of sunshine could reach my heart, no breeze could freshen it; nothing could fill the void my faith, and hope, and joy in Helen Graham had left, or drive away the keen regrets, and bitter dregs of lingering love that still oppressed it.
While I stood, with folded arms, abstractedly gazing on the undulating swell of the corn not yet disturbed by the reapers, something gently pulled my skirts, and a small voice, no longer welcome to my ears, aroused me with the startling words;—
"Mr. Markham, mamma wants you."
"Wants me, Arthur?
"Yes. Why do you look so queer?" said he, half laughing, half frightened at the unexpected aspect of my face in suddenly turning towards him—"and why have you kept so long away?—Come!—Won't you come?"
"I'm busy just now," I replied, scarce knowing what to answer.
He looked up in childish bewilderment; but before I could speak again, the lady herself was at my side.
