you know some sweet verses about love? They begin so 'And how, in such a mournful world as this, Yet has it griefs and sorrows of its own.' I always felt this, even when I was happiest; even when......but I do make you melancholy. I forget myself when I think of love and my young days; and somehow, my dear, you don't make me think of happy love; you are more than serious, joy is often serious; you are uneasy-you are troubled. Do you love too much, my dear, or not enough?" He looked very earnestly in her face. "Not quite enough yet," she said, turning away her face, and attempting to smile. "Mr. Bruce is very ambitious, very covetous, is he?" still holding her hand, still trying to read her countenance. "Well, my dear, you must satisfy him, and it is not hard-fortunately, it is not hard! What does Byron, Mr. Hastings Byron, say: 'The heart must leap kindly back to kind ness,' and......" he paused; so deep a flush overspread her face. It was turned away; but he could see it; he could even observe the blood tinting the fingers he still held in his hand; it was one of those strange involuntary confessions at the unexpected mention of his name. An idea, a strange one he thought it then, crossed his mind; but, after a pause, he went back to his conversation. “And so, my dear, you must make haste, and satisfy him as fast as you can. Love is very good, my dear, and very beautiful; but love is like all things on earth, imperfectit has its little faults, and one fault is jealousy. You must make allowance-you must not try it too much. If you are to give your love to Mr. Bruce, give him all, give him as much as he asks. Remember, my dear, the 'Golden Laws of Love:' The emphasis which he laid on the last line made Margaret tremble; but she recovered herself, and, looking up steadily, she said: "You have given me very good advice, and I rather think I want it. I am worried sometimes because I cannot love Mr. Bruce as...as I think he loves me; but I must try, as you say—see, there he comes," she said, blushing, and drawing her hand away. will come back again presently;" and she flew out of the room. "I Her steady countenance and ingenuous manner in part dispelled Mr. Wilmott's suspicions, but he determined to be watchful, and few are so completely masters of themselves as not to betray, at unguarded moments, by a look, a movement, what is passing within them. In three days, Mr. Wilmott had read all-discovered all-except the cause of Margaret's, to him, most strange and unaccountable conduct. He determined to apply to Sara for a solution of this mystery. CHAPTER XIX. La pensée humaine, fait le mode a son image. LAMARTINE. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary- Marvel not at thy life-patience shall see The perfect work of wisdom to her given; "It is such a heavenly morning !—do, dear Miss Woodvile, come and enjoy it with me." Mr. Wilmott put his head in at the drawing-room window as he spoke. Sara smiled almost blushed; it was a new thing for him to ask her to partake his pleasures and the thought passed through her mind, "Is love, then, at last, coming to me?" She joined him where he now stood, in the shadow of a large tree. The day was lovely-one of the first where something of the calm and softness of autumn mingles with the more radiant beauty of summer. Sara stood by his side in silence. "What a day!" the old man began again; "it reminds me of Southey's words' Airs so exquisitely mild, that even the very breath became an act of will, and sense, and pleasure;'-don't you feel it so, my dear-don't you enjoy it?" but one She felt, "Yes," replied Sara:-it was word; but there was much in it. indeed, like a creature suddenly endowed with new senses, suddenly placed in a new world of beauty; the turmoil in her own heart stilled her eyes had wandered over the glory of the earth, aud acknowledged its brightness; her ears could hearken to the sweet voices which speak through the world of nature. 66 “A heavenly morning! and it makes one |