His heart Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye There was but one beloved face on earth, That ever shone upon him. He had looked Upon it till it would not pass away, But she in these fond feelings had no share; To her he was a brother; ’twas a name Her infant friendship had bestowed on him— No more. BYRON. The years that had been spent by Gloria in study during the school terms, or in travel during her vacations, had been passed by David Lindsay on the little sandy island near the promontory. This was his post of duty. Here his aged grandmother still lived without any companion or protector but himself. He had steadily worked on the fishing landing, and he had employed his limited leisure in studying the elementary school books left him by his little playmate. He had thoroughly mastered them all, and now he longed for more liberty and better means of culture. But, true sentinel of Providence, he would not leave his sterile post of duty to attain them. He had long ceased to ask after Gloria, chilled by the coldness with which his modest inquiries had been met by Colonel de Crespigney. But he had never forgotten his childhood friend. He cherished the memory of the summers passed in the society of his little playmate as the happiest portions of his poor life; and he worshiped her image, that in the light of that memory shone like the vision of an angel. It was she who had found him on the beach toiling at his daily task, and had awakened his strong but dormant intelligence, and inspired him with the love and longing for knowledge. He owed her this good, and was glad and grateful to owe it. One morning in June, he arose early, as usual, and looking out from the little loft window of his bedroom in the island cot, he saw an unusual thing—a large schooner at the old promontory wharf, and men landing many boxes, barrels and kegs. He had a job of work to do on the landing that day, so he dressed himself quickly, ate his breakfast in a hurry, got into his little old boat, and in a few moments rowed himself to the wharf. “What is all this to-do?” he inquired of old Laban, who was busy receiving the goods. “Come ashore and lend a hand here! Our young lady is coming home for good dis fall, and de house an’ groun’ is to be done up splendidly for her—an’ outen her money, too, for I know Marse Colonel hasn’t got none to spare!” answered the negro, as he let down a heavy box he had been helping to land. David Lindsay secured his boat, sprang on the wharf, and gave his assistance to the men. “So Miss de la Vera is really coming home?” he ventured to ask of Laban.