boughs swinging before the windows, they
kept out sense of cold and emptiness, and
filled my heart with warmth and sweetness.
I do not know how long I dreamed.

My reverie was broken into roughly. Mrs.
Stone entered with a stormy rustling of her
handsome dress that told of some excitement.

"Oh!" she began, looking sharply at me;
"Mr. Warden forgot his roses here, I suppose,
I wondered where he had left them. He is
gone out with the young ladies; Amelia is
with her sisters, so you can go into the
garden, if you please. You need not have
touched those flowers, Miss Aston; put them
in water in the drawing-room, if you please;
no doubt they were brought for Julia, but
Mr. Warden is rather shy, and perhaps did
not like to offer them."

The lady approached, and looked more
closely at my flowers.

"He must have given several guineas for
that bouquet at this season," she continued;
"very extravagant! but, however, he is a
young man of large fortune, and, as a bachelor,
can afford such extravagances—his father, I
understand, was among the most wealthy
of our merchant-princes—by the way, how
does it happen you know him so intimately?"

"He was a friend of ours,—of my brother's,
when I was a child."

"Indeed! then, of course, you know all
about the family. Has he any near relatives
living?"

"I believe not," I answered.

I had risen, and stood leaning against the
piano, my flowers gathered up heedfully in my
folded arms. I half guessed what Mrs. Stone
would say next, and stood on the defensive.

"I observed," the lady continued, " that
Mr. Warden called you by your Christian
name. That was all very well when you
were a child, but I am sure, as a sensible
young woman, you will see that now it is
hardly becoming. There is a wide difference
of station and position, you must remember.
For a governess to be treated with such an
appearance of familiarity by a handsome young
man of fortune, is not 'the thing.' You hear
me, Miss Aston? Do not crush those
flowers!"

I had gathered them rather closely to my
bosom—I held them more loosely as I
answered,—

"I do, madam!"

"I am sure you will acknowledge that I
am right. I will mention the matter to Mr.
Warden, if you choose—he appears to be
rather an unsophisticated young man, and
perhaps does not know much of the ways of
the world."

" I think Mr. Warden will act according to
his ideas of right, and not according to what
any one may tell him of the ways of the
world, Mrs. Stone."

"That scornful look and tone is most
unbecoming, Miss Aston. I have told you
before, that if you cannot better control your
temper, and treat me with more respect, I
shall not be able to keep you, sorry as I
should be to be forced to dismiss you. You
know how much you have suffered already
from the evil, but natural, interpretations put
upon your frequent changes of situation. I
wonder you are not more guarded. You
cannot, I am sure, complain to Mr. Warden,
or any one else, that you have experienced
anything but kindness here."

"I shall not complain—certainly not—  to
Mr. Warden! " I interrupted.

"That is right; for once your pride is proper
and becoming. You need not stand there
any longer, I have done, I only wanted to
warn you; I am sure you understand me.
Take those flowers and put them in water, as
I requested, they are beginning to droop. I
am sure Julia will be pleased. I do not think
Mr. Warden very clever, but he is a fine
young man, very steady and good tempered,
and Julia is ambitious and will spur him
on, so they will suit well."

"Possibly!" I answered, " but about the
flowers you are mistaken, ma'am, they are
mine; Mr. Warden laid them where you
saw them,—I had not touched them when
you came in." I did not stay to see the effect
of my words, but went up to my own room.
There I put my treasures lovingly in water,
and then sat by them thinking, and my heart
softened as it had not done for many a day.
I felt so grateful to Harold! Any way, it
was so kind—so thoughtful to bring such
lovely flowers for me! In my heart I was
always most deeply grateful to him; but I
do not remember that I ever thought of being
so to Heaven for any of my happiness, and so
my very gratitude grew to be a pain to me
and a bane to him.

But I must not anticipate, though you
know mine to be a sad story.

It was not so very long after my receipt
of that first, most precious, gift—(I have
the dust of those flowers now!)—that Harold
asked me to be his wife.

It was on one early spring evening, when I
had stolen half-an-hour's freedom from my
slavery and gone alone into the garden. At
least, it should have been spring by the calendar,
but it was a wintry evening, bleak,
black, damp, and cold. A very dismal and
dreary evening, and so I loved to linger out
in its ghastly, chill twilight. I believe I
was always happier in what other people
called most miserable weather. It seemed
as if I relished throwing my defiance in
Nature's face, and yet I loved her with no
half love-liking. Just then, my proud, exulting
heart joys in proving its happiness,
its little dependence on aught external.

I had not paced, but rushed, up and down
the broad gravel walk, beyond the chance of
surveillance from the house, till I was weary;
then I stood leaning against a great tree, and
the solemn desolateness of the time and the
scene would steal icily to my heart, and I