"I wish they would open it," she said; how strengthened she had grown in the wilfulness that never brooked contradiction. She thrust her slender arms through the palings, and snatched at the nearest trees, tearing off a handful of leaves from one and then from another, and having done so, turned silently away. The longer we remained in the darkness, the more distinctly we could see; and she held towards me the fragments she had gathered.

"Do you believe in omens, my dear friend? look here, here is the first garland I have gathered on my return to my own home, to my native land! Look; do but look !—yew and laurel!-a few leaves of the laurel, a great bough of the yew! I might have read my destiny aright without this-but this confirms it. When a woman achieves the laurel, she must take the yew with it. Immortality !— only a leaf of immortality, to soften sorrow and envy, and destruction and death-a leaf of the laurel, a branch of the yew!—and is this really to be all ?”

I pressed closely to her side, and we walked rapidly towards where we saw the carriage,

and I felt very glad it was in sight; two persons, who had evidently alighted to relieve. a horse which was dragging a dog-cart up the hill, were close to us; the one, a servant most probably, was walking in the road, the other was on the pathway.

"It is Marley," muttered Helen, and night though it was she doubled her veil over her face. She knew him then-she knew him, and wished to avoid him. I was cloaked and hooded from head to foot, so I had little fear of being recognised.

We passed, and as we did so he raised his hat a courtesy towards women only learned abroad. I could hear that his step paused. We walked rapidly onward. I could not perceive from where the carriage was, whether or not he lingered on the pathway. I fancied he did and, after bidding adieu to Helen, instead of returning by the road, I resolved to do so by a path which led to the back of my cottage. I entered, and desiring the servant not to bring a light to the front of the house, I ascended to my bed-room, which commanded an extensive view. The horse and servant

"

were out of sight, but Marley was pacing
backward and forward in front of the house.
I sat down, determined to observe his move-
ments: twice he came across and laid his hand
on the gate, as if resolved to enter and inquire,
even at that hour, if I were at home. At last
he passed to
to the opposite side of the
road, and I watched his shadow fade away,
now quite lost-lost beneath the shadows of
umbrageous trees; then again appearing,
slanting along the path, dimly, and indis-
tinctly, but still there! those tell tale
shadows! how often have they betrayed
love's sweetest secrets; how often have they
pointed the way which the murderer considered,
trackless; how often has the shadow of the
loved one, falling upon the latticed window,
changed hope into fulfilment; how joyfully do the
young birds, the nestlings of spring, recognize,
and greet the shadow of the parent's wing, as it
crosses the sunbeams, that warmed them in her
absence; how do the shadows lengthen and
linger, when as the day draws to its close, we
watch for the coming friend! how chill and
unearthly are they in the moonlight, as though

they partook of the nature of that spirit world, which casts such strange unnatural gleams, upon our material, but mysterious globe! At last, even Marley's shadow disappeared, and I felt relieved, as if some noxious vapour had vanished. He must have recognized Helen; he must, doubtless, have observed that I was with her; perhaps he even saw that one, not two, entered the waiting carriage. What knowledge, then, had Marley and Helen of each other?

289

CHAPTER XIII.

"When the poor flesh, surviving, doth entomb

The reasonable soul."

SOUTHEY.

THE next morning, every shadow thrown upon the grass I fancied to be that of Marley; I attempted to write a note of congratulation to Mr. Middleton, and threw down my pen with a feeling of utter contempt for myself, that I should think of playing the hypocrite. I thought I would drive into town and see Florence, but what could I say to her? That odious Mrs. Major Cobb called. Time, that fills some people's heads, had certainly emptied hers she was more absurd than ever-her

VOL. I.

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