When she had been some months at uncle Waldron’s, it became very evident to _us_, quizzical spies of _cousins_, who took great pleasure in spending a few weeks with her now and then, that she was more interested in the society and person of the Rev. Robert Greydon, than she was really willing we should discover. She hushed our impertinence in a moment, if we undertook to rally her on the subject, by a peculiarly imploring expression of countenance, which only made us think so all the more. Mr. Greydon, as has been already intimated, was the clergyman of the church where uncle Waldron worshiped. Cousin Sara had often declared that she would not marry a _clergyman_ or a _widower_. Mr. Greydon, though still a young man, united in his person _both_ those disqualifications, so we managed, in the face of all indications to the contrary, to conclude that we had nothing to fear. If he had _not_ been a widower and clergyman, we should have chosen him, out of all the world, for Sara’s husband—for he possessed all those rare and invaluable excellencies of character, which Sara deserved, if ever a lovely woman did, in the man of her choice. Mr. Greydon was a very prudent man in his pastoral and social intercourse. He did not wish to give the “silly women” of his parish, who, as in duty bound, would keep a very faithful look-out after him, any occasion to tattle—but the arrangement of the German lessons was just the thing—it afforded him the most unimpeachable excuse for enjoying Sara’s society without sounding an alarum in any body’s ears. CHAPTER III. “I would not light the lamp yet, Miss Hastings—this moonlight is so magical,” said Mr. Greydon, as he sat in the bay window of uncle’s drawing-room, one glorious evening in early summer. Indeed it was as lovely an evening, and as fair a scene, as pencil of artist ever aspired to sketch. I was sitting on the broad piazza, trying what my tyro pencil could do with a landscape so wonderfully beautiful. “You are sad, to-night, Mr. Greydon,” said Sara, desisting from her purpose, and taking a chair by the table that had been drawn near the window. “No—not _sad_ exactly, Miss Hastings—only of a _doubtful_ mind,” replied Mr. Greydon. “Indeed!” gayly responded Sara—“but that must not be—it is expressly _forbidden_ in Scripture and—” “I know it Miss Hastings,” interrupted Mr. Greydon, with forced playfulness in his tone, as if he were determined to rally himself—“but it does not respect any matters of _doctrine_—rather of _practice_, I might say. _You_ are always so cheerful and light-hearted, Miss Hastings, it is almost a sin to be moody in your presence.” “If I had the burden of a pastoral charge”—Sara checked herself—“indeed, I fear it is the advantage of circumstances rather than of temperament, Mr. Greydon,” she concluded.