Twilight was fast fading into night. Lady Hilden stood alone, gazing out from the window of her uncle's drawing-room. She had changed again, since we saw her last. There was something of sorrow, or bitterness, in the compressed or quivering lip. Her eye was bright as ever, but it was the brightness of the icicle glancing in the winter sun--it was soon quenched in tears, and as she gazed out upon the gloomy mountain, naked forest, and frozen lake, she murmured: "I used to love summer and day so much; now----" [A servant entered with lights. "Take them away," said Alice. She was obeyed.]--"the dark soul in the dark scene--there is almost repose in that harmony." "Mr. Dulan," said the servant, reappearing at the door, and Mr. William Dulan followed the announcement. "You may bring in the light, now," said Alice. "Will Lady Hilden accept congratulations, offered at so late a period?" said William Dulan, with a respectful bow. Alice, who had been startled out of her self-possession, replied only by a bow. "I was about to leave this neighborhood for a short time; but could not do so without calling to bid you farewell, fearing you might be gone to England before I return." William Dulan's voice was beginning to quiver. "I have no present intention of going to England." "No? Such a report is rife in the neighborhood." "One is not chargeable with the reports of the neighborhood." Alice said this in a peculiar tone, as she glanced at the sorrow-stricken visage of the young man. A desultory conversation ensued, after which William Dulan arose to take his leave, which he did in a choking, inaudible voice. As he turned to leave the room, his ghastly face and unsteady step attested, in language not to be misunderstood, the acuteness and intensity of his suffering. Alice did not misunderstand it. She uttered one word, in a low and trembling tone: "William!" He was at her side in an instant. A warm blush glowing over her bosom, cheek and brow, her eyes were full of tears, as she raised them to his face, eloquent with all a maiden may not speak. "Angel! I love! I adore thee!" exclaimed the youth, sinking at her feet. "Love me, William, only love me, and let us both adore the Being who hath given us to each other." * * * * * It was a cold night on the shores of the ice-bound Rappahannock. A storm of wind and snow that had been fiercely raging all day long, at length subsided. At a low cabin, which served the threefold purposes of post-office, ferry-house and tavern, an old gray-haired man was nodding over a smoldering fire. His slumbers were disturbed by the blast of a stage horn and wheels of the coach, which soon stopped before the door. Two travelers alighted and entered the cabin. The old ferryman arose to receive them. "Any chance of crossing to-night, Uncle Ben?" inquired the younger traveler.