“Ay, those were days when life had wings, And flew—ah! flew so wild a height, That like the lark that sunward springs, I was giddy with too much light!” MOORE. It was with a sensation of delightful expectation that Mabel Aumerle rose on the following morning. The sun rising over the distant hills was scarcely so early as she. Mabel could hardly believe that the long-expected day was actually come, on which her most delightful dream of hope was to be fully realized! No one else in the vicarage was stirring when the young girl crept softly from the house, for her spirit felt so blythe and elastic that it could only expand in freedom under the open vault of heaven. How deliciously fresh was the breath of morn! Mabel gazed at the light clouds above her, and almost shouted for joy at the thought that in a few hours she would be winging her way amongst them, no more chained down as a captive to earth. She would no longer envy the little bird, pouring his carol down from the sky—she would soar yet higher than he! Mabel lingered about the garden for nearly two hours, too much excited to settle for a moment to any quiet occupation. She was troubled by nothing but the fever of impatience, and the fear that something might occur to stop her expected treat. She ever and anon looked anxiously towards the house; as long as Mrs. Aumerle’s shutters were closed, Mabel retained a feeling of security; but as soon as she saw them open, the eager girl determined to go a little way on the road by which her uncle was to come, “to meet him and prevent delay,” as she said to herself, but really to give opportunity to no one to object to her ascent in the _Eaglet_. How quiet the road appeared! how thick lay the diamond dew on the sward that fringed it! how bright and cheerful all nature looked to the rejoicing eye of Mabel! Yet her uncle seemed to her to take a wearisome time in coming. The minutes were terribly long, and the impatient girl could scarcely believe the testimony of the village church clock when it struck only the number eight. “I think that the morning will never end!” exclaimed Mabel; “I was foolish to rise so early. But see,—see,—surely there is a gig coming at last down the hill,—and that is my uncle driving; I should know Black Prince miles off, he trots down at so dashing a pace! O uncle!” she cried, running forward to meet him, “it seemed as if you never would come!” “I’m not late,” said Augustine, reining up his horse, whose black hide was flecked with foam; “we shall be back in good time for breakfast. Up with you!” and Mabel, with eager pleasure, mounted to the seat at his side. “Shall I just wish them good morning at the vicarage, and see if Ida has changed her mind?” “Oh no! pray don’t,” said Mabel uneasily, “I am certain that Ida would not come.”