6

Why, I have seen the girl hundreds of times before, and thought she was long ago married to a rich German miller.

pretty enough for anything, isn't she?'

She's

'Perhaps she thought herself too pretty for a German,' responded Stanley; he had no great idea of the country, and never neglected an opportunity of abusing it.

6

'Well, she's here to-day, anyhow,' said Newton, but I'll wager it, she's got a thought in her head at this moment of her Heinrich. I can tell it by her look.'

'You seem well acquainted with her,' said Mr. Stanley in a sarcastic tone.

Meanwhile, the little procession had moved up the village church. The words were spoken, the prayers were said, the ring was on her finger, and 'till death do part,' they were to be one. Rosa had no thoughts but one as she knelt at the altar.

There was to be Holy Communion after the service, and all, high and low, rich and poor, remained to partake of it. The bride and bridegroom were in the same pew with Harry

Newton and Mr. Stanley. When the large plate came round for the alms, Newton could not help seeing that the bride dropped a piece of gold into it. He fancied it was a mistake, and he glanced at her to see if she were aware of it. But her countenance wore a look of happy satisfaction that he had never seen before. Every touch of sadness had vanished. Anyone who had seen her on that day for the first time, would have thought that no shadow had ever crossed her path.

Newton felt that she had made her offering to God, her oblation for mercies rendered. He did not know that it was the half-sovereign he had himself slipped into her hand years ago, and which was vowed to no other service. Little had he thought when he had given it, how it was to be expended, and when.

They all knelt together in the presence of the King of kings, and when Rosa rose from her knees at the conclusion of the service to join in the chant of thanks and praise, her

heart knew but one feeling, namely, gratitude

for present blessings.

Newton and Stanley walked round the little church when the service was finished. It was a pretty church, standing at one end. of the Park, and chiefly filled with monuments belonging to the Stanley family. At one which bore another name, and was very simple and unpretending, Newton paused. There was no reason for his doing so, except that the monument was newer than the rest, and the inscription more legible.

Hugh Arden,' he read half aloud, 'died of yellow fever off the American coast, June 30, 18-.' 'Who is that?' he said, turning to Stanley.

'Not a Stanley,' was the reply; he was an adventurer, in love with poor Frank's sister-in-law. Frank must have heard of his death just as he left home, for the same post that brought us tidings of his own illness, brought us a letter from Frank himself desiring me to have this simple monument put up here. It was his own design and

being almost his last wish, I of course acceded to it.'

Newton stifled the questions that rose to his lips-was this then the barrier between himself and Nesta, and did Nesta still live, and did she love him still ? '

He's

They looked at no more monuments that morning; and before a week was over, Newton had started on a tour abroad. an odd fellow,' said Stanley, 'I don't know what he finds so very alluring in sailing up the Rhine and exploring gabled old cities.'

As to little Rosa, I do not think she ever lost the happiness of that day. To be loved with the love of a good man is no small blessing; and Rosa knew that it was hers. She did not throw away the lock of hair, she kept it; not exactly as a relic of former love, but as a reminder of past troubles and

sorrows.

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CHAPTER XX.

ONE AT LAST.

Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate sources, Seeing each other afar, as they leapt from the rocks, and pursuing

Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer, ⚫ Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest; So these lives that bad run thus far in separate channels, Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing asunder,

Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer, Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other.

An

SIX weeks after, another bride and bridegroom were travelling homewards. ordinary observer would have found small traces left of the pretty girl of seventeen with the moss-rose wreath, as Newton had seen her for the first time. Even Newton, if he had thought about it, would have found perhaps little of that outward beauty which had once so attracted his admiration. But the thing that we love, we love for something more than this. The ravages that

U