ter say no more; you have mistaken your own feelings!" Edith hid her face in her hands to conceal her emotion.

Stevens turned a ghastly white, and trembling from head to foot, he suddenly seized both her hands, and drawing them from her face while he held them firmly in his grasp, he said in a hoarse voice, with intense earnestness, "Look at me, Edith; look at me, and forgive me. If you loved Ned Grey, I have a secret that will distress you, although it will be a comfort."

The blush that had overspread her features suddenly vanished, and a deadly pallor that turned her beautifully chiselled face to marble seized upon her. Releasing her hands from his grasp, she caught him by the arm. "Speak!” she cried, in a deep, unnatural voice; "what secret can Ned's enemy know that he has concealed till now ?”

"I am not his enemy," said Stevens, who looked like a man guilty of murder. "I was his friend. It is now nearly six years ago that I was on board the Sybille. We had left Plymouth the day before, and were bound for India. We lay to off this coast to send a boat ashore with our last letters: it landed near Sandy Cove. When it returned, two lads had been found upon the beach, and the boat's crew had kidnapped and pressed them into the service. A black dog was with them. The lads were Ned Grey and the negro Tim; the dog was Nero.”

Edith stared wildly at Stevens, and sighed deeply. "Go on," she said calmly, but despairingly.

"Ned was in distress, as he had no means of communication with home. The ship sailed to India. We fought a French frigate, the Forte, which I have before described to you: Ned distinguished himself in the action, and he was sent to England in the prize with myself. As you know, she was wrecked. I have never dared to tell you his fate, as I thought it better to let it remain a mystery. When the

ship was wrecked, I saw him and the negro swimming in the surf. I stretched out an oar from the boat to save him; at that moment a tremendous wave rolled over him, and neither he nor the negro appeared on the surface again. We rowed for some time backward and forward in hopes of finding him at the risk of swamping the boat, but we saw no more; both he and the negro were drowned."

Edith sank upon her knees, and clutching vainly at something for support, she fell stretched upon the floor.

For the moment Stevens thought she was dead, and, terrified at the result of his story, he rang the bell violently, and then endeavored to place her upon the sofa. In a few moments the house was in a state of excitement. Edith's mother, Polly Grey, and several servants, were endeavoring to restore animation. Some time elapsed before Edith recovered sufficiently to be supported to her room, when, as her mother was questioning Stevens below stairs, she threw her arms around Polly's neck and gave way to a burst of grief. When sufficiently calm to speak she described the dreadful story in a voice broken by deep sobs, and Polly Grey became overwhelmed with sorrow.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A FEW weeks after the supposed fate of Ned Grey had

been described by Stevens, Mrs. Jones, who had felt deeply for her daughter, endeavored to renew the topic that was nearest to her heart.

"A very gallant act, my dear, of James Stevens! Indeed it was an act of generous devotion; he risked his own life, and nearly swamped the boat, to save poor Ned. He was Ned Grey's friend, no doubt; or, if he were his enemy, the act was doubly generous. Sailors are always gallant fellows! I am glad that Stevens was a sailor. Should I ever marry again, I should like to have a husband of that profession." Here Mrs. Jones thought of Captain Smart. At the same time she continued,

"You should make up your mind, Edith, my child; if you loved Ned, you are under an obligation to Stevens for his brave attempt to rescue him. I am sure that the reason of his long silence upon Ned's fate was his excessive modesty he was over-sensitive, and feared to extol himself. Your poor father used to say in Latin that 'modesty was a good sign in a young man.' I believe this is in the Latin grammar. I wonder they said nothing about modesty in young women; perhaps the grammar was only written for boys' schools. However, I am sure that James Stevens is a very modest young man, and I confess that I should like him as a son-in-law. Think it over, my dear child; forget the past as much as possible. We should always endeavor to escape from painful recollections; we

should look forward, and not back. Ned Grey was a charming boy: a gentleman born, there can be no doubt. I always thought so from the moment that I saw his lovely mother's corpse; but then he would have had an up-hill life, full of cares and troubles. Death has released him. Think of him only as a dream of childhood, and make use of the present time. There are many worse than James Stevens, and in my opinion few are so good. Heron Hall is a beautiful place! I don't think I ever saw such magnificent oaks or so fine a park! Then I can come and see you, my darling child, and you will be perfectly happy! Don't say no, my dear Edith! Trust to me, for I know better than you do what would tend to your future happiness; all this cloud about poor Ned will pass away, and the future will be as bright as sunshine."

Edith listened abstractedly to her mother's glowing picture of her future life. Since the day when Stevens had described the shipwreck and Ned's death, she had certainly leaned more toward him than before, and, as his visits to the rectory had been constant, she had often led the conversation to the sad event, and dwelt with a painful interest upon all the details of the voyage from the time that Ned had first joined the Sybille. With consummate hypocrisy, Stevens pretended an extreme friendship for Ned Grey, and appeared to sympathize with Edith in her regard for his memory; he described, with well-feigned admiration, his courage in the action with the Forte, and also Ned's daring act in plunging into the sea to save his life when he fell overboard in the voyage from England.

These, and many other anecdotes in which Ned was concerned, served to awaken a common interest between Edith and Stevens which her mother lost no opportunity of supporting; nevertheless Edith's heart was as yet free from all warmer feelings than those of a friendly intimacy.

While Mrs. Jones was endeavoring to fan Edith's first spark of friendship into a brighter flame, Joe Smart was. burning with love for Polly Grey. He had used every argument that the warmest passion could suggest to persuade her to overcome her scruples and to become his wife. Polly had always regarded Smart with great affection; but although their intimacy was upon a footing that rendered the slightest hesitation dangerous, she still resisted his proposals. "Not until some eye-witness swears that he saw Paul's body buried, will I listen even to you, Joe Smart, who were Paul's best friend," such was Polly's final determination.

Joe Smart was in a difficulty; how would it be possible to procure the desired witness? It at length struck him that the only chance of obtaining information would be through Léontine, assisted by one of the lugger's crew, who might have obtained the name of the French privateer upon which Paul and Dick Stone had been killed. For this purpose Joe Smart set off for Falmouth, in order to discover from the authorities of that town all the particulars of the exchange of prisoners that had been effected when Léontine returned to France with her brother Victor: this information might be a guide to Léontine's address, and she might probably discover some members of the privateer's crew who could swear to the fact of Paul's death.

It was the eve of Christmas-day when Joe Smart started upon this important mission; the snow was falling heavily, and was drifting in the wind that howled across the hilltops, and scattered the few withered leaves that at this late season still clung tenaciously to the oaks. It was bitterly cold, and Joe Smart's fingers were so numbed that he could scarcely feel the bridle through his thick woolen gloves; buttoned tight to the chin, he had raised the high collar of his great-coat, around which he tied a large red