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an introduction to Miss L'éclair, and begging me to intercede in their behalf."

"Excuse me, Delaval, I have no desire to extend my acquaintance."

"You would not draw upon yourself so odious a name as an exclusive," said he with marked emphasis. She blushed, gave a haughty wave of the head, but rising at the same time and taking his arm. Marcus felt that he had extended their conversation as far as politeness to others authorized. Delaval led L'éclair to the dance, and though he seemed charmed with the fair Aurora, as he called the blue-eyed Katy, his every look betrayed a strong and earnest interest in the dark girl, whose fascinations he defied. And she trusted him with a playfulness and familiarity that seemed like the rebounding of an elastic substance from some strong unusual pressure.

"She probably looks upon me as a stern moralist," thought Marcus, as he saw her lay her hand confidingly on Delaval's arm and look up in his face with a bewitching smile, "but better so than the plaything of an idle hour. Nay, I will not be unjust. She bore my bold chiding nobly, and beautiful was the inner light that at times came up from her soul and illumined her face. Brilliant, charming, bewildering L'éclair! Should she prove an ignus fatuus, shining over her marshes of folly and vanity, aimless and betraying, I could soon cease to be lured by her light; but if "

The mental sentence remained unconcluded, for he had to turn L'éclair in the dance, and reflection vanished in a thrill of electricity.

When the dance was over and the company dispersing, he again found himself at her side.

"We leave early in the morning," said she. My uncle is a man of wondrous punctuality, and will not delay one moment. Delaval, who is bound for the same regions, will bear us company. Farewell, Marcus Warland. Promise not to think less of the wild girl of the fountain for daring to send you some of the random arrows of her reckless brain. She hopes when she again meets you she will be able to lay aside the fancy appellation of L'éclair for her own legitimate name."

"I cannot promise to think less of one who will henceforth be blended with my highest aspirations and wishes," exclaimed Marcus with irrepressible enthusiasm. The soft hand, extended in parting, lingered a moment in his clasp, and she passed away like the lightning of a summer night.

CHAPTER VII.

His fair locks waved in sunny play,
By a clear fountain's side,
Where jewel-colour'd pebbles lay
Beneath the flowing tide.

And if my heart had deem'd him fair,

When in the fountain glade,

A creature of the sky and air,

Almost on wings he play'd;

Oh! how much holier beauty now

Lit that young manly being's brow!"-HEMANS.

DURING their journey home Marcus expressed a strong desire to revisit the scenes of his childhood, the ferryman's cabin, the Long Moss Spring, old Simon, and the banks of the rushing river, that used to murmur his nightly lullaby. Mr Bellamy immediately proposed to take his place in the carriage, in exchange for his horse, which would carry him by a by-road to his early home.

"I wish I were going too," exclaimed Katy, looking wistfully after him. "Marcus, don't forget to give my love to old Uncle Simon, and bring me some of the moss from the fountain, and some of the leaves of the magnolia that shades its margin."

It was with feelings of refreshment and delight that Marcus found himself on horseback in the heart of the cool green woods. Dear as was the society of his friends, just at this time the freedom of his own thoughts was dearer still. Freedom !-yes, it was freedom. It was

with a jubilant spirit he felt himself free from the collegiate restraints which for three years had bound him. They did not gall him while he wore them, because he never writhed or resisted them; but now they were thrown off, he experienced that joy in independence which shews it is the birthright of man. He was happy; he had fulfilled the hopes of his friends; he had attained the aim of his ambition; but the spot on which he now stood was only a stepping-place for another and higher ascent. He looked into the future.

According to the promise of

his adopted father, he was to enjoy still higher advantages of education in one of the distinguished institutions of New England, and he flew in imagination towards its granite hills with eager anticipations. Delaval was to accompany him. He was to visit him at his own home, called Wood Lawn, after resting awhile at Bellamy Place, and they were to start together on their northern journey. We said Marcus was happy. The mysterious joy of a young and growing passion exalted and refined all his perceptions, and even added to the visible glories of creation.

It was a little past noon of the third day since he had quitted the university, that the first incident occurred of any interest to the young traveller. He was just coming into the main road. He was riding on a grassy path, and the hoofs of his horse made no more noise than if treading on velvet. He saw through the opening boughs a carriage, standing near a little brook that flowed across the road. Seated on a log by the way-side, in the shade of the tall trees, was a group, whose position drove the the warm blood from the cheek of Marcus, quickly and

oppressively, to his heart. Mr Alston, the uncle of L'éclair, was seated somewhat apart, near the end of the log, very much engaged in discussing a luncheon of cold turkey and ham. Delaval sat at the opposite end, his arm thrown caressingly round the waist of L'éclair, whose head reclined wearily, but gracefully, on his shoulder. Her bonnet was tossed on the ground, her hair was loose and sported wildly over Delaval's arm, as the forest vine round the oak to which it clings. An indescribable pang pierced the heart of Marcus-that heart a moment before so glad and glowing. The want of candour of Delaval, who professed such indifference to L'éclair,-Delaval, whom he thought the mirror of truth and frankness; the levity and unmaidenly forwardness of L'éclair, while cherishing an attachment to another; -he knew not which wounded most. He could not accost them. Gently turning his horse (if there was a rustling motion among the leaves, it was drowned in the soft gurgles of the wimpling brook), he rode back into the woods, without disturbing the noonday siesta of the travellers. As soon as he was far enough removed to be beyond the reach of discovery, he threw himself from his horse, and casting himself down under the first tree he saw, leaned back against the rough bark, immovable as the trunk that supported him. He felt as if he were suddenly transported from the equatorial to the polar regions, such a freezing sense of falseness and deceit congealed his blood. Nor did he think of himself alone. He thought of his blue-eyed sister, listening as he had seen her to the compliments of Delaval, whose black eyes, riveted on her modest face, seemed to speak unutterable things. He

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