the house to advance further; but, though sheltered himself, he could see all the once familiar objects. There was the little fountain, the grass-plot, and the summer-house. There they were as of old—they, at least, were the same. He welcomed them as old familiar friends; but, when he glanced around, the symptoms of change were on them as well. Then the pale hues of autumn were around; now, every thing was colouring with spring. He looked, but in vain, for the blue harebells beside the little fountain; they were gone, and with them, how much of hope and of affection had gone too! His heart beat, till he leant breathless on one of the spreading boughs. At that moment, he saw a figure move in the summer-house: it came towards the door: it was Ethel. At first, he only saw the face—it was pale, sad; but there was a change even beyond that unwonted paleness. Gradually his eye took in her whole appearance. Early as it was, she was splendidly dressed. Her golden hair glittered with gems in the light of the morning; her robe was of white
