found no echoes. Yet his expansive heart unfolded itself genially, and embraced all that Heaven created. The harsh judgments, that shot with withering condemnation from self-righteous tongues, never sullied his lips.

He had become a student of divinity, against strong opposition, because he preferred to be a messenger of peace, a bearer of balm to wounded, broken spirits, rather than to hold the highest office which the power of man could bestow.

He was too liberal, too well-informed, too deeply imbued with Christian charity, to suppose that evil necessarily intermingled with the represented history which takes the name of the drama. He thought it no shame to love such a woman as Elma, though she chanced to bear the title of an actress; though she was the daughter, and the granddaughter, and the great-granddaughter, of actors.

The lights which shone upon her life had been struck from sparks that Leonard first kindled. It was he who had taught her to seek the kingdom of heaven and its righteousness, believing that all things needful would be added unto her, all things which regarded her actual good,—not her mere transient prosperity in time, but her unperishing, ineffable, ever-increasing felicity in eternity. From this source sprang her unrebellious patience, her neverfailing trust.

Leonard Edmonton was on the eve of declaring his attachment to Elma, when he was thunderstruck by the information that Lord Oranmore had sought her hand; that he had been rejected; that she was already betrothed.

Her image was interwoven with every fibre of his heart, yet he must pluck it thence. It was a hard disjunction, a cruel severing. For a time the flood swept over him, and the Ararat of his existence disappeared.

When Lord Oranmore proposed the visit to Scotland, Edmonton found it impossible to trample out a hope which still flickered in his breast. He would see Elma once more, make “ assurance doubly sure," and part with her, if needs must be, forever.

And when he came, Elma, as we have already seen, forgot for the moment her interview with his father, her bond to Mortimer, everything but the joy of standing in his presence, beholding him, listening to him once again. Her manner awakened a thousand delicious hopes, and emboldened Edmonton to give them utterance. The answer at which his heart throbbed tumultuously was not syllabled in language, nor conveyed in any form that could be coldly transcribed upon paper.

But when Edmonton strove to break the spell of her eloquent, trembling silence, and implored her to tell him that he had not been wholly banished from her thoughts, that she had cherished some memory of him during their separation, she raised the lid of a box which stood on the table, took from an inner drawer a small packet, and laid it in his hand.

He opened the paper. Within was the bunch of violets, fastened by a golden arrow, which had fallen at her feet on the night of her mother's farewell.

But Elma checked his exclamation of rapture. "Selfish and thoughtless! what have I done?" she cried. "How totally I have forgotten all that

O, there is so much that I have yet to tell you! That bond - "

A bond? Do not say that you are not free, Elma!" he exclaimed, in a tone of consternation.

"Free? Yes, I am; and yet not wholly free. There is my father crossing the street, -—it is not possible now to tell you all. O, forget these few moments of happiness! I can promise you nothing." "Do not keep me in cruel suspense, Elma! When am I to see you again? Let it be to-day, know the worst to-day."

let me "To-day! how is that possible? The day is nearly over."

Mr. Ruthven, whom Elma had seen from the window, now entered the room.

Edmonton lingered as long as politeness would permit; then took his leave, without obtaining another word of explanation from Elma.

Mr. Ruthven was in a disturbed, querulous state, because Gerald could not be found; because Elma could not account for his sudden departure from. rehearsal.

Well might her heart sink as she reflected how necessary Mortimer was to her father's happiness!

Her self-possession once restored, her resolution. was quickly taken. She would not cause her aged parent sorrow; she would not render Mortimer miserable. She closed her eyes upon the vision of that calm and holy future which had risen up before her. She would seek the earliest opportunity to confide everything to Edmonton. He was too noble-minded to endeavor to change her purpose.

A Lover's Perplexity.

CHAPTER VI.

Edmonton behind the Scenes. — Elma's

Confession. Sudden Appearance of the Tragedian. — Parting of the Lovers. — Mortimer's Inexplicable Conduct.— Conversation with Elma. Reciprocal Generosity. — The Father's Misinterpretation.

LEONARD EDMONTON's interview with Elma had lifted him for a moment to the highest pinnacle of felicity, then plunged him into an abyss of doubt. Certain and inevitable evil he could have encountered with calmness; but these perplexing, bewildering hopes and fears put to flight his wonted self-control. Delay became intolerable; he must see Elma that very evening, and entreat her full confidence.

At the theatre in Glasgow access behind the scenes was not attended with difficulty. A quarter of an hour before the rising of the curtain, Edmonton presented himself at the stage entrance, and requested to see Miss Ruthven. Without comment or question, the door-keeper gave him admission. No guide was vouchsafed. Leonard entered and wandered about until he reached the back of the stage, behind the "flats." Here a couple of carpenters were constructing a throne (King Lear was the tragedy to be represented that evening). The intruder was unnoticed until he accosted them. He had written a few words on his card, and wished to send it to Miss Ruthven. One of the men, without interrupting his

occupation, shouted to Jock, the call-boy. A sandyhaired lad answered the summons, received the card, and walked off, deliberately perusing the pencilled lines as he went.

A few moments afterwards, Elma, in her Cordelia attire, appeared before her lover.

The carpenters had completed their royal elevation, and now bore it away.

Elma and Leonard stood alone in the dim light. She was no longer the blushing, trembling girl, who had been surprised into the betrayal of her heart's dearest secret. She had advanced towards Leonard with a firm step, an air of sad composure, a look of steady resolve.

"I fear I have committed an impropriety in presenting myself here, Elma; but I could not endure the state of torturing uncertainty in which I parted from you."

"I am glad that you have come," replied Elma, very quietly; "I have blamed myself severely for the false hopes I gave you this morning."

"False hopes, Elma? Was I wrong, then, in believing what your looks told me in such thrilling language? Must I doubt

"Spare me!" supplicated Elma. "Do not try my strength! My heart may prove weaker than my judgment-my resolution!" Then she added, in a quicker, more excited tone: "But why need I make any concealment from you, who are worthy of all trust? I should not blush to admit that Heaven could not bless me more than by exchanging my uncongenial present for a future by your side."