The afternoon was charming—one of those mellow, hazy atmospheres that make the autumnal season so pensive and dreamy, and Jennie felt its influence as she and Henry Moore sought the bright path to Blinkdale. Not richer nor more sparkling could the emerald, and the topaz, and the amethyst, and the sardius be, in their gay and beauteous variety, than were the changing leaflets in the sun's burnishing rays. The birds were singing merrily amid the brilliant foliage, and the fresh winds played among the branches, tossing them to and fro, and blending the bright and the somber in one glorious commingling. A streamlet crossed their pathway, moving placidly and gently along, but as they followed its windings, gurgling and foaming over the rocky obstructions, and almost drowning their voices in its noisy course. "How beautiful" exclaimed Jennie, seating herself upon a mossy stone on the river's bank, and looking to her companion for sympathy in her enthusiastic delight.

"I would rather look on a sweet face," replied Henry, as his eloquent eyes met hers. Blushing deeply, Jennie turned away and remained thoughtful and still, listening to the din of the waters and the wail of the autumn winds as they swept through the tree-tops, and her quiet revery brought the old expression of early maturity and care, for her thoughts had been roving all along her past life, and had left her amid her childhood's sorrows in the narrow dreary room, with the weary and forsaken ones, and none else to love and cheer her.

"Jennie," said her companion, noticing the bitterness that passed over her young face, and wishing to dissipate any mournful musings, "do you know why I asked you to come alone with me to Blinkdale to-day?"

Aroused thus suddenly, the young girl started from her lowly seat, and patting its mossy side with her foot, replied, "How should I, Henry, unless it be that it is always pleasanter to have one companion who can understand and appreciate your love of nature, than to be surrounded in your walks by many who care only for merriment and chatting. I could spend the whole day in these solemn old woods with nothing to amuse me but my own thoughts."

"And yet, I doubt if your pensive musings would be profitable to you," said her companion; "there is something dirge-like in the music of nature that begets a morbid sort of feeling in a mind like yours, Jennie, and too much of such solitude would injure you. Pardon me," continued he, as he caught her half comic inquisitive gaze; "but your character has been my study for a long, long time."

"Not more profitable to you than my solitary reveries, I fancy," said Jennie.

"But more delightful to me than any study," replied Henry, and seating her again upon the bank near him, he told her all—how he had watched her growing graces both of heart and mind, since the first time they had met beneath her grandfather's porch; how he had striven in his profession for her sake; how he had suffered his whole soul to go out toward her in a hallowed and sincere affection; and how cold, and dead, and sad his life must be if she reciprocated not his tenderness; and then, with a flushed and anxious face, he awaited her answer.

Oh! how weary was the walk home! The woods were dark and dreary, and the steps of the young man heavy and listless, as he sauntered on beside his silent and suffering companion. Life had gained a new and somber aspect to her too, since she was the cause of a crushing sorrow to one who had lavished upon her his heart's breath. Why could he not be content with the sisterly regard she had ever felt toward him? It is so terrible to see him in his manly grief, and to feel that she may avert it! And yet, how can it be otherwise, since there is ever before her a pale face, with its spiritual eyes fixed on her soul calling forth all that she has to bestow.