daughter.  To one of these I bent my steps, with no other purpose than that of baffling time that hung upon me painfully and heavily at home.  For a few minutes I spoke with the aged female of the house on general topics; then a passing observation—­in spite of me—­escaped my lips in reference to Miss Ellen.  The villager took up the theme and expatiated widely.  There was no end to what she had to say of good and kind for the dear lady.  I could have hugged her for her praise.  Prudence bade me forsake the dangerous ground, and so I did, to return again with tenfold curiosity and zest.  I asked a hundred questions, each one revealing more interest and ardour than the last, and involving me in deeper peril.  It was at length accomplished.  My companion hesitated suddenly in a discourse, then stopped, and looked me in the face, smiling cunningly.  “I tell you what, sir,” she exclaimed at last, and loudly, “you are over head and ears in love, and that’s the truth on’t.”

“Hush, good woman,” I replied, blushing to the forehead, and hastening to shut an open door.  “Don’t speak so loud.  You mistake, it is no such thing.  I shall be angry if you say so—­very angry.  What can you mean?”

“Just what I say, sir.  Why, do you know how old I am?  Seventy-three.  I think I ought to tell, and where’s the harm of it?  Who couldn’t love the sweetest lady in the parish—­bless her young feeling heart!”

“I tell you—­you mistake—­you are to blame.  I command you not to repeat this to a living soul.  If it should come to the incumbent’s ears”—­

“Trust me for that, sir.  I’m no blab.  He shan’t be wiser for such as me.  But do you mean to tell me, sir, with that red face of your’n, you haven’t lost your heart—­leave alone your trembling? ah, well, I hopes you’ll both be happy, anyhow.”

I endeavoured to remonstrate, but the old woman only laughed and shook her aged head.  I left her, grieved and apprehensive.  My secret thoughts had been discovered.  How soon might they be carried to the confiding minister and his unsuspecting daughter!  What would they think of me!  It was a day of anxiety and trouble, that on which Miss Fairman returned to the parsonage.  I received my usual invitation; but I was indisposed, and did not go.  I resolved to see her only during meals, and when it was impossible to avoid her.  I would not seek her presence.  Foolish effort!  It had been better to pass hours in her sight, for previous separation made union more intense, and the passionate enjoyment of a fleeting instant was hoarded up, and became nourishment for the livelong day.

It was a soft rich afternoon in June, and chance made me the companion of Miss Fairman.  We were alone:  I had encountered her at a distance of about a mile from the parsonage, on the sea-shore, whither I had walked distressed in spirit, and grateful for the privilege of listening in gloomy quietude to the soothing sounds of nature—­medicinal ever.  The lady was at my side almost before I was aware of her approach.  My heart throbbed whilst she smiled upon me, sweetly as she smiled on all.  Her deep hazel eye was moist.  Could it be from weeping?