CHAPTER XII.

As Agnes gradually collected her bewildered thoughts after this trying colloquy, a new phase of her heart's story seemed to have opened before her. There was a stillness, a calm, around her and within her, like that one feels on plunging suddenly into dead, stirless silence, after the din and roar and whirl and clash of deafening mills or cataracts, or raging, stormy seas. Her frame felt powerless; but her spirit was soothed, her heart light.

She had spoken-the fearful ordeal was gone through. It was true, her ultimate course was yet not clear before her―true, that all he had said, though it had shaken, had not decided her that the hesitation and conflict of mind which had preceded her previous settled resolve (for such she had thought it) were now renewed, or must be before long. Still, she was soothed; and peaceful, hopeful feelings once more found entrance into her breast. Another tone was given to her thoughts. There would be no cruel rupture between them, at least. That desolation, under any event, would be spared her:-and his affection !-Could she doubt its sincerity, its strength.-Come what might, it would never fail her.

And then returned to her mind, recollections of that other joy she had so long

anticipated-the joy of being the means of placing Walter in the high position she longed to see him hold, and from which she knew it chafed his proud spirit to feel himself shut out;-of surrounding him with all that could give zest and charm, and worthy, noble aim to life;of affording him opportunity for the exercise and display of all his latent powers;of seeing him admired, applauded, courted, by the cultivated, the gifted, the distinguished;-of basking in his glory, and of feeling that, from her, the whole had sprung. This she could do, whatever relation they stood in, in their private home. She could make him great, she knew: Could she but make him really happy too-in whatever character as touched herself there would be hopes and joys enough for her. And if her

whole earnest soul was bent on not missing the way, might she not trust that she would find it-that she would be given light to judge aright?

She had time too, she reflected. A year!-a year passed near him-It was an eternity to the eye of love!

She would leave all, then, to Timethe great, unfailing test! Before the term agreed upon was past, it was impossible but that the judgment and the hearts of both would have spoken in language too imperative to admit of further doubt. At present, she would try to banish all these harassing thoughts: She would wait and trust-and let the future form itself.

With these feelings, she rose comforted; and when they met again that evening, there was a placid smile on her lip, which

helped to smooth the traces of uneasiness that still lingered on Walter's features. Neither referred to what had passed: but they took each other's hands; and many and many a thought had time to course through the minds of both, ere they relaxed their steady, gentle grasp.

Then they drew, together, round the genial hearth, and talked again of all they had done while they were far asunder, till both forgot their trouble and its cause, and remembered only that they were reunited-never to part again.

And now, time again flew sweetly and blissfully their spirits recovered their buoyancy; and though they seldom, if ever, adverted in direct terms to the nearer tie which might one day bind them, and that the peculiar position in which they now stood towards each other