"Do I know why?" said Miss Falconer, looking down upon her with a mischievous air, and humming instantly,

"'The poor soul sat sying by a sycamore-tree,
Sing all a green willow;
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow.'

But pr'ythee, be comforted; this is the way with all young ladies who have hair-brained sweethearts. But I assure you, he we wot of is the best, truest, and most amiable creature in the world; and if he be a little wild, why all men are so, you know."

At these allusions, which were evidently unexpected, Miss Loring blushed, then turned very pale; and finally, while Harriet drew breath, as if to continue the subject, she said, recurring abruptly to the original topic of discourse, and in a hurried manner,

"If you insist I should tell you what I have heard, I must obey. The story is singular and melancholy,—melancholy under every aspect, but doubly so, if that be true which I know you are most anxious to learn. But, Harriet, I cannot tell you all. What concerns the Gilberts alone I am ready to relate; but that which involves the connexion between,—that is to say—Harriet!" cried the young lady, after pausing with embarrassment, "it does not become a daughter to listen to aspersions cast upon the good name of a parent!"

"It does not," said Miss Falconer, gravely, "when they are breathed by the lips of an enemy. But fear not, I will not eat you. I do not ask you to repeat slanders, but to inform me what slanders are repeated by others. You might have added, it did not become me to pry into my father's secrets; but as his child, his daughter—I would to heaven I could say his son!—it is fitting I should at least know from what to defend him. I tell you, Kate, I have this thing much at heart. Fear not to shock me by your relations; for, not being disposed to believe them, I shall not be grieved, except at discovering how extensive may be the malignity of our foes. I shall rest more sweetly on my pillow to-night, if I go not to sleep on suspicion. Begin, therefore, Kate, and scruple not to speak boldly."

CHAPTER VI.

For us, we do approve the Roman maxim,
To save one citizen is a greater prize,
Than to have killed, in war, ten enemies.
MASSINGER—The Guardian.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude.——
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh,
As benefits forgot.
AS YOU LIKE IT.