to Heaven, as I had seen him do that first
night of our sleeping in the copse.

Two days after I was abroad in the wood,
collecting firing; my almost daily occupation.
I was unsuccessfully trying to twist the faggots
into a bundle, when Mr. Loring joined me.
He had been amongst the rocks in search of
birds' eggs, the only thing we could
procure suitable for an invalid. He took the
branches from my hands, and commenced
twisting them round the firewood, and I
stood watching his strong arms doing so
readily what had caused me so many vain
attempts. He was fully engrossed with his
occupation, and I with watching him. I
saw a little viper crawl hastily out of
the wood, and lodge within his shirt. I
could not move: my heart seemed to stop
beating: I dared not scream, lest he should
irritate the beast by moving, and I should
bring upon him what I dreaded. Mr. Loring
looked into my face as he finished tying
the bundle, and smiled; but the smile was
quickly changed into a look of alarm, as he
saw my terrified expression. The very thing
I would have averted, came to pass. He
started, exclaiming, "Margaret, what is it?
Are you ill?" but the next moment put
his hand to his shoulder, with an exclamation.
I flew towards him, and pulled aside
the shirt: there, on his shoulder, was a
dark spot. The reptile, glad to escape, glided
away. I placed my lips to the wound: Mr.
Loring tried to repulse me, but in vain: I
threw my arms round him, and clung to him
as if my life depended on it. Was not his
life dearer than my own?

It makes me shudder even now to think of
it. Then, suddenly a strange consciousness
flashed across me. I felt my face crimson
with confusion, and I walked some paces
away from Mr. Loring, and burst into tears.
He did not speak to me; he did not even
thank me: but he lifted the bundle of
faggots from the earth, and looked at me
inquiringly. I walked on by his side, still
sobbing from excitement. Presently, he held
out his hand to me; but I pretended not to
see it. I wanted to look at his face, but had
not nerve to do so for some time. When I
did, I saw that he was walking with his eyes
on the ground, but looking inexpressibly
happy. He seemed to have forgotten his
distress about Mr. Hart. While I was thus
watching his face, he raised his eyes, when I
withdrew mine; and, stretching out his hand
again, he said:—

"Margaret, I half believe you love me.
Look me in the face and tell me so, before it
is too late."

I did look him in the face. I would have
said: " Believe it entirely; believe it from
your very heart;" but I could find no voice.

That evening, as I stood at the door of our
hut— Mr. Hart was asleep—he came towards
me, and, without a prefatory word, drew
me to him, with his arms placed round me,
and, in a low voice, explained to me the
meaning of his words, "Before it is too
late." He wished me to marry him before
the chaplain died. The proposal did not come
strangely from him, strange as it was in itself.
It seemed to have been the haunting fear of
his life, that Mr. Hart would die before I had
learnt to love him. I did not hesitate a
moment in my compliance—why should I?
As he moved towards the house, I said:
"Are you going to speak to him now, Mr.
Loring?"

He nodded and smiled: then observed,
quietly, "My name is Henry," and left me.

That evening we were married by Mr.
Hart; who needed no preparation for the
event. He guessed the state of affairs throughout.
He drew up a sort of certificate, with
a wooden pen, on a piece of calico, with some
ink manufactured from berries.

After this, Mr. Hart sank rapidly, and it
was not many days before he died; Henry
Loring and I were left alone.

Those were days, to me, as happy days as I
can fancy those of our first parents must have
been before they fell. I could never have
desired a change but for his sake; and it
was with gratitude—chiefly on his account—
that I hailed the message which one day he
brought me, with a pale, agitated face, and
trembling voice, that a boat had put off from
a ship at sea, and was making for the island.
For his sake, I rejoiced as we landed again
in England, after an absence of more than two
years.

All that island life is now a thing only to
be talked of to our children, and to be looked
back upon almost as a dream.

PEARLS.

THE chief place among all precious things
belongs to the pearl, says Pliny; and although
pearls are not now held in the same extraordinary
estimation as in ancient times, they
are still gems of price: a necklace consisting
of fourteen of them being the gift of a prince
to his royal bride.

Britain early acquired a reputation for
its pearls, as appears from a statement
made by one of the oldest Latin writers,
Pomponius Mela, to the effect that some of
the seas of Britain generate gems and pearls.
A tradition preserved by Suetonius says
that Julius Caesar was tempted to invade
the island by the hope of enriching himself
with its pearls; and Pliny speaks of the
pearls of Britain as small and ill-coloured,
referring to the breast-plate studded with
pearls which Caesar himself had brought
home and dedicated to Venus Genetrix in
her temple at Rome. Solinus affirms that
the fact of the pearls being British was
attested by an inscription on the shield. This
agrees very well with Pliny's expression, that
Caesar wished it to be understood that the
offering was formed of British pearls.