like wings, the old owl swept heavily from one elm tree to another. The night-scented plants now came out in all their fragrance, and the musk rose, outside the window, filled the room with its odour. At every moment the sky was growing clearer and darker, and the silvery star of evening shone with that pure and spiritual light which seems so peculiarly its own. Mrs. Dalton's eyes were fixed on that star, she drank in its tremulous ray as if it were a message from above. She longed to speak of the numberless fancies which connected themselves with that star; but she felt that they were unreal, and hesitated to speak of such folly. She wished to bid her husband think of her, as he watched that calm and distant planet; and then she almost rebuked herself for the vain romance of her wish. "He will think of me," she whispered, "with strong and enduring affection—it is only the heart of a woman that links itself with those fanciful associations."
But, even while she gazed, the light became tremulous and indistinct; and her head sank back
