Amy sat down near her, with “In Memoriam” in her hand. The Laureate’s sublime thoughts had long since been in her heart, but she was accustomed to dwell upon this greatest of all his great works when her feelings were more than usually agitated; and this morning sadness and gladness were so commingled that she was almost beside herself with a sense of doubt and fear and sorrow, and of trembling joy and presentiments of dread and danger. “He past; a soul of nobler tone: My spirit loved and loves him yet, Like some poor girl whose heart is set On one whose rank exceeds her own. “He mixing with his proper sphere, She finds the baseness of her lot, Half jealous of she knows not what, And envying all that meet him there. “The little village looks forlorn; She sighs amid her narrow days, Moving about the household ways, In that dark house where she was born. “The foolish neighbours come and go, And tease her till the day draws by; At night she weeps ‘How vain am I! How should he love a thing so low?’” Tears fell upon the page. Her inferior rank, her humble origin, made her love seem a vain and selfish thing indeed. She sometimes despised herself for permitting even the thought of it to have a place in her heart. And yet Cophetua made the beggar-maid his queen. But how beautiful she was! Amy did not understand her own peculiar beauty, refined and toned as it was by the kindness of her nature, the vigour of her intellect, and the graces of her mind; or she might not have despaired of the love of the next heir to the Earldom of Verner. O, if he were but poor. If he had even been six or seven removes from an earldom; but to set her mind upon one so high! It was madness, and yet poor Amy could not choose but love; and Mr. Hammerton had been so marked in his courtesy towards her whenever he had seen her at the farm, or met her on his occasional visits to Barton Hall, that faint whispers of hope would sometimes cheer her heart. Before Mr. Hammerton left he expressed a desire to see the garden. There were some famous flowers which he had heard Earl Verner’s gardener speak of as rarities that he had seen at Barton Hall. Miss Tallant volunteered to show Mr. Hammerton the garden, and insisted that Amy should accompany them. “We will all go,” said Mr. Tallant. “Come along, Mr. Phillips! you are interested in these things; for my part, I know little about them.” They saw the flowers and discussed their merits, and then, somehow or other, Mr. Hammerton found himself engaged in a deep conversation with Miss Tallant and Amy; and by-and-by he was alone with Miss Somerton, and he was all graciousness and gentle words then.