At the end of the walk David Dodd stood suddenly before her. He came flurried on his own account, but stopped thunder-struck at her tears. “What is the matter, Miss Lucy?”' said he, anxiously. “Oh, nothing, Mr. Dodd;” and they flowed afresh. “Can I do anything for you, Miss Lucy?” “No, Mr. Dodd.” “Won't you tell me what is the matter? Are you not friends with me to-day?” “I was put out by a very foolish circumstance, Mr. Dodd, and it is one with which I shall not trouble you, nor any person of sense. I prefer to retain your sympathy by not revealing the contemptible cause of my babyish--There!” She shook her head proudly, as if tears were to be dispersed like dewdrops. “There!” she repeated; and at this second effort she smiled radiantly. “It is like the sun coming out after a shower,” cried David rapturously. “That reminds me I must be _going_ in, Mr. Dodd.” “Don't say that, Miss Lucy. What for?” “To arrange another shower, one of pearls, on a dress I am to wear to-night.” David sighed. “Ah! Miss Lucy, at sight of me you always make for the hall door.” Lucy colored. “Oh, do I? I really was not aware of that. Then I suppose I am afraid of you. Is that what you would insinuate? “' “No, Miss Lucy, you are not afraid of me; but I sometimes fear--” and he hesitated. “It must blow very hard that day,” said Lucy, with a world of politeness. Her tongue was too quick for him. He found it so, and announced the fact after his fashion. “I can't tack fast enough to follow you,” said he despondently. “But you are not required to follow me,” replied this amiable eel, with hypocritical benignity; “I am going to my aunt's room to do what I told you. I leave you in charge of the quarter-deck.” So saying, she walked slowly up the steps, and left David standing sorrowfully on the gravel. At the top step Miss Lucy turned and inquired gently when he was to sail. He told her the ship was expected to anchor off the fort to-morrow, but she would not sail till she had got all her passengers on board. “Oh!” said Lucy, with an air of reflection. She then leaned in an easy posture against the wall, and, whether it was that she relented a little, or that, having secured her retreat, she was now indifferent to flight, certain it is that she did after her own fashion what many a daughter of Eve has done before her, and many a duchess and many a dairymaid will do after La Fountain and I are gone from earth. A minute ago it had been, “She must go directly.” The more opposition to her departure, the more inexorable the necessity for her going; opposition withdrawn, and the door open, she stayed no end. Full twenty minutes did that young lady stand there unsolicited, and chat with David Dodd in the kindest, sweetest, most amicable way imaginable. She little knew she had an auditor--a female auditor, keen as a lynx.