“God forbid!” said Ann, shuddering; and these words sunk deep into her soul. She travelled on in thought to the time when she might be the mother of precious children, and the idea of their growing up in such an atmosphere of infidelity made her resolve irrevocable. In vain had Henry Clavering assured her that in the event of a family, she should indoctrinate the children as she pleased. Not a word from him, and he thought he might answer for his father, should ever be let fall to mar her maternal counsels. “But,” said Ann, “you would not even say one word which should accord with my teachings, and what a predicament for the quick sagacity of childhood!” Such was the state of things which had induced Henry Clavering to go abroad, and had made him a wanderer through far countries for two years. It was this which had made Ann Woodburn, however outwardly calm and occasionally smiling, inwardly sad and anxious, and had deepened with a proportionate force her religious feelings. As the party of young people walked home in the evening of yesterday through the woods, Mr. Clavering had gradually fallen behind with Ann, and, taking her hand affectionately, had said, with a tone full of feeling:— “What news, my dear Ann? Have your scruples vanished? May we hope for better days?” “No, dear Henry,” replied Ann, sorrowfully. “My scruples, as you call them, can never leave me; and I fear from your question that your views have undergone no change.” “I must confess,” said Mr. Clavering, “that they have not.” “Then,” said Ann, after a long silence, “let us not renew that subject. Let us leave it to God. But I say again, Henry, why should you waste your existence in useless regrets and unrequited affections for such a simple country maiden as me, when a brilliant world is open to you, and so many fitter and livelier companions within the scope of your choice? I do not say, forget me—let us be friends; but, be free from all thought of me.” Henry Clavering held affectionately her hand, and they walked on in silence; but he felt that hand quiver, and saw that she trembled violently. “Well, let us leave this topic,” he said, “at least for the present. I shall not make you miserable. We will still look onward, and hope.” Ann Woodburn gave him a look of most loving thankfulness, wiped her tears from her face, and they went on, hand in hand, in silence till they came up with their companions. Let us now return to the conversation of the mother and daughters at the Grange. “I think,” said Letty, looking rather knowingly, “that ‘the course of true love’ really seldom does run smooth.” “Yours, Letty, I think, runs smooth enough,” said Ann, brightening up. “Really, it is not for you to say that, with Mr. Thorsby’s declaration and your worthy parents’ consent given but yesterday.” “Oh!” said Letty, blushing and looking very happy, “I was not thinking of myself, but of Millicent Heritage.”