imagination had invested the rhymes was dimmer now; and yet they seemed to her “_si belle!_” The afternoon of that day, she sat with her mother, busily employed trimming a bonnet for their little darling, who was equally busy under the window, sticking an apron-full of wild-flowers into the ground, to make an impromptu garden. A voice called out, “Sir, will you have the goodness to give me a little help? My carriage has broken down.” Sibella started suddenly, and the bonnet fell from her hand. “What is the matter with you?” said her mother. “It is merely some traveler in trouble. That bad place in the road yonder _must_ be mended.” Sibella resumed her work, saying, “I am strangely nervous to-day.” But in the secret chambers of her own mind, there was a voice whispering, “My dream! My dream! _Can_ it be, as some people say, that there is a magnetic influence on the soul when certain individuals approach, each other?” Presently, her father entered, leading a small boy, “Take care of this little fellow,” said he, “his father’s carriage has broken down, out by the hill.” The young widow rose, and greeted the little stranger with such motherly tenderness, that he looked up in her face confidingly, with a half-formed smile. But she gazed into his eyes so earnestly, that he turned away partly afraid. The little girl offered him her flowers, and they sat down on the floor to play together. It was not long, before the farmer entered with the traveler; a refined looking gentleman, apparently about thirty years old. The old lady rose to greet him; but Sibella stooped to gather up the ribbons, which had fallen from her trembling hands. Browned as he was by wind and sun, she recognized him instantly. In fact she had already recognized his eyes and smile in the face of his son. She wondered whether he would know _her_. Was she like an Eglantine _now_? Having resumed a sufficient degree of self-command, while picking up the ribbons, she rose, and advanced toward him, with a blush and a smile. He started--uttered an exclamation of surprise--then seized her hand and kissed it. “Bless my soul! It’s Mr. Vernon! And I didn’t know him!” exclaimed Mrs. Flower. “Well this _is_ strange, I do declare!”