Nothing appeared less likely, at this period, than the fulfilment of Lynn's prognostications of his destiny. He collected encouragement and praise at every turn. A Bayard in society--a Raphael at the easel, he bore a distinguished part in the lionization of the day. He sped well, too, in his wooing. A quick fancy and impressible heart could hardly resist the attractions of his person and genius; and the spice of coquetry, generally predominant in Ellen's disposition, lay dormant, as she hearkened to the voice of love. She made but one reservation in pledging him her troth--that their engagement should be secret. He would have had it proclaimed through the land--he so joyed in the bliss he had won; but he bowed to the scarcely uttered wish, respecting the maiden modesty that dictated the request. To Ida and Charley it was divulged. He would not accept a happiness they wore forbidden to share. For a few brief weeks this knew no shade or diminution; but a change came. Ida discovered it; but he was silent, and she would not extort confidence. It was a trial to see his clouded countenance and fitful spirits; yet she knew his peculiarly sensitive organization, and hoped the evil was magnified by its medium. In this hope she finally persuaded him to speak. They met at a Fancy Fair. Ida was in an embowered recess, Mr. Lacy for a companion, and Charley hanging around to play propriety. Lynn entered alone, and did not attach himself to any person or party. He marched from end to end of the room, with folded arms, and a dogged look, too foreign to him, not to impress one unpleasantly. He perceived Ida after awhile, and acknowledged her presence by touching his hat, with no loss of gloominess. Ida was _distrait_; even Mr. Lacy failed to charm; and he was aware of it He guessed, too, from the direction of her eyes, the working of her thoughts, and proposed a visit to the refreshment table, which stood in the path of the promenaders. Lynn could not brush by without speaking. The first tone of Ida's voice affected him. The dull black of his eyes became lustrous, and the long lashes fell over them to conceal the momentary weakness. She would not let him go. She asked him questions without number or meaning, not waiting for answers, until she had eaten her ice; when she gave her glass to Mr. Lacy, and with an apology, his eye said was unnecessary, took Lynn's arm. He confessed all, as she had determined he should. It was a common tale; the scrupulousness of a love, made up of delicacy and truth, and the thoughtless trifling of a girl who felt her power;--so she explained it, but the young lover mourned the death of his first-born hope. "I would as soon speak lightly of my dead sister, as tamper with _her_ affection," said he. "Your excuse that she does these things to try mine--if you are right--proves that she never loved me."