became more animated; "much, and by far the greater part, of the depression you have remarked, arises from the dread my darling felt, that what she persists in calling her fickleness and indecision, had sunk her in your estimation—that you must henceforth think of her as one infirm of purpose, and incapable of understanding her own feelings-the great value she sets on your approbation, makes her dread its loss.

"And Constance could fancy all this!" he exclaimed impetuously. "Good Heavens ! how I have been misunderstood. Constance, whom I all but worship-what have I said or done to cause this mistake? Oh! tell her so, dear Mrs. Templeton, let me no longer appear a harsh censor, when, I vow to you, I think all she does perfect-yes, perfect."

You must tell her this yourself, my dear Ashley-and receive it as a favourable omen that here she is, and that you have my best wishes for your success ;" and before he could reply or protest, she went to meet Constance, who had been out with Gretchen, leaving him in the little boudoir.

"There is a letter waiting you from Caroline," said her mother, motioning to the sitting-room, while she went up-stairs, to hope and pray that the long-cherished wish of her

heart might be on the eve of accomplishment; for Ashley's love had been discovered by her, even before Hubert proposed-and it was the superior estimation in which she held him, that had made her feel keenly disappointed when young Forrester was accepted.

Hastily discarding bonnet and cloak, Constance went forward and opened the door. There stood Ashley-what made Constance feel faint, and wish herself far away? Surely not the sight of that handsome face and form -surely not the expression of those splendid eyes?

But quickly rallying, she said, "Mamma told me there was a letter from dear Cary;" and eagerly taking it from him, as he silently handed it to her, she began the perusal.

How he noted the changes of her beautiful countenance, as she read-how critically he observed that, though sad, she did not look wretched-and what a sigh of relief did he give, when, folding up the letter, she remarked-" Poor Mrs. Forrester, my heart aches for her-and Hubert, too, to have his happiness thus overcast at its early dawn." This did not sound like the language of a blighted heart-nor did the sympathy of her manner betoken any exclusively personal feelings and hope, which had first awoke

when Mrs. Templeton spoke, was now felt in every pulse.

Rather astonished at his silence, she looked up-and the eloquent features she gazed at told the whole history-the treasured secret, the jealously guarded feelings of years, were there written as plainly as in a book. He took the trembling hand that offered him the letter, and gently retaining it, said, while his rich voice shook with emotion

Constance, I have loved you for years: I still love you-must ever love you -and growing bolder, as something in her attitude and face encouraged his fast increasing hope, he drew her towards him-" tell me," he continued, and there was almost a solemn earnestness in his whole manner, "tell me; but oh, tell me not that it is hopeless ?"

For the second time in her life, the sweet face was hid on his shoulder-but not now, as in the extremity of her desolation, to be withdrawn pale and sorrow-stricken-oh no! not so-she was folded in a loving embrace to his tried and true heart, while a distinct but gentle "No," burst from her lips-and Time and his minutes passed unheeded by—

"For who with clear account remarks,

The ebbing of his glass,

When all its sands are diamond sparks
Which dazzle as they pass?"

Poor Mrs. Templeton, meanwhile, was agitated by the alternations of fear and hope—the latter gaining strength as her watch told that an hour had passed since Constance had entered; for she justly conjectured that a refusal need not occupy more than a few minutes.

At length she descended-and the first look at the perfectly radiant countenance of Ashley, told the tale of successful and accepted love. Dear Mrs. Templeton, congratulate me,

said he, leading Constance forward.

"And who is to condole with me?" she asked, trying to conceal her emotion.

You shall never be allowed to need condolence," was his animated reply.

"I believe you—I know that you say well. For years I have hoped for this-even when hope seemed almost madness; I have long read your secret, my son-and sighed to know that you were not happy-ah! when shall we learn to wait and trust? This blessed day, compensates for all."

May I come again this evening ?" he in quired, a bright smile lighting up his face as he looked at Constance, whose arm was affectionately thrown round her mother.

"If you feel inclined - only if," was her cheerful answer; "but now farewell."

CHAPTER XXI.

-Justice

Must lay her balance by, and use her sword.”

Massinger.

"I AM sorry to disturb and trouble you, sir," said Mrs. Dawson to the Colonel; "but really my conscience will not allow me to keep silent any longer."

"And what has made your conscience so desirous of hearing you talk just now ?"

“Why, sir, it is rather a long and unpleasant story; but, if you have time, I really should be very glad if you would listen."

“Very well," he replied, scarcely, however, removing his eyes from his papers; “begin; only remember that I am not your conscience, nor so determined to make you break silence; therefore be brief."

"I shall do my best, Colonel, as I always do; no one can accuse me of chatter and gossip" and as he discreetly made no reply,