with his thoughts until he could not tell one sound from another.
A faint rustling noise caused him to turn his head, and he started up, or thought he started up, wide awake. Not ten yards from where he sat, white and pure as die flowers themselves, knelt a young girl, who, without noticing him in the least, seemed to be kissing and caressing a cluster of the largest blossoms. Her soft white dress fell in spotless folds about her, and rested upon the leaves. Edgar Somerton remained spell-bound, wondering at the soft beauty of her dark Mowing hair, with only a little bunch of May-flowers for adornment, wondering at the milky whiteness of her graceful neck and the paleness of her transparent cheek, wondering still more who she could be, and how she had come so near without disturbing him. At last she raised her head; she did not seem at all startled to see him. But as she gazed at him, a little sadly, as he thought, out of her soft brown eyes, he felt a sudden rapture thrill his veins such as he had never before known. Here was nothing distant and repelling, nothing haughty and unapproachable; oh, no; her whole face and bearing diffused a gentle spell of tenderness that fell upon Edgar. Somerton's wounded heart like dew.
"Then you have really come?" she said, with a questioning wistfulness in her voice, which charmed his ear like music; "I have waited so long, so long."
"Oh, tell me who you are, and what you mean," cried Edgar impetuously, springing forward and. kneeling on one knee close before her; "how did you come here, beautiful girl, all alone?"
"Oh, I am Linda," she said, modestly, as if her presence were the most natural thing in the world; "I am Linda, and I was sure you would come."
"Why, who is Linda? What is the rest—Linda who I" he cried.
"That is all," she said.
"But what are you doing here in the woods, so far from any house, you angel child?"
"Oh, I am always here; it is n't so far away as you think, and no body would hurt me. But I can not stay long, so you must tell me quickly what you do in the great world?"
Eager as he was to question her Edgar felt compelled to do whatever she asked: "I am soon to be a minister of the gospel," he said.
"The gospel?" she asked doubtfully.
"To tell people about God," he explained. It did not seem strange. for some reason, that she should be ignorant of the simplest things.
"Ah, yes. he gave you your souls," she said musingly.
"He gave us all our lives," returned Edgar devoutly; " but will you not tell me where you live, and how you came here?"
"Wait, wait, have patience," she said; "the time is too short to waste, for I must go very soon."
"Oh, Linda, Linda, if that is the only name that I am to know," he cried with sudden passion, "do not leave me; it is you I have been waiting for all my life, though I never knew it till now. Linda, do not leave me."
For it seemed to him that she might slip away at any moment as quietly and quickly as she had come.
"See, the sun is sinking: it is growing late; but I will come again."
Edgar noticed that it was indeed near sunset. How in the world it came to be so late Edgar could not conjecture, and indeed he had little time to solve the riddle, for suddenly a shrill voice rang through the woods: "Lindalin, Lindalin," it cried; " Lindalin."
"There, I must go now. You will come again," she said.
"A thousand times; but I will not let you go so. You shall not pass through the woods alone," and he arose to accompany her. But she was already many steps away; she seemed to be walking leisurely enough, but Edgar felt himself utterly unable to follow her, and could only stretch out his arms imploringly, as she disappeared behind a hazel copse. waving
