“Arthur,” said the innocent girl, unconscious that she was about to do an act for which many will condemn her, “before you go, and I know I will not have an opportunity of seein’ you again, will you accept of a keepsake from me?”

[Illustration:  PAGE AM994—­ At length Margaret spoke]

“Will I? oh, Margaret, Margaret!”—­he gazed at her, but could not proceed, his heart was too full.

“Take this,” said she, “and keep it for my sake.”

Ho took it out of her hand, he seized the hand itself, another glance, and they sank into each other’s arms, each trembling with an excess of happiness.  Margaret wept.  This gush of rapture relieved and lightened their young and innocent hearts, and Margaret having withdrawn herself from his arms, they could now speak more freely.  It is not our intention, however, to detail their conversation, which may easily be conjectured by our readers.  On looking at the keepsake, Art found that it was a tress of her rich and raven hair, which, we may add here, he tied about his heart that day, and on that heart, or rather the dust of that heart, it lies on this.

It was fortunate for Art that he followed! his brother’s judgment in selecting the same trade.  Frank, we have said, notwithstanding his coldness of manner, was by no means deficient in feeling or affection; he possessed, however, the power of suppressing their external manifestations, a circumstance which not unfrequently occasioned it to happen that want of feeling was often imputed to him without any just cause.  At all events, he was a guide, a monitor, and a friend to his brother, whom he most sincerely and affectionately loved; he kindly pointed out to him his errors, matured his judgment by sound practical advice:  where it was necessary, he gave him the spur, and on other, occasions held him in.  Art was extremely well-tempered, as was Frank also, so that it was impossible any two brothers could agree better, or live in more harmony than they did.  In truth, he had almost succeeded in opening Art’s eyes to the weak points in his character, especially to the greatest, and most dangerous of all—­his vanity, or insatiable appetite for praise.  They had not been long in M’Carroll’s establishment when the young man’s foibles were soon seen through, and of course began to be played upon; Frank, however, like a guardian angel, was always at hand to advise or defend him, as the case might be, and as both, in a physical contest, were able and willing to fight their own battles, we need not say that in a short time their fellow-workmen ceased to play off their pranks upon either of them.  Everything forthwith passed very smoothly; Art’s love for Margaret Murray was like an apple of gold in his heart, a secret treasure of which the world knew nothing; they saw each other at least once a month, when their vows were renewed, and, surely, we need not say, that their affection on each subsequent interview only became more tender and enduring.