Somewhat apart from, and forming the western boundary of Waveland, was a lovely inland lake, by the margin of which Clemence had been accustomed to spend many sad hours, since she had become a resident of the little village.  A narrow foot-path, that led through the sombre woods, brought her to a sheltered spot upon the sloping shore, where she often came alone to pass an idle hour.  She had come to regard this place as her own peculiar property, for no one had ever come here to interrupt her, or claim any portion of its solitude.

It was a safe retreat from prying eyes, and it became to the girl, at length, the one sacred spot where she could pour out her griefs to that One, who looks upon His stricken children only to pity and forgive.

She sat, now, idly watching the sun sink in the western sky, behind the far-off hills.  She thought, as she noted the sunset, that she had never seen anything more beautiful—­

    Amber, and purple, and crimson, and blue,
    Glittering shades of every hue. 
    Fleecy cloudlets of silver-gray,
    And shroud-like white, for the dying day.

She remembered, as her eye dwelt in admiration of the scene, of the beautiful passages in Revelation, and of the gates of pearl and jasper, “which shall not be shut at all by day, for there shall be no night there.”  It almost seemed as if she could drift through these cloud portals into the peace and rest beyond.  Her heart yearned for the loving clasp of the sweet pilgrim, who had gone before, and who had entered into “the joy of her Lord.”  The thought comforted her.  She rose up absently to find two curious eyes fastened upon her, while Mr. Owen’s voice said at her elbow: 

“You find this scene more congenial, it appears, than our well ordered household, and dreaming away the hours, a much more agreeable task than trying to make a lady of my homespun wife?”

“Why,” said Clemence, nervously, not replying to this singular speech, “how you startled me.  Who would have thought of your being here?  How did you find me?  Have you any message from your wife?”

“None, whatever,” he said, regarding her strangely, and replying to her last remark.  “Do not go, just yet.  Miss Graystone; I am tired, and would like to rest.”

“In that case,” returned Clemence, “I will leave you to yourself, and walk on, and you can come at your leisure.”

“But I want to talk to you,” he rejoined, detaining her, “I came here particularly for that purpose.”

His look said more than his words, and set the girl’s heart beating with sudden fear, as she thought of the strip of silent forest that lay between them and the town.

“I am in haste,” she said, starting hurriedly forward, “and will listen to you when we get back to the house.”

“And that is the very last thing I intend you shall do,” he rejoined, springing from the grass, where he had thrown himself, and coming close to her, “I tell you, I want to talk to you.”