nor anything which might draw off the thoughts of the invalid from her own sufferings. Ere Eda left, however, the aspect of affairs was materially changed; a few tastefully arranged flowers on the mantel-the carefully disposed curtains, admitting just light enough for cheerfulness, not enough for discomfort—and more than all, the happier expression of the sufferer's countenance, told that the hand of sympathy and affection had been there, and left its impress upon all it touched.

From this time Eda was a daily visiter, always bringing brightness with her, and as Mrs. Tracy herself said, “doing more good than the doctor," but despite her gentle care, the invalid gradually sunk, and before the spring had opened, Walter Tracy felt himself alone in the world. His grandmother had been the only relative he had ever known, and when he stood beside her grave, he felt for the first time desolate and lonely. For a time these feelings continued, but after awhile his spirit began to recover its natural tone, and he looked around him for companionship. It was not wonderful that he should turn first to those, whose sympathy in the hour of his affliction had not been disregarded, though then it could not soothe him—to Mr. Montrose and his daughter. And they, pleased to see him smile again, did all in their power to make his visits to them pleasant.

It was now, for the first time, that the young clergyman felt the full power of female sympathy, of free communion with one whose gentleness could soothe, while her cultivated mind and lively fancy charmed and arrested attention.

He had admired Eda, when they met, for her graceful beauty-he had looked upon her as a ministering angel while hovering round the couch of the aged parent he so fondly loved, but it was not until months afterward he knew how essential to his happiness were the voice and smile he had so long admired. And when forced to acknowledge to himself that he loved her with a stronger, deeper feeling than he had ever known before, he feared to utter the avowal of his affection, lest he should lose the friendship she evinced for him, without securing aught that could take its place.

It was not until the evening on which our tale commences, more than a year after the death of his parent, that he summoned courage to tell his love. They had just returned from a walk, and were alone; Eda had thrown off her bonnet, and seated herself on the sofa, when, after a few hasty strides across the parlour, which caused her to look up wonderingly, he placed himself by her side, and poured out the long repressed feelings of his heart. The avowal once made, his agitation subsided, and it was in his usual calm, though earnest tone that he uttered the words with which we introduced him to your notice.

Still Eda did not speak, though her frame was quivering with suppressed emotion. "Speak but one word, Eda," he whispered, alarmed by her silent agitation and averted face, "have I offended you? If so-"

"Oh no! no!" she murmured.

"God bless you, dear one!" and he clasped her hand in his; "then you will not reject my proffered love."

She strove to speak, and though the words died upon her lips, he felt that it was not rejection lingering there, and drawing her yielding form to his heart, he pressed the first pure kiss of love upon her brow.

That night Walter Tracy went to his home a happier man than ever in his life before, and when he knelt to offer his evening sacrifice of prayer and praise, it was from the depths of a heart full to overflowing that his words went up. Eda loved him-she had promised to be his ownher father's consent they never doubted, and not a single cloud seemed to rest upon the future. Had Mr. Montrose been at home, Walter would at once have sought him to ask a father's blessing on their plighted faith, and this it was his intention to do early on the following day, but other engagements interfered, and it was afternoon before he found himself seated in Mr. Montrose's study.

"Well, Mr. Tracy," said that gentleman, after the usual cordial salutations had passed, "you look as if you had something particular to communicate; is there any way in which I can serve you?"

The young man's colour rose, but without hesitation he told in few but earnest words the affection so long cherished, and frankly craved the right to look upon him as a father. Mr. Montrose was at first evidently surprised, but ere he concluded, a shade of something very like displeasure gathered on his brow, and he said, much less kindly than before, "I am sorry to hear this, Mr. Tracy, very sorry. I had anticipated no such result as this from your intercourse with my daughter; I thought you regarded her only as a sister."

"I thought so too once, Mr. Montrose," replied the young man, "but—”

"And you will think so again," interrupted the father. "I have other views for Eda, Mr. Tracy."

"Other views for Eda," repeated Mr. Tracy, becoming very pale: "surely you are not serious. You cannotyou will not thus coldly destroy your daughter's happiness and mine."

"Excuse me, sir," replied Mr. Montrose, w 'th an air of hauteur never before assumed to Walter Tracy, "I consider myself the best judge of what will secure my daughter's happiness."

"But hear me, Mr. Montrose."

"It can do no good to say more upon the subject, Mr. Tracy. My mind is made up. To be plain with you, sir, you have not the means of supporting Eda in the style to which she has been accustomed, and though I have welcomed you to my house as a friend, I have never intended to accept you as a son. I have begun to think lately that you were almost too much with Eda, and had accordingly made arrangements for leaving New York that this result might be prevented. I shall hasten those arrangements now, not less for your sake than my own, and should I ever return here, I hope to find you quite cured of this silly passion."

What said Walter Tracy to this cruel speech? Not one word. His cheek grew gradually paler as he listened, and his large dark eye dilated, till, as Mr. Montrose ceased to speak, he bent his head upon his hand, for a moment so

completely stunned by the blow, as to be almost unconscious that the chalice of joy but an instant before raised brimming to his lips, was dashed to the earth forever. But after a brief interval, he rose calmly, and asking only the privilege of seeing Eda once more, which was granted by Mr. Montrose, who, despite himself, was touched by the quiet misery of the young man's look and tone, he left the apartment. Mr. Montrose looked after him compassionately: "Poor fellow!" he said, "I am sorry for him, and for Eda too; it will cause them both suffering, still it would never do. Eda must look higher; we will go abroad, and she will learn to forget him amid the splendour and gayeties of Europe. She is very beautiful, and who knows but she may marry a

duke!"

CHAPTER II.

Meantime Walter Tracy sought his home with the step and air of one just wakened from a heavy slumber. He could scarcely realise yet what had passed in the last hour, but as he entered his study, and recollected in what an ecstasy of happiness and hope he had left it, he felt as though his burden were heavier than he could bear, and he threw himself upon his knees in such agony of feeling as he had never until now experienced. It was evening ere he rose to prepare for his last interview with Eda; he passed rapidly through the streets, and entering unannounced,