turned over the books impatiently, when lo! buried amongst them, what met my eye? Archly, yet reproachfully,--the face of Fanny herself! Her miniature was there. It had been, I knew, taken a few days before by a young artist whom Trevanion patronized. I suppose he had carried it into his study to examine it, and so left it there carelessly. The painter had seized her peculiar expression, her ineffable smile,--so charming, so malicious; even her favorite posture,--the small head turned over the rounded Hebe-like shoulder; the eye glancing up from under the hair. I know not what change in my madness came over me; but I sank on my knees, and, kissing the miniature again and again, burst into tears. Such tears! I did not hear the door open, I did not see the shadow steal ever the floor; a light hand rested on my shoulder, trembling as it rested--I started. Fanny herself was bending over me! "What is the matter?" she asked tenderly. "What has happened? Your uncle--your family--all well? Why are you weeping?" I could not answer; but I kept my hands clasped over the miniature, that she might not see what they contained. "Will you not answer? Am I not your friend,--almost your sister? Come, shall I call mamma?" "Yes--yes; go--go." "No, I will not go yet. What have you there? What are you hiding?" And innocently, and sister-like, those hands took mine; and so--and so-- the picture became visible! There was a dead silence. I looked up through my tears. Fanny had recoiled some steps, and her cheek was very flushed, her eyes downcast. I felt as if I had committed a crime, as if dishonor clung to me; and yet I repressed--yes, thank Heaven! I repressed the cry that swelled from my heart and rushed to my lips: "Pity me, for I love you!" I repressed it, and only a groan escaped me,--the wail of my lost happiness! Then, rising, I laid the miniature on the table, and said, in a voice that I believe was firm,-- "Miss Trevanion, you have been as kind as a sister to me, and therefore I was bidding a brother's farewell to your likeness; it is so like you-- this!" "Farewell!" echoed Fanny, still not looking up. "Farewell--sister! There, I have boldly said the word; for--for--" I hurried to the door, and, there turning, added, with what I meant to be a smile,--" for they say at home that I--I am not well; too much for me this; you know, mothers will be foolish; and--and--I am to speak to your father to-morrow; and-good-night! God bless you, Miss Trevanion!"