inlaid over the lid of each. After this, he smoked four pipes successively in the little parlour by himself, and was discovered chuckling, at the expiration of as many hours.
Walter was busy and away all day, but came there every morning early to see Florence, and always passed the evening with her. Florence never left her high rooms but to steal downstairs to wait for him when it was his time to come, or, sheltered by his proud, encircling arm, to bear him company to the door again, and sometimes peep into the street. In the twilight they were always together. Oh blessed time! Oh wandering heart at rest! Oh deep, exhaustless, mighty well of love, in which so much was sunk!
The cruel mark was on her bosom yet. It rose against her father with the breath she drew, it lay between her and her lover when he pressed her to his heart. But she forgot it. In the beating of that heart for her, and in the beating of her own for him, all harsher music was unheard, all stern unloving hearts forgotten. Fragile and delicate she was, but with a might of love within her that could, and did, create a world to fly to, and to rest in, out of his one image.
How often did the great house, and the old days, come before her in the twilight time, when she was sheltered by the arm, so proud, so fond, and, creeping closer to him, shrunk within it at the recollection! How often, from remembering the night when she went down to that room and met the never-to-be- forgotten look, did she raise her eyes to those that watched her with such loving earnestness, and weep with happiness in such a refuge! The more she clung to it, the more the dear dead child was in her thoughts: but as if the last time she had seen her father, had been when he was sleeping and she kissed his face, she always left him so, and never, in her fancy, passed that hour.
`Walter, dear,' said Florence, one evening, when it was almost dark. `Do you Know what I have been thinking to-day?'
`Thinking how the time is flying on, and how soon we shall be upon the sea, sweet Florence?'
`I don't mean that, Walter, though I think of that too. I have been thinking what a charge I am to you.'
`A precious, sacred charge, dear heart! Why Ithink that sometimes.'
`You are laughing, Walter. I know that's much more in your thoughts than mine. But I mean a cost.'
`A cost, my own?'
`In money, dear. All these preparations that Susan and I are so busy with--I have been able to purchase very little for myself. You were poor before. But how much poorer I shall make you, Walter!'
`And how much richer, Florence!'
Florence laughed, and shook her head.
`Besides,' said Walter, `long ago--before I went to sea--I had a little purse presented to me, dearest, which had money in it.'
`Ah!' returned Florence, laughing sorrowfully, `very little!Very little, Walter! But, you must not think,' and here she laid her light hand on his shoulder, and looked into his face, `that I regret to be this burden on you. No, dear love, I am glad of it. I am happy in it. I wouldn't have it otherwise for all the world!'
`Nor I, indeed, dear Florence.'
`Aye! but, Walter, you can never feel it as I do. I am so proud of you! It makes my heart swell with such delight to know that those who speak of you must say you married a poor disowned girl, who had taken