tween me and the chimney corner, earnestly exclaimed—
"Gilbert, what is the matter with you?—why are you so changed?—It is a very indiscreet question I know," she hastened to add: "perhaps, a very rude one—don't answer it if you think so—but I hate mysteries and concealments."
"I am not changed, Helen—unfortunately I am as keen and passionate as ever—it is not I, it is circumstances that are changed."
"What circumstances? Do tell me!" Her cheek was blanched with the very anguish of anxiety—could it be with the fear that I had rashly pledged my faith to another?
"I'll tell you at once," said I. "I will confess that I came here for the purpose of seeing you (not without some monitory misgivings at my own presumption, and fears that I should be as little welcome as expected when I came), but I did not know that this estate was yours, until enlightened on the subject of your inhe-
