It was a hard trial for her to leave the
pretty place. There were so many
leave-takings of old familiar spots, so many charges
to the farmer who owned the house, to let
the oak wreaths hang as they were till a new
tenant came in, and "Oh, to be sure, and feed
the squirrels everyday of his life;"— so many
hints after Tiger, who was always supposed
to have been drowned in the well, or
smothered under the luggage; and so many
outbursts of joy at finding him, safe and
sound, and generally fast asleep, that it was
nearly dark before I got her to take the
last look, and let me lead her to the pony
carriage which was waiting at the gate. I
got her safely in at last, and saw her
drive away; the little garden-hat always
turned towards the cottage as long as it
was in sight. Little she cared about
Gan-Eden, or all I was losing with it. But I
consoled myself with the thought that I
was inseparably connected with it, in Lucy's
mind. Never could she think of the flowers,
and the sunshine, and the bees, without also
giving a thought to the friend, who had
watched and loved them with her. I went
back and leaned against the well, where I
had seen her first; I bent down and kissed
the rough board where her hand had often
rested. If a tear fell now and then, and
broke the image of the star which shone so
tranquilly in the water below, it was only
known to me, and to that star, and to Him
who made us both!

The few days she had mentioned fled like
so many moments, and after that evening of
moonlight and music, she was to leave us.
I stood with her in the parlour of her uncle's
house, about ten moments before the arrival
of the stage. There were curtains of some
transparent rose-coloured material at the
windows, and she was festooning them back
with some waxen white flowers, with green
leaves— the last clippings of her aunt's
conservatory— and the warm light fell upon
her face as she made a graceful curtsey
to me.

"There! Is not that pretty! When you
come to see us in the city this winter, I shall
arrange our parlours in the same way,
to make you remember Woodstock and Gan-
Eden."

"I am not likely to forget either of them,"
I said, looking fondly down at her, and in
another moment it would have all been said,
if she had not laid her hand upon my arm,
and whispered:

"Dear old James, I should so like to tell
you a secret."

"Well?"

"But you must never let my aunt know I
told you, or she would give me a terrible
lecture. I suppose it is very improper and
all that,— but I should so like to tell you
myself. I want you to come to us on the
second week of January, and stay till after
the twenty-fourth."

"And why till then?"

She blushed, and looked anywhere and
everywhere but at me.

"Because, on the twenty-fourth I am to
be married."

With a strong effort, I mastered myself,
and turning my face from the light, prepared
to hear and answer her next question, which
soon came.

"Are you angry?"

"Not I,"  I answered steadily. "But does
your aunt know this?"

She opened her large eyes with innocent
wonder.

"Of course. How stupid you are getting,
my dear old James. Why, she made the
match!"

"Ah!"

"Edward is scarcely older than I am, but
his father wishes him to marry, to make him
steady, I believe, or some such nonsense,—
as if such a fly-about as I am would not
unsettle him still more! However, we are
very fond of each other."

"But how comes it, Lucy, that after all
our familiar friendship, this is the first time
I have even heard his name?"

She shook her curls about her face, and
laughed.

"Oh, I didn't like,— I was afraid you would
think it was silly. You are so grave and
wise, and indeed I never should have had
the courage now, only that I am going
away. But, would you like to see his
picture?"

"Yes."

She took a pretty little case of blue velvet
from her pocket, and, unfastening the golden
clasps, laid it open in my hand. I looked
upon my rival. A dashing, handsome,
audacious boy of twenty, with a midshipman's
uniform, a pair of bright dark eyes, and an
incipient moustache— that was all! He
looked merry and happy enough, but he
seemed more likely to be deeply in love with
himself than with the pretty child they were
going to give him for his wife. She needed
training as well as loving, constancy as well
as fervor. I could have been all to her,
husband, father, and friend.

"Hark! there comes the stage!" she
exclaimed, snatching the picture from my hand,
and running away to call her aunt. Before
she returned to me, I was calm, at least
out-wardly.

"You will be sure and come and see us
when you get back to the city, the very day
you come," she pleaded, standing on the
steps, and holding my cold hand in both
hers.

"Yes, Lucy."

"And remember, what I told you is a
secret," she added, dropping her voice a little.
"You must not even speak of it in your
letters, for aunt will always see them."

"I shall write, then?"

"What a question! Why, I depend upon