"Yes, dear, I. You think me light and frivolous, but may not that be merely on the surface? I wept long when I found that he loved and was engaged to you; but I hid my secret, for my only wish was to see him happy; and you cannot say that I ever failed in my friendship." "Never--never, dear," said Marion, gazing with troubled eyes at her friend, but clinging to her the while; and then, making their way to the pine grove, they sat down amongst the soft shed needles to rest, dreamily pondering over the past, till, starting from her reverie, Ada Lee exclaimed lightly: "There, this will not do. Poor Philip has gone to his soldier's grave, honourably fighting for his country. May Heaven rest him! for he was a brave fellow; but life is not long enough for much time to be spent in weeping. There, Marion, darling, rouse your self; this is not a thing of yesterday. Come! we must get back. Think of the wooing and wedding, and be as merry and light-hearted as I am. Heigho! I wish, though, that some one would marry me, and bring me to live down here in these dear old solemn marshes. How nice for me to be always close to you, wouldn't it? There's a house across there amongst the trees that would do capitally. Who lives there?" "No one, Ada," said the other, sadly. "That is Merland Hall, where poor Philip should have dwelt." Ada started, and again her arm was pressed round her companion's waist, when, almost in silence, they walked back to the parsonage, where Ada Lee was staying with her friend, having come down from London to fulfil the office of bridesmaid at Marion's wedding. But on reaching her bedroom Marion threw herself in a chair, letting the botanical specimens she had been gathering fall upon the carpet beside her, as she leaned her head upon her hand, and remained silent and thoughtful. "Oh, come--come, darling; this will never do," cried Ada. "Mrs Elstree said that I was to do all I could to cheer and enliven you, and here have I been making you worse with my ill-chosen chatter. Why, you ought to be as happy as the day is long: a fine, handsome husband, young as well as rich; a castle to live in, and he as devoted as possible. Why, I declare I'm almost in love with him myself. Look at the presents he has sent you. Why, one would think, to see that doleful face, that you did not like him!" "But I do, Ada. I esteem and respect, and I think I love him." "Think, indeed! why, of course you do. Didn't I see you give him a kiss last night when he asked you as he was going?" "And I believe that I shall be very happy with him," continued Marion, not heeding her companions words; "but, just now, as I am going to take this irrevocable step, the past all seems to come back, and it almost seems as if I were going to be faithless to poor Philip; and, in spite of all I can do, my poor heart is filled with forebodings."