow, and not in the least disconcerted, she sat down and began to play. Such a flood of melody rose and filled the church that I stood spell-bound. Never, before or since, have I heard an organ played as she played it, with such softness and beauty, power and expression. As the sounds died away, and she rose, I drew a long breath.

"I wonder if our new organist will equal that," I said, allowing her, in my stupefaction, to close the organ.

She turned to me with a quick gesture, and for the first time I had a full view of

her face.

"I am the new organist," she said. My name is Leclerc."

I could hardly refrain from showing the surprise the announcement gave me. This simple, graceful girl, who played so superbly, the new organist !

"It is a treat to listen to such playing,” I said. "The rector will be delighted, he is a very enthusiastic musician; and you play superbly, Miss Leclerc."

"Ah, no," she replied, a little sadly, "I am much out of practice. I hope he will be pleased. Thank you."

And with another inclination of the graceful, haughty head, she turned from me, and left the church. As I followed I saw her going down the lane, with a large deerhound beside her; and I must own that my curiosity overcame my politeness sufficiently to induce me to watch her until she disappeared under the little jasmine-covered porch of the Cot. I went home to the lodgings I shared with Miles Whitmore, my fellow-curate, thinking of this new-comer, and wondering about her. Her face, with its pale complexion, velvety, dark eyes, and the little mobile mouth, was hardly a beautiful one; but it was remarkable. It had such possibilities of feeling, such depths of tenderness and love, and was so full of wistful yearning, that no one - surely no man with a heart under his waistcoat-would pass it unnoticed. I found Whitmore at home, and, as I entered the sitting-room, he started up with

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Why, the rector asked me to go and meet her; and I was never more surprised! What do you think of her?"

"I must see more of her before I judge," I answered. "She plays splendidly."

On this he made me give him a history of our meeting in the church, and then we dressed for dinner. We were going to dine at Summervale that night, and the thought of meeting Katie there put Miss Leclerc out of my head.

As days went on we found that, besides being a thorough musician, Miss Leclerc was possessed of a marvelously beautiful contralto voice, which had been highly cultivated, and which would have made her fortune on any stage. I was quite correct in my surmise that the rector would be enchanted. His one passion was music, and this passion the new organist's talent amply satisfied. All Eastlingham seemed to have fresh charm in the choral services, which soon attained an excellence that surpassed anything ever heard before in the old church. In fact, Miss Leclerc seemed to have taken us all by storm. Katie raved about her. For her Miss Leclerc seemed to have a singular and mysterious charm; her rare beauty,for Katie declared that she was very lovely, her quaint, foreign grace of manner, and her half-cynical, half-mocking style of conversation when she talked at all,which was seldom, seemed to fascinate Katie.

"I think she is a darling," Katie would say confidently. "But, mark my words, Colin, Renée Leclerc has a story, and the sadness of that story is written on her face."

That there was a mystery about her seemed undoubted. That any girl so brilliant, so perfect a musician, so accomplished, she spoke two or three foreign languages fluently, and displayed a very extensive knowledge of books and countries, should bury herself in a little seaside village, live utterly isolated and alone, working hard at her duties as village organist, duties which could hardly have been congenial ones, seemed so strange, so unheard of, that there must have been some mysterious