"Well," said the young man at this, giving Molly a queer glance, "I had always supposed fishermen to be a rude sort of people—entirely unlike you all, of course."

"'With the exception of one,' you would say, if you dared," added Molly instantly. "But you needn't blame any of my ancestors for my tongue— Sara will tell you our mother was a real lady, in speech and manners, and our father one of Nature's noblemen. I was probably changed in the cradle by some wicked fairy."

"Let us thank the creature for leaving such a unique specimen, at least," laughed Mr. Garth, completely mollified; (if you will not accuse us of an insane desire to make a pun). "Come, fairy changeling, and let's have a song together."

"Yes, if you won't insist upon classical music more than half the time. Do you know what I'd like to sing to-night?" rising to go indoors; "one of those rollicking, rioting old sailor-songs, with no tune, and not many more words, but with a catchiness in the two or three bars that gives you the sensation of a ship rolling and pitching under your feet— but Sara won't let me, so"—laughing mischievously—"I suppose I'll have to come down to Bach and Wagner!"

Sara left alone outside, for Morton now departed for the store, seated herself in one of the piazza-chairs to listen at her leisure. The twilight was deepening into the warm, scented dusk of a mid-summer eve, with nameless soft noises amid the dew and the perfume, as countless tiny creatures settled themselves to repose or came out for their nightly dance beneath the stars.

The tender influences of night and silence inwrapped the girl as if in motherly arms, and she felt glad, and hushed, and still. What was the little struggle of a day when all this great, yet minute world lived, slept, woke and worked, subject to one Will—a Will mighty enough to control the universe, precise enough to make perfect and beautiful the down upon the wing of an insect invisible except under a powerful microscope? Why should she fret, or worry, or dread?

"I have but one care," she said, "to do right—to abide by my inner heaven-given instinct, which we call conscience, the rest is of the Will."

She leaned her head back restfully against the small down pillow tied by gay ribbons to her chair; but her resting soul leaned against an Arm,— mighty to save, and tender to feel. Amid all her musings ran the sweet strains of the old English ballad the others were singing inside, whose refrain only was clear to her,—

"Trust me, Love, only Trust!"

A figure moving with a springing motion came swiftly up the gravelled walk and mounted the steps. Not till then did Sara notice it. She turned, rose, and stepped forward; and as the figure advanced to meet her, it stood full in the light streaming through the drawing-room windows.