at the end of which one sees the little fountain
with the red house, and a solemn background
of deep dark verdure behind it. I was walking
slowly, for I felt tired, when I heard the
voices again. I stole into the side path, and,
lurking there, I waited to see who was coming.
Hiding behind a thick clump of trees, I saw
this.

A handsome child, a boy richly dressed, came
up the avenue, throwing his ball and shouting
gaily. After him appeared my brother, and a
lady, a beautiful woman, walked by his side. In
a moment I knew her; this was Ellen Gibson.
My heart seemed to cease to beat. What had
brought her here? She spoke. In that light
voice which had once sealed my fate, and which
I knew so well, she said:

"I wish, Mr. Gibson, you would plant evergreens
at the gate. People do stare in so, and
am sure I saw some one just now moving
amongst those trees. And if it were not that,
there is no banshee—— "

"And how do you know there is no
banshee?" he interrupted, in his gay voice.

"Well, at all events it is a comfort to know
that dreadful old woman is getting civilised,
and wears gloves," said Ellen, pushing away
with her foot a glove which I had dropped in
my hurry to hide from them.

He laughed. He did not see me, but oh!
how I saw him, and how happy, how blest he
looked, with the strong light shining on his
handsome face. The boy had run on, and was
now shouting far away. William thought
himself alone with Ellen.

"My darling— my darling wife!" he said;
and he took her in his arms, and kissed her.

I leaned apainst the trunk of a tree, and
groaned aloud in my agony. But they had
walked on; they did not hear me; they did
not see me; they left me there alone with my
misery. There is a legend of a maiden's soul in
Purgatory who bought, at the cost of a thousand
years of pain, the boon of visiting earth to
console her lover, and who, finding that he had
forgotten her for another love, fulfilled her
compact in that one moment. Whilst the tempest
was howling around the ship that bore me, I
had asked of Heaven to see my brother again,
and see him well, prosperous, and happy; and
now was not my prayer granted, like that poor
soul's? Did I not see him again? Was he
not prosperous, thanks to me? And after what
I had beheld, could I doubt that he was happy?
Ah! I can say it from the depths of my heart,
I wished him to marry— I wished him to know
whatever joy had been denied to my life; I
grudged no good woman his love, and even
could have felt satisfied to look on and see
another loved far more fondly than I had ever
been. But that Ellen Gibson should be the
one! That she who had so wantonly destroyed
my happiness should reap the fruit of every
sacrifice! That she who had robbed me of her
brother should have stolen mine from me whilst
I was away toiling and suffering for him! That
she and her child, strangers to my blood, should
come and possess the lost home I had redeemed
for him all this it was that seemed too much,
and overpowered me! I could not bear it. I
sank down on the grass, and wept and moaned
there as if my heart would break.

A rustling sound roused me. I looked up
and saw her. She stood before me in her rich
silks, and with her still young beauty seeming
to triumph over my ruined life. The fountain
played behind her with a low pleasant sound,
but instead of my dear Miss Græme, I saw the
evil sorceress who had stolen Miss Græme's
son from me. She was alone. She did not
know roe at first, but on recognising me she
turned pale and stepped back.

"What are you afraid of?" I asked, bitterly.
"Have I not returned too late to save him
from you? Are you not his wife? You were
a widow, it seems, though you cannot long have
been such. I do not know and do not care by
what arts you made him forget that you are
almost as old as I am— far too old for him; you
did it. You made him so far forget the sister
who was away toiling for him, that he did not
await her return to marry you. Well, you have
prevailed a second time over me. Your brother
loved me, and you took him from me, and
helped to make him wretched. And, now that
you have taken my brother, my child, my
darling, make him happy at least, and it will
atone, perhaps it will atone, for all the weight
of grief you have laid upon me. Tell my
brother that he will find me at Rosebower.
Here I will never set my foot again."

She did not answer me one word, she looked
thunderstruck, nor did I give her time to speak.
As fast as I could I walked away. I forgot the
carriage, and, leaving by a postern door, I went
on to Rosebower like one pursued; it was only
the amazed look of the servant who came and
opened the door for me that recalled me to
myself. I sent her for the driver and my
luggage, and sat down in the lonely parlour.
How chill, how dreary it looked, with the blinds
down and the blank fireplace! Was this my
welcome home after near a year's parting? A
quick step along the gravel path roused me,
and, looking out, I saw my brother. He entered
the room pale, disturbed, and half angry.

"Anne," he said, taking me in his arms,
"Anne, how is this? Why are you here?"

"My darling," I replied, kissing him, "I am
here because it is best for me to be so."

He thought I was angry with him for not
waiting my return to marry Ellen, and he
proceeded to give me all sorts of reasons, which he
had found very convincing, for having taken
that step without my knowledge. I heard him
out, and seeing she had been silent on my real
grievance against her, I was silent too.

"My dear boy," I said, " I love you dearly,
and I think I have proved it, but it is not in
my power to live at the old house now, so I
came here."

"You don't know Ellen," he said, reddening
with displeasure; " she is an angel, and your
unkindness is breaking her heart."