“The winds have folded their tired wings And sunk in their caves to rest; The Evening falls, for Day is gone Far down in the purple West.” She stopped, feeling almost like a culprit detected in some flagrant misdemeanor; but as new images rose in her mind unbidden, and seemed to plead for a permanent existence, she continued, “And yonder the star of Evening gems The brow of the pale young Moon That journeys on in sadness and tears, To finish her course so soon.” Gathering courage, she proceeded: “She’s gone—and deep the falling shades Close over the quiet plain; While shore and hamlet, and grove and field, Resign them to Night’s calm reign.” Thinking whether she should ever dare confess her enormity to George, she went on: “The ocean’s dark breast is dimly seen By the stars as they glimmer near, Where the waves dash low—while a far-off roar From the distant beach[6] I hear. A spark from yon low isle in the East, Now twinkles across the bay! And now it steadily flames, to guide The mariner on his way. Oh, dear to me is thy distant beam! Lone dweller of the night waves.”— “Judy! Judy!” roared her father’s voice, “come down directly!—here’s letters from Captain Fayerweather.” She sprang, and was down stairs, almost before the last syllable had left her father’s lips. He stood with the packet in his hand, which he told her came by the way of Beverly. On carrying it to the light, it was discovered to be directed to John Fayerweather. Judith felt something a little like disappointment, though she had no reason to expect it would be directed to herself. “But how was she to get her own letter to-night—if there was one for her.” This, if not on her lips, was in her thought. Her father took the packet from her hand; “Here, I’ll take it up in town myself; I should like to be the one to give it to them, and you shall have your own letter to-night.” Without waiting for an answer, off he set, and his sturdy stump—stump—stump, was heard the whole length of the street, until he turned the corner. Judith almost quarreled with the feeling of delicacy which had forbade her accompanying him. The town clock struck ten as Captain Stimpson reached Paved street, and with a louder and quicker stump—stump—stump, he hastened on. Just before he reached the Fayerweather mansion, he met Mr. and Mrs. Wendell coming from thence, and on learning his errand, they turned back with him. The eagerness with which John seized the packet, and the beating of the heart which all felt as they gathered round him while he opened it, may be readily imagined. It contained but two letters, his own and one to Judith. He handed the latter to her father, who immediately departed with it.