"'Talk not of wasted young raindrops! these raindrops never are wasted. If they enrich not the coat of my brother, their waters returning Back to my hat, shall fill it full of brown moisture; For that which the Ulster sends forth returns again to the oil-cloth. Patience, accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy shaking, my brother; Broad-cloth and buckskin are strong, and patience and muscle are stronger." "Bosh," growled Garth in a sulky undertone, as he pushed past him somewhat curtly. Ted shook his head mournfully. "'I knew a young man nice to see,'" continued the incorrigible boy; "'Beware! beware! Trust him not, he will bully thee; Take care! take care!'" "Whatever is the matter with him, Teddie dear?" asked his sister coaxingly. "Hush!" in a melodramatic tone; "meddle not with mysteries that belong not to thy female province, Catherina mia. How do you know what dark deed fetters the conscience of that unhappy young man? Did you remark the gleam in his eye, the frown on his brow, as he rushed past me just now? remorse only could have kindled that fury. Dora and despair speak in every feature." "Oh do be quiet, you ridiculous boy, and give me a sensible answer." But nothing was farther from Ted's purpose. His aggravated feelings needed some outlet. And when Garth made his appearance, refreshed and re-habited, he found Cathy sitting on the stairs in fits of merriment, while Ted strutted to and fro spouting pages of nonsense. He stopped and looked a little foolish at this sudden apparition; but his brother took no notice of his confusion. "If you keep your wet things on any longer you will have an attack of rheumatism," he remarked coldly, as he made his way past them to the hall door. Both of them started as it slammed violently after him. "Where has he gone in all this rain?" asked Cathy, in much distress, but Ted only shrugged his shoulders, and tried not to look pleased. For once his brother's absence was a relief. Garth was in no mood to-night for his sisters' society and Ted's ceaseless fire of puns. The quiet home evening, with its work and music, and gentle gossip, would have jarred on him in his present state of mind. It was true, Langley's tact was seldom at fault, and the others could be chided and frowned into silence; but still he would have been loath to mar their enjoyment. He was jaded and tired; the day's work had been done against the grain, and he needed rest and refreshment sorely. Some impulse, for which he could not account, led him across to the cottage.