then? Were they not partly mine? those
amusing thoughts? Eh, Annie?"

"Whatever else I may owe to you, I have
still a right to consider my thoughts free,
have I not, my lord?" I asked, only half-
jestingly.

"You are angry, Annie! Come, you are
vexed with me for going to sleep while you
were reading! Your voice is so sweet it
soothed me. If you had been speaking I
should have listened to the words; as it was,
I thought only of the dear voice."

"Did not the book please you?" I asked.

"To tell the truth, I did not understand
much of it, I do not care for poetry; you
cannot think how strange it seems to me to
think of any man's making it the occupation
of a life to rack his brains for out-of-the-way
thoughts about men and things, and then to
twist and turn then ingeniously up-side down
and hind-side before, till he has set them
into jingling order."

"And that is your notion of poetry?" I
asked.

"Do you not think it a just one?"

"Do you not like music?"

"Why do you ask! The two things are
so perfectly different. Yes, I like cheerful
music; I don't pretend to understand the
classicality of the art? But, my dear child,
don't let us discuss art, or philosophy, or
poetry now. You look quite pale, I am sure
you are cold and tired; I am very sorry, it
was very stupid of me to fall asleep; please
to forgive me, and I won't do so again."

"Pray do, as often as you feel inclined. I
will learn not to mind it, I assure you," I
answered.

"Learn not to mind, Annie! what do you
mean? I do not want you to learn anything:
I want you to be happy, and leave everything
else to me,"

"We must learn while we live, people say.
It strikes me I shall have much to learn
before I shall be able to do what you wish."

Harold sprang up hastily. He nearly upset
the boat in doing so; the side on which
I was sitting touched the water's edge,—I
lost my balance, and should have made
acquaintance with the bottom of the loch,
concerning which I had been speculating, had
not his strong arms been thrown round me.

"Good Heaven!—Annie!—My wife!"

I had been on the farther side from the
shore—the water was deep—no help near—he
could not swim—all this flashed through his
mind, and I felt how the heart beat against
which I was pressed.

"God grant you have not saved what you
would have been happier for the losing!"
something compelled me to say, as I looked
up in his lace. There was love himself, most
beautiful and perfect, looking out from his
eyes into mine, and I did not any longer
struggle in his embrace.

"God be praised!" he murmured as he
gently released me, and sat me down in the
middle of the boat, when, at last, it had ceased
its perilous rocking to and fro. I did not
cherish my wicked spirit longer. He took
the oars and rowed back. We were both
grave and silent for a little while: but
Harold's gravity soon vanished, so did
all traces of emotion, save that he lifted
me out of the boat, and put me down far
from the edge of the loch, as if he could not
trust me near the water again.

"I ordered dinner at five," he said, as
we walked up the beach; "now it is half-
past. Mrs. Mac-Something will grumble, I
am afraid. You won't be long at your toilette,
Annie? remember we are to climb the
mountain, to see the sun set this evening."

The evening was only just pleasantly
advanced and cool, when we set out on our
little expedition. Harold had managed to
hunt up a pony for me, as we had some
two or three miles to go. He was very
merry, and we laughed and chatted gaily
as he led my steed and strode on beside
me. But when we came to the narrow glen
between high threatening masses of rock,
that shut out the sunlight and frowned
blackly down on us, the light talk and
laughter pained me; it seemed impious, my
heart echoed it so hollowly. I put my
hand on Harold's lips, and said, "Be quiet,
please!" very gently. He kissed my hand,
and obeyed, seeming to understand; or else
it was the grey shade that made his face
look grave and pale, and we wound up
in silence. I dismounted soon, as the
way got rougher; the boy, who had followed
us, took the pony; and we went on alone. We,
two, who should have been not two, but one.

The highest peaks were almost inaccessible,
but the one we ascended was comparatively
easy to climb, and we had been assured that
the view was awfu' grand. When we were
at the top, the sun was setting; we were just
in time. I drew my arm from Harold's. I
planted my feet firmly on the craggy ground.
At first, everything swam before my eyes in
a kind of mist of glory; but after a few
minutes' steady gazing, all became distinct.

My soul strove and struggled, it essayed
to dilate wide enough to take in all of the
beauty, the glory, the grandeur; it endeavoured,
passionately, to make God's things its
own, containing them. It did not, owning
humbly its child-like position and dependence
upon the same Being, whose glory was now
partially revealed to it, then take a meek, a
reverent, an awful joy, in thinking of the
Maker of the Universe, as the Father and
Friend of every living soul. No! there was
strife and pain, and impotent self-abasement,
and as impotent, because as blind, aspiration
within me. I forgot I was not alone. I cried
out in the strange agony, and clenched my
hands.

Then I felt myself clasped in his arms,
I was turned round, I could see no longer, I
felt as if some divine inspiration had been