The lover said, "How is my sweet Mary?" with a beaming countenance; and, gently drawing her to his bosom, he kissed her cheek. Mary did not, could not, wished not, at once to release herself from his enfolding arms. Gabriel had always treated her as the woman who was to be his wife; and though at this time her heart knew its own bitterness, yet she repelled no endearments that were so lately delightful, and suffered him to take her almost in his arms to their accustomed seat. He held her hand in his, and began to speak in his usual kind and affectionate language. Kind and affectionate it was; for, though he ought not to have done so, he loved her, as he thought, better than his life. Her heart could not, in one small short hour, forget a whole year of bliss. She could not yet fling away with her own hand what only a few minutes ago, seemed to her the hope of paradise. Her soul sickened within her, and she wished that she were dead, or never had been born. "O Gabriel! Gabriel! well, indeed, have I loved you; nor will I say, after all that has passed between us, that you are not deserving, after all, of a better love than mine. Vain were it to deny my love, either to you or to my own soul. But look me in the face-be not wrathful-think not to hide the truth either from yourself or me, for that now is impossible, but tell me solemnly, as you shall answer to God at the judgment day, if you know any reason why I must not be your wedded wife. She kept her mild moist eyes fixed upon him; but he hung down his head, and uttered not a word, for he was guilty before her, before his own soul, and before God. "Gabriel, never could we have been happy; for you often told me, that all the secrets of your heart were known unto me, yet never did you tell me this. How could you desert the poor innocent creature that loved you; and how could you use me so, who loved you, perhaps, as well as she, but whose heart God will teach not to forget you, for that may I never do, but to think on you with that friendship and affection which, innocently, I can bestow upon you, when you are Sarah's husband. For, Gabriel, I have this night sworn, not in anger or passion-no, no-but in sorrow and pity for another's wrongs, in sorrow also deny it I will not-for my own, to look on you from this hour, as on one whose life is to be led apart from my life, and whose love must never more meet with my love. Speak not unto me, look not on me with beseeching eyes. Duty and religion forbid us ever to be man and wife. But you know there is one besides me, whom you loved before you loved me, and, therefore, it may be, better too; and that she loves you, and is faithful, as if God had made you one, I say without fearI who have known her since she was a child, although, fatally for the peace of us both, we have long lived apart. Sarah is in the house, and I will bring her unto you in tears, but not tears of penitence, for she is as innocent of that sin as I am, who now speak." Mary went into the little parlour, and led Sarah forward in her hand. Despairing as she had been, yet when she had heard from poor Mary's voice speaking so fervently, that Gabriel had come, and that her friend was interceding in her behalf,—the poor girl had arranged her hair at a small looking-glass, tied it up with a riband which Gabriel had given her, and put into the breast of her gown a little gilt brooch that contained locks of their blended hair. Pale, but beautiful,—for Sarah Pringle was the fairest girl in all the country, --she advanced with a flush on that paleness of reviving hope, injured pride, and love that was ready to forgive all, and forget all, so that once again she could be restored to the place in his heart that she had lost. "What have I ever done, Gabriel, that you should fling me from you? May my soul never live by the atonement of my Saviour, if I am not innocent of that sin, yea, of all distant thought of that sin, with which you, even you, have in your hard-heartedness charged me. Look me in the face, Gabriel, and think of all I have been unto you, and if you say that before God, and in your own soul, you believe me guilty, then will I go away out into the dark night, and, long before morning, my troubles will be at an end." Truth was not only in her fervent and simple words, but in the tone of her voice, the colour of her face, and the light of her eyes. Gabriel had long shut up his heart against her. At first, he had doubted her virtue, and that" doubt gradually weakened his affection. At last he tried to believe her guilty, or to forget her altogether, when his heart turned to Mary Robinson, and he thought of making her his wife. His injustice-his wickedness-his baseness-which he had so long concealed, in some measure, from himself, by a dim feeling of wrong done him, and afterwards by the pleasure of a new love, now appeared to him as they were, and without disguise. Mary took Sarah's hand and placed it within that of her contrite lover-for had the tumult of conflicting passions allowed him to know his own soul, such at that moment he surely was -saying with a voice as composed as the eyes with which she looked upon them "I restore you to each other: and I already feel the comfort of being able to do my duty. I will be bride's-maid. And I now implore the blessing of God upon your marriage. Gabriel, your betrothed will sleep this night in my bosom. We will think of you, better perhaps, than you deserve. It is not for me to tell you what you have to repent of. Let us all three pray for each other this night, and evermore when we are on our knees before our Maker. The old people will soon be at home. Good night, Gabriel!” He kissed Sarah, and, giving Mary a look of shame, humility, and reverence, he went home to meditation and repentance. It was now Midsummer; and before the harvest had been gathered in throughout the higher valleys, or the sheep brought from the mountain-fold, Gabriel and Sarah were man and wife. Time passed on, and a blooming family cheered their board and fireside. Nor did Mary Robinson, the Flower of the Forest (for so the Woodcutter's daughter was often called,) pass her life in single blessedness. She, too, became a wife and mother; and the two families, who lived at last on adjacent farms, were remarkable for mutual affection, throughout all the parish; and more than one intermarriage took place between them, at a time when the worthy parents had almost. entirely forgotten the trying incident of their youth. PROFESSOR WILSON. MY BRIDE. I. Do you remember how long it is Do you remember the thrilling bliss G |