A swift, burning blush crimsoned the neck and face of the young girl. And just at this juncture Mrs. Helmstedt entered the room. Always her first glance was directed in search of her daughter; and now, she started and pressed her hand to her heart, at the tableau that was presented to her. Within the crimson-draped recess of the bay window the pair were standing. Ralph stood, resting one elbow upon the frame of the harp, and clasping Margaret’s hand, and bending over her half-averted and deeply-blushing face. Both were too absorbed in their own emotions to perceive her gentle entrance, and she stood for a minute, unobserved, gazing upon them. To Mrs. Helmstedt, her young daughter, had, up to this hour, seemed an unconscious child, and now she stood revealed to her a young maiden, awakening to the consciousness of loving and being loved. Yet though this revelation was unexpected, it was not quite unacceptable. More than in any other man, Mrs. Helmstedt confided in Ralph Houston for the wisdom, goodness and power, inherent in his soul, and including in themselves every other virtue. And, after a few years, should she live to pass them, and should he have the patience and constancy to wait--with less reluctance than to any other man, would she entrust the life-happiness of her only and cherished daughter, to the charge of Ralph Houston. All this passed, in an instant, through the mind of the mother, as she crossed the room and bade them “Good-morning.” Margaret started; the blush deepened on her face. But Mr. Houston, still holding her hand, and leading her from the recess, greeted Mrs. Helmstedt affectionately, and said, frankly, as one who would not conceal his disposition: “I was just telling Margaret that nothing but her sweet society, and the hope of being useful to herself and her mother, could reconcile me, at this time, to the unworthy inactivity of my life.” “We should indeed be very badly off without you, Mr. Houston; but I do not see what compensation for a dull life you can find in the company of a little island rustic.” “‘A little island rustic,’ my dear lady. I have lived in the great world where there are more false jewels than real ones, and I know how to prize a real pearl that I find amid the sea!” “Do not waste poetry on my little girl, Ralph Houston.” “Again! ‘little girl!’ Well, I suppose she is a little girl, scarce fourteen years of age, just in her dawn of existence! Yet the dawn is very beautiful! and we, who are up early enough, love to watch it warm and brighten to the perfect day,” he said, bending a grave, sweet look upon the downcast face of Margaret. To break up this conversation and relieve her little daughter’s embarrassment, Mrs. Helmstedt touched the bell and ordered breakfast to be served directly in that parlor; and it was speedily brought thither. Spring at length opened, and the recluse family of the island were once more in communication with the outside world.