longed for a private interview, that the matter might be explained.

That opportunity was not long in coming. The others, knowing the restraining effect of their presence, and the wish which both must naturally feel to be alone together, were quite prepared to smile, when Mrs Gray kindly suggested that the young folks should take a walk in the garden.

They left the room at once; but, instead of going to the garden, Diamond silently led the way to Mr Gray's library and study, a quiet little room at the back part of the house.

Having gained this privacy, they turned to look at each other. A glance was sufficient to know what each yearned to do; and, in a moment, they were locked in a passionate embrace—an embrace which silently, yet eloquently, told much.

Minutes passed ere words could come, but Henry was at length able to whisper

"You were in terrible danger, and I was not near you."

The young girl shuddered as she thought of the perils through which she had passed; but looking up with a bright, confiding smile, she answered

It is all over now, and good has come out of evil.”

"True," said her lover; "the adventure has brought many changes, and made momentous revelations. I need not say how much I rejoice at the happy turn your prospects have taken. This restoration to your parents is a great blessing both to them and you."

"And may we not say to all of us?" asked Diamond, looking anxiously at his face, and noticing once more the flitting sadness. 'Surely," he returned. "It will afford great delight to Andrew, Mrs Ford, and Mr Everly, as well as me; for we must all share in the happiness."

"But does it not affect us more powerfully than the others? asked Diamond, timidly.

Henry looked, as if at a loss to know her meaning.

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"

You remember the painful doubt that haunted me?" she added, with a deep blush.

"I do,” he answered. sincerely rejoice over.

"And it is the removal of this that I most For the peace and tranquillity it brings you,

God knows I am truly thankful."

"And is it only for my sake that you rejoice at it?" inquired Diamond, in a distressed voice. "You-you know what a terrible trial that doubt led us to undergo?"

"Alas! yes. Neither of us can ever forget it.”

Yes; but now we can view it as a thing of the past—as a shadow that is over and gone."

"You forget, dearest. It is not yet away, and I fear never shall."

Diamond looked at him in astonishment and with undefined apprehension.

"Never shall!" she echoed; then, with exquisite tenderness, added, "Henry, do you remember the night we walked by the side of the Canal?"

"Remember it! ay, and shall as long as memory endures." "On that night you told me you loved me, and asked me to become your wife. At that moment my heart was revealed to me, and I knew that it beat only for you; but at that moment, too, there rushed into it a pang, for I felt there was an insurmountable moral barrier between us. I told you what the barrier was. You argued against my idea, but in vain. Though my heart was bleeding at every pore, I refused to be yours, because I thought duty sternly and cruelly stood in the way of our dearest inclinations. You acquiesced at last, and we resolved to remain brother and sister. It is otherwise now. The doubt is removed. I no longer fear that I may have to blush for my birth. If you are in the same mind still-for that I cannot, will not doubt-I will answer your former question now. Dearest Henry, I am yours-yours for ever!"

And she threw herself blushing and trembling into his arms.

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Noble, generous girl!" he exclaimed, straining her to his heart. "But this may not be," he suddenly added. "We are both forgetting There is still a difference between us, and even more marked than before. You are generous enough to overlook it; but I cannot, dare not. You are now the rich daughter of honourable parents, while I am an obscure

And

"Hush, hush!" she interrupted, placing her hand on his mouth. "And so this is what has been troubling you?" she added, smilingly, "Ah! I saw there was a shadow, and wondered at its cause. so you feared that my parents might object to our union, because you are not rich? In their eyes you are rich, dear Henry-rich in all that is true wealth-rich in mind and heart-rich in disposition and affection. Do not wrong them by supposing that they are influenced by worldly considerations. I have spoken to them of our love. I have told them all. They are already proud of you, and will rejoice to call you their son. So now you must fear and dread nothing on that score."

Henry shook his head, and the eye remained troubled still.

"I do not deny, dearest," he said, "that there is a sadness hanging about me; but you still overlook the cause. I did not fear your parents' opposition. I had a far better opinion of them than to suppose that they would thwart their daughter's happiness, be cause the man of her choice was bumble and poor; and, indeed, so far as they are concerned, I would not think that, even taking the whole circumstances into account, any objection would be raised. It lies with ourselves, Diamond-with you and I alone-as you must

know, if you were not too noble and generous to overlook it. The barrier was a double one; on your side it has fallen down, on my side it yet remains. It is probable, nay, more than probable, that I am a child of shame."

Diamond started back, the colour forsook her face, and a sharp, sudden pang rushed to her heart. She had forgotten this-quite forgotten it possibly she had never thought it real; for though, on that memorable evening, he had distinctly stated his belief, and used it as an argument against her, yet somehow it had not come home to her consciousness.

"You a child of shame?" she exclaimed. 66 do you cherish that idea?"

Impossible! Why

"Because it is a natural one," answered Henry. natural for you, it is not less so for me."

"If it was

"But it has just been proved that my idea was erroneous; and so may yours."

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Possibly; but there is no proof in the matter, and therefore it is as influential as if it were true. But, besides this, it seems more presumptive on my side than it did on yours. You had no clue whatever to your birth, and, consequently, had no positive ground for the supposition. It is somewhat different with me; and the peculiar circumstances connected with my entrance into the world, point only too conclusively to a sinful connection on the part of my parents."

The fair girl, pale as death, stood gazing wistfully on her lover, and in a voice quivering with emotion, exclaimed,

"Yet, what matters it, dear Henry? At the strongest, it is but a supposition. We cannot, must not, be separated for this. Say no more about it. Let this be our day of betrothal the hour in which we pledge ourselves to each other for ever."

"Diamond, you are departing from your former faith," said Henry, gently.

"No, no; it was so different with me from what it is with you. It cannot affect us now."

Hush, dearest, hush! Do you not remember your own words? Listen to them, for I have never forgotten them: The laws of moral truth and moral feeling are very delicate in their fineness, and cannot be violated with impunity. Even when distantly and relatively injured, the vibrations are felt, producing pain and unhappi

ness.

The marriage relation is too sacred a thing to be defiled by doubts such as ours, and to those immaculate laws we must meekly bow.'

"You

"But your opinion was different," pleaded Diamond. said the view was a false one, and the imagination frivolous. Why will you change now, when happiness is within our reach?"

"I do not change, dear Diamond. My opinion is the same that

it ever was. I do not think that the mere probability, or even the certainty, of a stain lying on my birth, is sufficient to prevent our union; but the fact, that you hold a different view

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"No, no; I do not," interrupted Diamond, eagerly. "I see nothing, I feel nothing, to prevent it."

"You did once; and though at this moment you may not think so-you do still. The idea is entwined round the very centre of your nature, and may not be eradicated. Indeed, I do not wish that it should; for I always thought, and think still, that it enhances the purity of your mind. In your generosity, you would forget it; but this must not be. The honour of both is concerned, and must

not be tarnished."

"Henry, I cannot give you up now," exclaimed Diamond, throwing her arms round his neck, and clinging wildly to him. "It was wrong in me to cherish such an idea. I see it, I feel it now. Let it be forgotten and forgiven."

The young man's soul shook with terrible emotion. It was a great, a peculiar temptation; and only the strongest principles of rectitude could have preserved him from yielding to it. To see a beautiful girl-one whom he passionately loved-clinging to him, and persuading him to call her his own; to know that all external circumstances were favourable to their union, and yet to resist those mighty, almost overwhelming inducements, was no ordinary task. He felt it a sore struggle, and his whole nature shook against the assault; but a strong sense of honour upheld him.

"It must not be, Diamond," he repeated. "The die was cast on the occasion referred to. Fate has indeed forbidden the union." "No, Henry, no! You will not forsake me; you will not break my heart by leaving me thus!" And the poor girl clung closer to him, while deep, bursting sobs came from her bosom.

"Cease, for Heaven's sake, cease!" said Henry, with strong emotion. "You are subordinating judgment to feeling. Remember that this is a heavy trial for me too, and that every pulsation of my heart pleads with you. But honour would be tarnished if I yielded, and we would only be preparing for ourselves a future of pain. You say, let us forget the past. It can never be forgotten. It might never be alluded to; and even, on your side, it might never be felt. But knowing, as I well do, the unbiassed idea of your heart, I could not feel as a husband ought. God has made man the protector, and, in a certain sense, the head of the woman; but, to occupy this position, he must have no detracting or lowering influences, even in his own mind. It is not enough that his wife look up to him as she ought. He must feel that she does-feel that nothing can hinder him from occupying towards her the Heavenintended position. It would not be so with me, Diamond; and therefore the best and holiest consequences sought to be effected by

marriage would be lost, and a certain, continual annoyance would rest ou one mind at least, if not on both. Calin yourself, my dear girl, and bring to the consideration of the subject that clear, farseeing intelligence which you possess."

But Diamond was too sore stricken and prostrated in her sorrow to heed his words. The revulsion from bright, undimmed joy to the former gloom, was beyond her strength to sustain; and her grief was all the heavier and unbearable, because reproach mingled with it. Her former decision was now coming upon her in its bitterest consequences. She knew that Henry, for his own part, did not consider illegitimacy a barrier to marriage, and that, unless she had adhered so firmly to it before, they could now be united. It was her own hand, then, that raised the barrier which now existed. Virtually she rejected Henry, because of the stain which might lie on his birth. Circumstances had come round which made this the. fact; and to her tender, loving heart, it pierced like a dagger. She would have given worlds now to recall the past; but her regret was vain, and its consequences must be endured.

She ceased to urge him, but her agitatation and grief grew more uncontrollable.

"I will never leave you, Diamond," he said soothingly. "We are as dear to each other as ever we were-dearer, perhaps, if that were possible. We will see each other constantly, and be lovers in all but the name. Come, you were brave once, and taught me firmness. Recall your strength of mind-look up-smile-be heroic, as before." "This is all my doing," sobbed the wretched Diamond. “O, I was to blame! I feel now how absurd was my idea."

"Not absurd, dearest, but natural to a pure mind like yours; and you will see it so again, when you have reflected a little. I will leave you now. Our friends will wonder at our absence." He pressed her tenderly in his arms, and having released her, she sunk sobbing into a large easy chair.

"I cannot go to the parlour," she murmured. • Will you send my mother? I must tell her all, for she expects our engagement to be made. There, go. I shall be better when we meet again.”

Henry did as she requested. He went to the parlour, and having despatched Mrs Gray to her daughter, requested a private interview with Richard. The two friends adjourned to the garden, and Henry, in great agitation, told him all that had passed. He could not blame Henry, but grieved much that circumstances had taken the young folks to such peculiar and delicate ground. Before they returned, Mr Gray and Andrew had been summoned to the library, and made acquainted with the state of matters. In the recital, Diamond strove hard to acquit Henry, and throw the sole blame on herself; but Andrew could not listen to her self-reproaches, and ran out to seek the youth.