gret having kept in what appeared to her the stern path of duty; but she perceived now, even more than formerly, how rugged, and thorny, and solitary it was. For many of the past years of her young life, she had seen it winding up the dark rough mountain; and in the distance, she had shudderingly noted its weary desolation; but now that she had reached it, and had begun to thread its uneven surface, she found that its terrors and difficulties were not less than she anticipated; and as the first of its shadows began to close around her, and its thorns to lacerate her, and its steep upward windings into the darkness and gloom to appal her, she bowed her head in meek, but hopeless resignation.

In going up towards St James' Court on this particular evening, her hard lot came more consciously and crushingly on her spirit; for how often, at this place and hour, had Henry's arm been quietly thrown around her, and his sweet, tender words thrilled her heart? But she was alone now, utterly alone; and few know the meaning of that terrible word, alone. It does not necessarily imply outward solitude. A human being may never be less alone than when alone, or more alone than when, as now, a populous city is at hand, and its street wanderers jostle at every step. It is the soul, the heart, the feeling, the consciousness, that is plunged in solitudewhen sympathy is shut out, and companionship denied when the sentient existence is kept within itself, its hopes, fears, and sorrows unshared and unlightened by others-when no one is near to understand or soothe-that is solitude; and though a bustling crowd may be around, their presence rather increases than diminishes the sense of loneliness.

When passing under the heavy walls of St Giles', Diamond felt a hand laid on her shoulder; and turning quickly round, she encountered a pair of dark eyes gazing earnestly into her face. The eyes belonged to a woman, a woman rather above the middle size, and of middle age; but being well muffled, Diamond could not make out her features. She was a stranger, however, at least the young girl could not recollect having seen her before.

"You are called Diamond Hunter?" said the woman, in a firm, emotionless voice.

"Yes," answered Diamond mechanically, for she was filled with wonder at the question and the questioner.

"Then come aside to the end of the church. I want to speak to

you."

The girl at once obeyed, and they were presently withdrawn from the bustle of the High Street.

"You are a foundling?" said the stranger, in the same cold tones. "Alas! yes," replied Diamond, dejectedly.

Would you like to know who you parents are, and to be restored to them ?"

"Merciful heaven! do you know any thing about them?" asked the girl, bending eagerly toward the other's face.

"I do," was the laconic answer.

Speak! are-are you my mother?" gasped Diamond, with intense emotion.

"What! I? No, no," replied the other, with a low laugh.

"But

I know who she is, and can take you to her. There, don't go for to faint; that, you know, can do you no good, and may do harm.” As she uttered these last words, she reached out her hands to support Diamond, who had staggered, as if she would fall.

The poor bewildered girl exerted all her firmness to resist the terrible emotion that came upon her; and partially succeeded, for the dizziness left her brain, and her tottering knees grew stronger. "O take me-take me at once to my mother!" she exclaimed, wildly. "Let me see her; let me know from her own lips if I am the child of shame!"

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"No, indeed; you are not," was the answer.

I am not, you assure me of this?"

"I swear it. There, you are overcome again. is in a dead faint."

Goodness me! she

She was just in time to prevent her from falling against the iron railings; and received the inanimate girl in her arms, where she lay for a time utterly unconscious.

It was a delirium of joy, not of grief, that had suddenly swallowed up her senses in forgetfulness. The last few words had opened up to her a heaven of bliss; and when the brightness shone in upon the dark gulf, in which she had long been, it was so deliciously startling, that the joy it produced was unbearable.

It was a minute or two ere signs of returning animation showed themselves; and Mrs Dogwood-for the stranger was no other-was terrified lest any one should approach, and she durst not leave her to seek for restoratives. She grew alarmed, as the period of unconsciousness was prolonged; and was about to call to her aid a man who was sauntering back and forward at a little distance, watching the interview, when a flutter at Diamond's heart intimated that consciousness was returning.

"Diamond, rouse yourself, my girl," she whispered, anxiously. "Don't give way to this weakness. You will have need of all your

strength, to go through what is before you."

"O say it again," said the trembling girl. "Say that I am not the child of shame!"

"I say it. I solemnly assure you that you were born in lawful wedlock."

My

"Enough, enough," responded Diamond, with a sigh of unutterable satisfaction. "I care for nothing now you can tell me. parents may be poor-they may be low in the world's estimation;

but it matters not to me. I can love them; for the daughter may look into the mother's face without a blush."

"Poor and low! What is the girl dreaming about?" ejaculated the stranger. "They are-But no. I cannot say a word more just now. If you want to learn more, meet me an hour hence at the west corner of Bruntsfield Links. Will you promise this?" "I do. I will be there at the time appointed," replied Diamond, eagerly.

"And something more you must promise," added the other. "Breathe not to mortal ear that you have held this conversation, and let no one know the errand on which you are coming. If you do, you will ruin all."

This promise the excited girl likewise gave; and no sooner had she done so, than the woman vanished among the throng that crowded the High Street. Joining the tall man we have referred to, she whispered hastily,

"It's all right. We may count upon her coming, and telling uo Quick-we have no time to lose. In an hour she will be

one.

there."

The two immediately darted down a close, where we need not follow them.

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Meanwhile, Diamond, in a state of extraordinary excitement, walked up the Lawnmarket towards her residence. What a change had a few moments brought upon her! It was as if a bright lightning flash had leapt from the black cloud that hung over her, and been photographed on its bosom. "Born in lawful wedlock!" she muttered, with a thrill of delight. Then we may-yes, Henry, we may yet be united. O Heaven, I thank thee for this mercy." Ere she well knew, she was ascending the stairs, and about to enter the little room where she expected to find Andrew, when she bethought herself that she must if possible suppress her emotion. She remembered her promise, and feared lest Andrew should observe anything extraordinary in her countenance. But it was impossible, and she felt it so, to resume her wonted The composure. momentous revelation which had been made to her, influencing, as it would do, so radically, her whole existence, brightening it, making it the happy, joyous, musical thing her nature longed for; uniting her faith and duty, her love and conscience; enabling her, with all satisfaction, to receive Henry's tenderest regards, and render them back with fourfold affection; to be joined to him in wedlock, and feel no shame-a discovery opening so wide a door of hope, and letting in so much sunshine, could not be concealed by a being whose character was so transparent; and in spite of her efforts, which probably only made her agitation the more noticeable, the old man perceived her excitement.

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'Hey, Diamond, lass!" he exclaimed.

"What's the meanin' '

thae flushed cheeks and sparklin' een? My certy, I hinna seen ye sae brisk this mony a day. Has Henry come back?"

"Not that I know of," said Diamond, throwing off her bonnet, and vexed at having half betrayed herself.

"Then what has has happened, to pit sic a colour in yer face? Hae ye heard frae him?"

No," with a smile.

"Nor aboot him?"

"No," with another smile.

Weel, I canna understand ye the nicht ava. For weeks-ay, ever sin' yon nicht ye refused to be Henry's wife-ye hae been douf and dowie; and noo, a' at ance, ye come in wi' a bricht ee, and the flush o' hope, at ony rate, if no happiness, on yer face. What is the meanin' o't?"

Thus driven to extremity, and forced to say something, she told Andrew that the hope had seized her that she might not be an illegitimate child, and that she was resolved to do her utmost to discover her parents, and the circumstances of her birth.

"Tak' my advice, and dae nae sic thing," said Andrew, gravely shaking his head. "If ye succeed ava, it may be only to your

vexation."

Nay, I cannot be made worse than I am, for I have taken up my present position on the assumption of the worst; and it is possible that, were I to reach the truth, the barrier which separates me from Henry might be removed. Now, would that result not be

worth striving for?"

"Nae doot," replied Andrew, drily; "but anither barrier might start up, just as great. Supposin' that ye fand oot that ye were the dochter o' great folk, what wad be dune then?"

"Done!" echoed Diamond, in surprise.

be opened before us at once."

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Why, our way would

"I'm no just sae shure aboot that," remarked the sagacious Andrew. "It wadna maybe just be very convenient for a great heiress to marry a compositor."

"What!" cried Diamond, indignantly. "Do you think I would in any circumstances despise Henry, or reject him because he was poor?"

"No. I dinna think that ye wad dae that, but your friends micht."

"Then would I forsake them and all their wealth, and cling to the honest, humble lot of the man of my choice," exclaimed Diamond, with enthusiasm.

"Spoken like yersel', my noble lassie," cried Andrew, drawing her proudly towards him. "And a happy day will it be for me when you and Henry stand up afore the minister. But what a strange creature ye are, Diamond! Ye lo'e Henry, I ken fine, wi’

a' yer heart, and yet, for a foolish norry, ye'll no be his wife. Weel, weel, I'll no say ony mair; but sit ye doon and tak' yer supper. It's been waitin' on ye this hour."

Diamond started, looked at the clock in the corner, and saw that it was nearly time to leave for her appointment.

"I cannot eat any to-night, Andrew," she said. "I think a walk will do me more good. You will not object to me taking a short turn?"

"No a bit. I'm a great advocate for open-air exercise; but I dinna like the notion o' ye gaun yersel'. When Henry was here to gang wi' ye, my mind was quite easy; but

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"O never fear; I shall be quite safe," said Diamond, throwing her arms playfully round him, and giving him a kiss.

Blessin's on yer sweet face," said the old man, fondly. "If it wasna for the rheumatism, I wad gang wi' ye mysel'. But tak' great care o' yersel', and dinna be lang

"O), never fear," rejoined the girl, gaily, resuming her bonnet, and wrapping a thick shawl around her, for the evening air was chill. With another playful caress she was gone, and the old man sank into his seat by the fire, and gave way to delightful medita

tion.

It was a fair, cold evening in March; but Diamond felt not the night wind, as it met her in the face, and blew about her curls in confusion. The wild, beating hope within would have prevented a much fiercer blast from penetrating. She was, in truth, unconscious of all around, and took her way to the place appointed, rather by instinct than by a process of deliberate observation. If we try to analyze her mind at this moment, and detect the feelings and motives which lurked there, it would be difficult to determine which was the most prompting and influential. Two different powerful considerations were at work, producing the excitement which swept away her calmness, and rendered her intensely restless. In the first place, she expected to see her parents for the first time-to experience, what she never experienced before, a mother's passionate embrace, a father's fond, loving kiss. How thrilling the prospect, to a nature such as hers, the first look of those who gave her being, from whom she had been separated during all her conscious life, yet who, by nature's tie, claims her love and dearest affection! This was a fountain in her deep, welling heart to be then unsealed; and can we wonder if, as the covering was about to be broken up, the strong, pent-up flood struggled and panted to gush impetuously forth?

Apart, however, from the parental or filial relationship, whose tangibility was expected immediately to appear, the event itself was likely to have a momentous influence on her position in life. We do not mean her outward or social position that was but a minor matter in her eyes-but on her heart, its deepest, holiest