Alas! yes, it was all right, and I felt how little I must now be missed in the home where I had once been petted and indulged so tenderly. They were going to marry; there was nothing to fear or hope now. Mrs. Gray, unaware of the jealousy that had been the source of all my misery, continued to descant on this agreeable state of things, and altogether derived some innocent enjoyment from the part she had acted, and the spice of adventure it had thrown in her monotonous life. It was a sort of comfort to know that Kate and Cornelius were well, but it passed with time; and at length my ardent entreaties and solemn promises not to betray my presence by word, sign, or look, wrung from Mrs. Gray the favour of being taken one evening to the Grove, so that, in passing by the house, I might perhaps catch a glimpse of the faces I loved. Chance, or rather the kind power that disdains not to indulge our human weakness, favoured me. The evening was grey and mild, as it often is in the English summer. The Grove was lonely. Mrs. Gray and I kept in the shadow of the trees, on the side of the street facing Kate's house; and walked up and down two or three times. The front parlour was not lit; I could see nothing of what passed within, but in the stillness of that quiet evening I once or twice caught the tones of the voice of Cornelius. I started to hear them. "My dear," nervously said Mrs. Gray, "had we not better go?" "Not yet, Ma'am," I entreated; "Deborah will soon bring up the lamp, the window will remain open awhile, and then I shall be able to see them, whilst they, you know, cannot see me." All happened as I had said; Deborah brought up the lamp, laid it down on the table and left the window open. Now I could see. The lamp burned with a clear and steady flame, that illumined the whole room; the pictures stood forth on the red paper of the walls, and on that sombre yet clear back-ground appeared, vivid and distinct, the figures of Cornelius, Kate, and Miriam. She sat reclining back in her chair, and looking up at him as he stood behind her, laughing and talking pleasantly. I saw less of Kate, who sat a little in the back-ground, bent over her work. They seemed both cheerful and happy, for whilst I stood looking at them, half blinded by tears, Cornelius suddenly turned away from Miriam, went up to the piano, opened it, and sat down to sing the 'Exile of Erin.' What with hearing his voice again, and with standing there listening to him, myself an exile from his home, and, alas! from his heart, I wept. As the song closed with its mournful cadence, Kate rose, shut the window, and drew down the blind, thus excluding me from both sight and sound. "Don't you think, dear, we had better go now?" whispered Mrs. Gray, gently leading me away from the spot where I still stood looking and listening, though there was no more to see or hear.