fell on his eager ear, and sank into his vexed heart, like music. On quitting the house, a deep sigh of disappointment escaped him. As he gazed for a moment with longing eyes at the windows of the room in which Miss Aubrey was sitting, he felt profound depression of spirit. He had altogether _failed_; and he had a sort of insupportable consciousness that he deserved to fail, on every account. Her image was before his mind's eye every moment while he was threading his way back to his chambers in Thavies' Inn. He sat for an hour or two before the remnant of his fire, lost in a revery; and sleep came not to his eyes till a very late hour in the morning. Just as the tortuous mind of Gammon was loosing hold of its sinister purposes in sleep, Mr. Aubrey might have been seen taking his seat in his little study, having himself spent a restless night. 'Twas little more than half-past four o'clock when he entered, candle in hand, the scene of his early and cheerful labors, and sat down before his table, which was covered with loose manuscripts and books. His face was certainly overcast with anxiety, but his soul was calm and resolute. Having lit his fire, he placed his shaded candle upon the table, and leaning back for a moment in his chair, while the flickering increasing light of his crackling fire and of the candle, revealed to him, with a sense of indescribable snugness, his shelves crammed with books, and the window covered with an ample crimson curtain, effectually excluding the chill morning air--he reflected with a heavy sigh upon the precarious tenure by which he held the little comforts yet thus left to him. Oh, thought he--if Providence saw fit to relieve me from the frightful pressure of liability under which I am bound to the earth, at what labor, at what privation would I repine! What gladness would not spring up in my heart!--But rousing himself from vain thoughts of this kind, he began to arrange his manuscripts; when his ear caught a sound on the stair--'twas the light stealthy step of his sister, coming down to perform her promised undertaking--not an unusual one by any means--to transcribe for the press the manuscript which he expected to complete that morning. "My sweet Kate," said he, tenderly, as she entered with her little chamber light, extinguishing it as she entered,--"I am really grieved to see you stirring so early--do, dearest Kate--go back to bed." But she kissed his cheek affectionately, and refused to do any such thing; and telling him of the restless night she had passed, of which indeed her pale and depressed features bore but too legible evidence, she sat herself down in her accustomed place, nearly opposite to him; gently cleared away space enough for her little desk, and then opening it, was presently engaged in her delightful task--for to her it _was_ indeed delightful--of copying out her brother's composition. Thus she sat, silent and industrious--scarce opening her lips, except to ask him