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170 [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] THE RKLEA SB. BT HELEN GREY. The Dark Angel hath come, Tread lightly the floor; Come to take off the robe, A Spirit once wore: How the beautiful garb Is earth-worn and soil’d 1 Be still 1 and breathe softly. The Spirit's uncoil’d I Hath it flown, the loosed Spirit ? Or linger'th it near, Hear the cold, worn raiment That prisoned it here? Or hear ye the rustle Os its new-found wings As upward and homeward It Joyfully springs ? Lift softly the garment The spirit once wore, Gently close the dimm’d eyes That shall weep no more ! Meekly fold the cold hands; On the marble breast. Then leave ye the weary To a welcome rest ! Twill sleep, through long ages, ’Neath the world's wild storm; But sleep to rise again, A glorious form. In a purl tied Earth, Twill spring from the sod— A purified body, The temple of God! Thou that weepest, come gaze On the midnight sky ; See the bright jeweled gates Os thy home on high; Some night, Death's dark Angel Will come, too, to thee, And will take off thy robe, And will set thee free! [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] SATURDAY NIGHT. BY MRS. CAROLINE DENTZ BRANCH, [concluded.} CHAPTER VII. *• Thou hast the secret charge To read that hidden book, the human heart” Lewis Gray sat alone in tlie silent bachelor study, which was desolate indeed with its silent, sad occupant. He had not, in his deep reverie, moved a muscle for more than an hour, when the entrance of a servant made him start and tremble. A letter was handed him, and its contents, though so quickly read, seemed to elec trify him. Unused as he was to sudden exer tion and action, on this occasion he seemed to borrow his brother’s energy, and was in less than two hours equipped for a journey, and on his way to the place of starting. The road to the rail-track, lay through the woods for a short distance, and fearing to meet other travelers on the highway, Lewis took a short path, through the bushes. He was hastening onwards, when he came suddenly upon Ellen Farmer. She was seated on a fallen tree by the path, and looked up smiling as he approached. Lewis, unfortu nate that he was, was unprepared for this, and the most painful emotions were pictured on his lace, as he stood irresolutely before her. She soon exclaimed in surprise : “ Where are you going ? What has hap pened ?’’ “ My brother has sent for me,” he replied hurriedly. * “ Few, so unfitted for exertion— must you go alone ?” Lewis listened to her feeling accents, and looked bewildered upon the emotion she did not attempt to conceal. Could it be concern for him that so moved her ? In an agony of mind, he lost his self-control, and said with an unsteady voice— “ Think not of me, when he dies among strangers.” Ellen stood like a statue for a few moments, and gradually her face and lips became deadly pale, her eyes so fixed and glassy that Lewis thought she was fainting, and sprang towards her. He entreated her to lean on him, and, with the gentleness of woman, endeavored to restore her, yet she leaned upon his shoulder with her eyes closed, in the same death-like pallor, giving sign of life only by the trem bling of her eyelids. Lewis watched the tears that slowly coursed down her cheek, and as he gazed upon her in uncontrollable sorrow, it was singular how constantly his mind dwelt upon the vision which Charlie had pictured of Aliene, as she was in the hour of their troth-plighting. Lewis dared not move or speak, but Ellen did not long yield to even a torrent of emotion like this. She arose, and with downcast eyes and crim son cheek was turning away with only a fare well ; but Lewis detained i\>e chill hand she had given in parting and said: “ You shall hear from me, my sister. Asa beloved sister I dare to treasure your memory.” She looked up, her face eloquent with its grat itude, and without another word they parted, each reading the other’s suffering, and burying the knowledge, as only the unselfish can bury what is better unrevealed. Lewis reached his journey’s end, and was still Bern and strong, and unmindful of the cold gaze which he had once so dreaded ; yet he feared the worst. Mr. Withers was awaiting him, and relieved hl% suspense at once. Charlie was alive, but eveh Mr. Withers, whose equanimity seldom deserted admitted solemnly that this was a case of seriou* illness. Up the winding staircase, after the porous little conductor, poor Lewis, the deformea, slowly panted, and was then ushered into the darkened chamber. — Upon the bed lay Charlie’s wasted figure, and his haggard face was like that of -death, only that his eyes glowed in the fervid aWirium in which he had for days been raving. Hkqyas so changed, that Lewis might have groaned tepud in anguish, yet he conquered the rebellious row that strove for utterance. Charlie had been seized with a fever directly after his return from visiting Aliene, and it had never left him. He had raved of his mother, of his childhood, had called for Lewis, but seemed to have strangely lost sight Os the incidents of the few past weeks. His malady took a still stranger turn when he arose like a shadow from his bed. At times, the fever in his brain returned like a shock of electricity, and in a moment he was like a ma niac, then it would leave him as suddenly, per fectly rational, and free from fever. His reason would return, but he was weak and capricious as a child, and endured the society of no one save Lewis, who bore with the utftrost patience and tenderness all his impatience, and day by day nursed him with unwearying care. The physicians ordered change of scene, and travel, and the brothers left the city together, a nearly helpless pair. Lewis had not dared excite the mind of Char lie’by asking questions, yet he had felt that some barrier had interposed between the love of xttm sotrx&K&sf m> and fibksxdk. Aliene and Charlie. Once or twice, when they had been driving out, Lewis had seen a hand some carriage dash past them, in which he saw Aliene, and she had appeared to avoid even a glance towards them, sitting in haughtiness by her aunt Yet Lewis could see she was unhap py. He desired no explanation, but secretly re joiced that it was so, and Charlie seemed to have forgotten her presence in the city and left it without one look behind. They wandered here and there, consulting physicians who gave always the same advice— “ travel, and keep his mind at rest.” But Char lie grew more morose and sick, more helpless and ungovernable. They went to the seaside, and there seemed to be a magic for the invalid in the sound of the rolling waves, and on looking out over the restless waste, that at last chained them to a resting place. Another matter began to press heavily upon the mind of Lewis. They were quickly exhausting their means, in this ex pensive mode of life, and should no change take place soon they might become dependent upon the charity of strangers. Lewis asked himself the question seriously— What was to be done ? He was sitting on the beach near Charlie, who was silently and intent ly gazing out upon the waters which glowed in the reflection of bright sunset clouds. He would not burthen Charlie’s mind with so harassing a subject, and whilst looking at the momentarily calm face of his brother, bo asked : “ Are you contented here ?” Charlie looked up &s if annoyed at the inter ruption, but replied— “ Yes. I would like to sit here, just as I do. and never move until the angel’s trump shall sound I Oh! it would be so sweet, for life to exhale itself away, as it were, on the soft hissing air, and away over these trackless waters. ’ Lewis could not bear to mar this sweet and unusual serenity, yet he gazed upon his brother in such peculiar earnestness, that Charlie turned suddenly, and said with his accustomed affec tionate discernment, “ You are troubled, brother. Alas! that I should become such a burden to you; but lam not quite callous, and insist upon your tellmg me what is the matter.” There was no hope of evasion now, Lewis knew, and hastened to make a candid confes sion. Charlie made no comment, but he bent over the sand and marked it with his finger, as lie fell into deep thought. He thought of the miser's gold, of how calmly life might glide on, if paved with the riches that would enable him to lie and enjoy this “ dulce far niente,” this lethargy of the soul. The wife, the good wife was the one thing lacking. Suddenly he asked Lewis, “Do you know a good woman, Lewis, a Chris tian, one who would make a proper use of riches if she possessed them, and who might take a wreck like me for a companion in life ?” Lewis answered fevently, after a short pause— “ I do know such a one.” “ You are merely surmising.” 11 No, by my honor, I know one who possess es the most exalted character, who of all I have met, would make the most energetic and pious of stewards ; and who loves you, brother.” Lewis had grown fearfully excited, and with the conviction under which lie was moved to act as ho did, he continued in solemn earnestness, ‘‘l am not speaking lightly, God knows my heart.” Charlie was roused from his lethargy and asked eagerly, “What is her name—Where shall I find her?” Lewis, as if prepared for this, replied prompt ly—“ Ellen Farmer is her name.” He did not think he was compromising her womanly feelings—lie would not have sullied by a breath the purity of her love, to have saved his own life ; but when the name passed his lips he shook like an aspen leaf, and felt as if the bloom in his own heart was blighted forever. For a time, Charlie seemed unable to compre hend the meaning of Lewis, and he kept repeat ing over the name of Ellen Farmer as if to steady his bewildered senses. Then, like a flash of lightning, came the delirium; sni before Lewis could prepare for his movements, he was far down the beach, making the air ring with his cries. A night of horror was before the wretch ed brother. Alone by the bedside he watched, observing anxiously how the fever rose higher and higher, as the moments passed, and that he was growing more and more uncontrollable.— There were many families passing the summer on the beach, many strong, healthy young men, idling away a few weeks of their existence, in the sports which the amusements of the place afforded who knew of the afflicted brothers— knew how much they needed assistance, and yet Lewis was left to watch alone. Near mid night, Charlie roused from a momentary dream ing, to frantic delirium. He sprang up, in his im agination transforming Lewis into the miser who in his grave clothes had come to haunt his bed side, and, with supernatural strength, he aimed a blow at the breast of his brother. Lewis had no time to prepare for it, and with an irrepressi ble groan, he locked Charlie in a close embrace and forced him to lay beside him on the bed. The pain from the blow became excessive, and yet he kept the tight hold upon his writhing brother, praying to God for strength. It was a gusty night, the air damp, and the darkness in tense, and a miserable flickering candle alone made objects dimly visible in the room. The wind rustled the curtains, shook the doors, and rattled the window panes mournfully; Lewis started now and then,“listening in vain for the tread of human feet, and once he saw the shad ow of a man upon the floor; but the shadow disappeared, mysteriously as it had come, and the next moment a puff of wind extinguished the light, leaving the room in utter darkness. It was a solemn moment, and a fearful time, in which Lewis lay listening to his brother’s ra vings, and knew that blood was slowly oozing from his own mouth and nostrils. At this mo ment, the sound of a soft human voice close to the window came stealing upon his hearing, like distant music. He heard it saying— “Do come, Carl. Thee can rest to-morrow, for this is Saturday night.” This pleading was responded to by a sort of groan in a man’s voice, and then there came the light patter of footsteps upon the stairs, and B*tyis heard them approaching the door of the rooiv. He heard the door creak upon its hinges, and ujtep looking up wistfully, saw the queer small ligate of a young girl standing as if irreso lute upon threshold. She held a lantern, and as she ragged it, to look more distinctly into the room, he saw from underneath her close fit ting Quaker liooa,uhe beams of gentle eyes.— She made a quaint standing there, and Lewis half forgot mE sorrows in the singular emotions created as if by some magic, in behold ing her. He tried to speak, tried to call her in and explain his helpless conation, but to his hor ror he had lost the power of utterance. A few moments more and the little seatinel-like figure entered, and stood by the bedside holding her lantern still, and she looked compassionately upon the raving youth. She had not seen Lewis distinctly. “Come in” she said, at which a burly young fisherman came reluctantly in, very suspiciously eyeing the sick man, but she laid her hand upon his arm, and said, with slow earnest accent. “ Thee must help me, CarL God will help us.” T As Carl caught; sight of Lewis’ blood stained face, he gave anfcxclamation and in his rough way hastily pull d the girl back from tho bed side and set hin self to work in earnest, for the relief of the sufl rers. He kept muti ring now and then, but the girl, whom he called Hada, hovered around him like a spirit, lending in ever ready and efficient help ing hand, and a i often as he muttered, she pat ted his shoulde gently, as she would have sooth ed a restless b ast, whilst all the time Lewis saw her wiping iway tears which dropped quiet ly but gently ft m underneath her hood. She carried on her i rm a small satchel, and after ta king from it a a nail vial full of some narcotic mixture, she bis ught it to the sofa, upon which Carl had placed Lewis, and she said: “ This will d< tl.ee g'X)d, and thy friend will sleep, if thee do t not object to his swallowing a dose.” Lewis tried to! smile, and motioned his willing ness to obey all ker directions. She then gave him the allotted dose, but Carl attempted in vain to force Charlie into measures. Hada took the glass which contained the medicine and ap proached the bed unshrinkingly, though Lewis saw the glass trembling in her nervous hold, and heard how her voice quivered, when she spoke. She held the cup tovards him and said: “ This will do that good. Hada will not de ceive thee.” Her words, so fev and childlike, or perhaps the tones of her svftet dear voice, seemed to sooth his delirium life a spell, and his ravings hushed as he instineively obeyed her motions, and swallowed the tedicine. It was not long before he sank to »dep like a weary child, all the time with his faci towards Hada, and when he was closing his lumber-laden lids, his eyes deep with meaning Here fixed on Hada’s quaint figure. Carl kept his station in a chair by the side of Charlie, but the pooi fellow had worked hard all day, and soon sinrred loudly, with his head thrown back upon bs arm. The potion quieted the quivering nerves of Lewis, but did not im mediately produce sbep, and he lay, as Charlie had done, with his fascinated gaze upon the little Quakeress. She was watching, intently, motionless as she sat, and when Lewis thought she too was be ginning to nod, she said suddenly,in a half whis per " Thee shall see tie Doctor. He will do him good, lam sure. 11 sink thee is not far off from a better than the Doctor, for thy troubles. Ido not trouble for thee.” 'Lewis listened half-dreaming, and in ponder ing on her words —conjecturing on her quaint presence, and blessing her ministrations, the room with its humbl; furniture and occupants gradually melted away and mingled with the motley visions which haunted his slumbers. — Through all his dreaming, the beams of Hada’s eyes glowed, and the accents of her voice rang upon his ears like seraph music, of which he had dreamed in waking. CIIAITER VIII. The brothers no longer needed assistance, since the night of Ilacla’s advent. She was un wearying in her kindness and quiet unobtrusive attention, and she kept Carl ever obedient to her will. Her gentle presence and her words which, like manna, dropping in time of need, did more for Charlie’s restoration than all the physician’s art; and better far than bodily health, came tho healing to his spirit sickness. Hada’s sweet spirit, in its true unwavering devotion to God, led him into the way of Christianity. She held open the door of faith so wide, and point ed out the way over which she was traveling so fearlessly and trustingly, in such truth, that he followed; flinging behind him every shadow of a doubt; and like a sunburst, a peaceful glow filled his soul, and abiding there, changed all his life. Lewis recovered from the shock of that memorable night, and Hada alone knew of the blow, which had caused the rupture of a blood vessel. Charlie’s gratitude for the devoted at tentions of Lewis was unmixed with pain, un conscious as he was of this incident, and ever patient and self-denying, Lewis lived and grew more than cheerful as Charlie returned to health. One afternoon, when Lewis followed Chari#, as he wandered upon the beach, they came upon the same spot which they had before chosen for a resting place, and Charlie paused. Hada was coming towards them from the opposite direc tion. She had been walking far out upon the damp sands left bare by the tide, and was so closely watching the various tracks, beneath her foot way, that she did not see the brothers until Charlie spoke. “ Come here," he called out pleasantly, “ sit down by me on this rock, little physician. I want to ask you a great many questions.” She obeyed, but said nothing, though it was very unusual to see her considerably agitated, as she was then. Lewis alone appeared to re mark this. “ Where do you live?” asked Charlie as soon as they were seated, side by side on a small rock, and Lewis still stood by them. She seemed to to be surprised,but answered promptly, “At Will Blake’s, the fisherman, who is the father of Carl. His house is there,up the beach,” she pointed to the place, “where thee can see the blue smoke, and the torches at night.” “ And your name is Hada Blake ?” “ They so call me—because—” she paused ap parently in great embarrassment, and Lewis thinking probably .there was something in refer ence to the young Carl which made her coy, stopped his brother’s queries. “ This is a one-sided battle of curiosity, he declared. “I urge Hada’s claims, begging that she may question you for a time.” “ Have you any questions to ask me ?” Char lie asked, as if growing amused with the sub ject. “ Yes sir, but thee might not like any one to listen.” Lewis understood that she wished him to be out of hearing, and he smiled, thinking as he made a step towards going, of how incongru ous appeared the two natures of Carl and this little Puritan with her refined loveliness of char acter ; and yet he began to suspect that they might have some feelings in common. He said, as he moved away, _ “Catechize him thoroughly, and mind that you exchange confidences. There must be no robbery.” Hada looked up for an instant towards Lewis as if she would have begged him to remain, but it was too late now. Charlie could not forbear from asking a question himself, immediately. “Do tell me, Hada, why you always wear that hood. I have never seen you lay it aside, and were it in any other head I should say it was very ugly.” “ Say ” she replied, evasively and laughing quietly, “ thee might admire it, on the head of the young lady who wears the diamond cross, and who is so beautiful” “ I have not seen such a young lady, nor care to see her.” “Thee hast,” simply replied Hada. “Os whom do you speak?” he asked in sur prise. “ The young lady who wore black and who rode out here so often in a grand carriage. They said thee was to have married her." She went on after a pause, seeing that he made no response. “ She enquired how thee wast many times, and asked-ij 1 1 was not afraid of thee.— The stiff lady who was always with her called her Aleen, I think.” Charlie reflected bitterly upon Hada’s simple revelation, wondered at the fact of Alien’s pres ence on the beach, but his mind dwelt more upon the lovely character of the one than upon the hollowness of the other. Yet Hada’s had not needed this contrast, to convince him of its rare excellence. A question from her aroused him. “ Did’st thee love her?” Charlie did not reply, without reflection. “ Alas! no, Hada. She was not a Christian.” “ And yet thee would have taken her to thy home,” Hada echoed in reproachful cadence. “ I want you to answer a question for me, Hada,” ho began, unmindful of the subject which she seemed to pursue with interest. “You are a Christian, the most earnest and pure of Christians. You keep your rush-light burn ing brightly—what if you were entrusted with a torch, could you bear it aloft, unmindful of the weight, glare, &c. ? What if God were to give you the stewardship of great riches ?” The sweet voice did not waver in replying: “ The wise, good Father above, would not burden me beyond my strength. He would send me the knowledge to use His gift.” Charlie felt a thrill pass through his frame. In Hada, tho miser’s conditions were all realized, and as he looked at the quiet, quaint figure, and thought that it might thus be ever near him, with its presence lighting his pathway as noise lessly and as radiantly as the stars —as he looked along the vista of years visioned thus, he was content; but a recollection seemed to come with overwhelming force, and turn the calm current of feeling. He took Hada’s small hand in his, and said, whilst smiling at the queer mittens she wore: “ I can tell you a secret, Hada, and you will keep it lam going home to secure a wife, if I can; one whom I knew before Hada came like an angel ministrant along my pathway: and one who possesses all the virtues which a Christian requires in a helpmeet, and who perhaps may be willing to go with me through life. She is liko you, Hada.” She had gently disengaged her hand, and stood with her eyes cast down, and face averted, so that ho saw only the dark hair, parted neatly on her white forehead. He was watch ing her intently, and with a very strange expres sion of face, during a few minutes of silence; then he said, with the eloquence of true feeling, “I shall bless you all my life,my dear young, deliverer, my spiritual guide. You will not for get me, Hada, nor cease to pray for me. lam going to-morrow.” ne waited for some word, some evidence of feeling, and he would, if he had dared, again have taken the gentle hand in his; but Hada, strong in her pure simplicity, repelled even this. She could not speak again, but stood trembling for awhile, then suddenly turned towards him, took his hand, as a child would have done, pres sed it gently between both her small ones, and then walked away. She met Lewis, when she had gone a short way, but did not appear to see him, for she passed him without a word. Lewis looked after her slight figure, as ho paused, nor did he move until roused by Charlie’s cheerful voice, and when Lewis heard the voice so pleas ant-toned, and saw such a bright look upon his brother’s face, and remembered that in the mor ning they were to see the last of Hada, perhaps forever on earth, he was amazed. Charlie had said, “Let us return home,” and Lewis joyfully agreed, asking no questions of the strange mystery which hung about the sud den call to the city, nor in regard to his engage ment with Alieno, but he could not suppress a few thoughts about her to whom they both owed so much. “ Shall you leave her without some token of our deep gratitude—some evidence that we ap preciate her worth ?” “It would only pain her,” Charlie replied, “ I have not forgotten to reward the young fisher man, but, believe mo, it is best to part from Hada as we do. She knows my gratitude— knows that I will never cease to invoke God’s richest blessings on her head.” “ And this is all ,” muttered Lewis, in vague forgetfulness of all the plans he had once formed for the happiness of his brother. He instinc tively visioned a time to come, when a lonely figure would sit upon the sands, dropping tears into the mockingly bright waters—he thought of how keenly she, so trusting, would suffer in patience and in meekness, and yet bear up and wear a cheerful smile, that others might not feel the weight of her sorrow—and yet, thought he, “ She is fair, and formed like her graceful sex, not mis-shapen, so that she could only hope for a kind compassion ;” and thus thinking, Lewis went out of his brother’s presence to weep tears, that his own sorrows had never drawn forth. The brothers left at early dawn. In tho humble hut of Will Blake, there was consternation and grief on the same morning; for their star-eyed Hada was missing. Carl, who had gone out early to his work, had picked up, close to a rock overhanging the water, the little Quaker bonnet, and this was all the trace left them of the flight of this angel visitant, who had eome among them, and was gone like a spirit. Carl thought she had gone upon the rock, as she sometimes did, and had missed her footing, and fallen into the water, for there were those quaint little shoe-tracks out to the rock, and none that marked any return. Carl told his fears to his weeping mother, and rushed out upon the sands where no one could see him, and wonder ed that they had never before thought there was a heart underneath his rough, fisherman’s jacket. The bonnet, which seemed so like a part of Hada, and the lone tracks, were all the traces left of her going from them so spirit-like, and leaving a wide place vacant in their home. CHAPTER IX. Again tho bachelor stiidy became cheerful with the presence of the long-absent brothers. Lewis was happy, for had not the character of Charlie received its crowning excellence, and yet, strange to say, as Charlie seemed to have settled into a kind of steady, overflowing enjoyment, Lewis grew restless, as days flew by unmarked by any change. More and more of an enigmu Charlie became to the anxious brother, and there was something so peculiar in their conver sations, regarding the incidents of Hada’s ac quaintance with them, that, as if by a tacit agreement, they ceased to speak of her. There had been many changes in the village during their absence. Mrs. Farmer had died, leaving Aliene under the adoption of her aunt, and Ellen, who was the only remaining child, was in the family of a friend, as governess. The old Farmer homestead had gone into the hands of strangers. More than a week passed, after their return, before Charlie spoke of visiting Ellen Farmer, and though Lewis wondered, he said nothing. * Near sunset, on an afternoon, Charlie arose from the steps where they had been idly sitting, and said carelessly: “Well, I might as well discharge the duty at once, and call on Ellen.” “Do you feel it to be so onerous?” asked Lewis, seriously. “On the contrary,” he replied, “ but I have not forgotten the revelation you made to me, on the beach, and it is natural that I should feel some timidity in entering her presence.” There was a pause of some minutes, and then Charlie continued, whilst striking the pebbles nervously with his cane, “ I have made up my mind, Lewis, to seek the hand of Ellen Farmer. I have striven to forget how blindly I was de ceived by one so near to her, and trusting to your own clear-sighted judgment, I have dared to hope for success. Now pray me ‘God speed,’ and I’ll go on my way light-hearted. It was strange how cold the words sounded on the lips of Lewis, and his face was no bright reflection of the words. He had been sincere in what he had revealed to Charlie, but now ho was haunted by a remembrance of Hada’s sad, patient face, and his own reflected the image. Charlie looked up, with a very peculiar expres sion, and walked off without further conversa tion. When he enquired for Ellen at the house of her friend, they told him Bhe was sick, and with unfeigned disappointment he turned away. As he walked out by a side-road, leading through a grove of young oaks near the house, he seemed to be lost to all surroundings, in his abandon ment to disappointed feelings. A breath of jasmine perfume, wafted on the air, came to him, and instantly he was aroused. Something in the fragrance, carried him into the past, and re called vividly the presence of Ellen. He looked around eagerly, and discovered a figure not far off, reclining in a hammock, which was swung between two trees. It was Ellen, he saw, when he drew near enough to watch the lashes which lay upon her cheek, and he knew by their quiv ering motion that she was not sleeping, with her closed eyes. She looked pale, in contrast to her mourning dress, and the heart of Charlie was deeply moved as he realized her lonely or phaned state. He called her name, and when she started up in affright, trembling and pain fully agitated, he seized her hand passionately, and pressed it to his lips with almost reverential devotion. She saw that drops of moisture were gleaming his eyes, and his face was pale from emotion. Bewildered and almost alarmed, she struggled to leave him, but he forced her to meet his full gaze, and exclaimed but one word. It was “ Hada." “ Did you dream I did not know you ? my be loved Ellen,” ho cried, in a tremulous voice, as he stood waiting for her to come close to his heart, and looking all the while full into her pure eyes. “ Did you imagine you could veil your soul from my soul's gaze—or cheat me into be lieving that the world could contain more than one nada, one Ellen. No —praised be God, ye are one, and ye are mine." She no longer shrank away from him, but in the holy trust which had, at last, como home to hsr heart, she laid her head upon his bosom, and smiled and wept and trembled; yet from her eyes still shone the star-like beams of Ilada's. It was ablest, joyful re-union, worth years of suffering to them both. Lewis waited long for the return of his broth er, but he was repaid for the patienco with which he bore the tedious time. There were revelations to hear and to make on both sides. The story of Hada’s disguise was very simple, but the truth came upon unsuspecting Lewis like a thunder-bolt. He had kept Ellen advised of all their movements as he had promised, and f as he would have done to a sister, he wrote of their situation upon the beach. With Ellen, to determine was to act, and taking advantage of her friendship with some Quakers, she arranged her plans so as to accompany them to the beach, and it was through their aid that she became, for a time, one of the family of honest Will Blake, who was himself a stray Quaker. She was favored in her design, by many cir cumstances, and she had felt satisfied that her disguise was complete, wearing as she did, false dark hair—her own was golden. Her eye-brows also, were stained dark. So closely did she wear her hood, that one of the brothers had been completely deceived. When her mission was ended, and she learned that the brothers were returning directly home, she was compelled to make all possible speed, to return home her self, lest they should arrive first and gain some clue to her whereabouts. She had always kept her friends, the Quakers, informed of her move ments, and immediately upon her desiring to re turn, they procured for her a boat, and before dawn she had, as Carl thought, gone out upon the rock, but to embark, not to fall into the water. She returned by w’ater, and was in the village bqjbre the brothers reached it. Charlie had also to relate the history of his first leaving home, and the miser s manuscript was brought forth. Lewis listened to Charlie’s glowing language, and whilst ho sympathized in his enthusiastic feelings, he was compelled to restrain his eloquence for a time, that he too might a revelation. "Listen,” he began, when they had re-read the manuscript together. “It was on a Satur day afternoon, not many weeks after your re turn from college, that as I was w andering out in the woods near our village, I met with an old man. lie had the most peculiar and wretched countenance I ever beheld, yet his piercing eyes seemed to be ever busily searching into the very souls of those around him. lie took a seat by me on the grass, and gradually, without my being aware of what he was doing, he had drawn from me my own monotonous history, and an account of many of our friends. He ap peared interested in my misfortune, but more so in the description 1 gave him of your character. He probed me deeply in regard to you, when 1 had excited his interest, and though I tried, it was impossible to withhold any relation from him, in my fascinated condition. He accompa nied me home on learning that yon were absent - , and there his quick eyes searched all objects., He looked at your library—your guns—your garden; and at all times and places was draw ing from mo a very daguerreotype of your life, intellect and disposition. Ho was a stranger, and lin duty bound, treated him hospitably, but he was the most eccentric being I ever met, and I must confess that his presence made me uneasy. Ho accompanied me to a meeting held in the Methodist Church, during the quarterly conference, and he carried with him the same searching spirit aud eyes. When we were dis missed, he pointed out as she passed, the figure of Ellen Farmer, and asked who she was. Thereupon lie drew from me all that I could re-