“And oh, miss, to you. Why, what is the matter? I have been in danger! Very well; am I the first? I have had an adventure! All the better. Besides, it has shown me what good hearts there are in the world, yours amongst the rest.” (Kissing her.) “Now don't interrupt, but listen to the words of the wise and their dark sayings. Excitement is a blessing. Young ladies need it more than anybody. Half the foolish things we do, it is because the old people are so stupid and don't provide us enough innocent excitement. Dancing till five is a good thing now and then; only that is too bodily, and ends in a headache, and feeling stupider than before. But to-night, what glorious excitement! Too late for dinner--drenched with snow--lost on a mountain--anxiety--fear--the Gabriel hounds--terror--despair--resignation--sudden relief--warm stockings--delightful sympathy--petted on every side--hungry--happy--fires--punch! I never lived till to-night--I never relished life till now. How could I? I never saw Death nor Danger near enough to be worth a straw.” Jael made no attempt to arrest this flow of spirits. She waited quietly for a single pause, and then she laid her hand on the young lady's, and, fastening her eyes on her, she said quietly,-- “You have seen HIM.” Grace Carden's face was scarlet in a moment, and she looked with a rueful imploring glance, into those great gray searching eyes of Jael Dence. Her fine silvery tones of eloquence went off into a little piteous whine “You are very cunning--to believe in a magpie.” And she hid her blushing face in her hands. She took an early opportunity of sending this too sagacious rustic to bed. Next day Mr. Coventry was so stiff and sore he did not come down to breakfast. But Grace Carden, though very sleepy, made her appearance, and had a most affectionate conversation with Mr. Raby. She asked leave to christen him again. “I must call you something, you know, after all this. Mr. Raby is cold. Godpapa is childish. What do you say to--'Uncle'?” He said he should be delighted. Then she dipped her forefinger in water. He drew back with horror. “Come, young lady,” said he, “I know it is an age of burlesque. But let us spare the sacraments, and the altar, and such trifles.” “I am not half so wicked as you think,” said Grace. Then she wrote “Uncle” on his brow, and so settled that matter. Mr. Coventry came down about noon, and resumed his courtship. He was very tender, spoke of the perils they had endured together as an additional tie, and pressed his suit with ardor. But he found a great change in the lady. Yesterday, on Cairnhope Peak, she was passive, but soft and complying. To-day she was polite, but cool, and as slippery as an eel. There was no pinning her. And, at last, she said, “The fact is I'm thinking of our great preservation, and more inclined to pray than flirt, for once.” “And so am I,” said the man of tact; “but what I offer is a sacred and life-long affection.” “Oh, of course.”