Henry Moore had been a frequent visitor at Mr. Halberg's during Jennie's sojourn there, and so lovely a character as hers could not fail to awaken in his bosom a deeper feeling toward her than that of friendship; yet so calmly had the time glided away that they had spent together, and so far from his mind had been the idea of a separation, that he was scarcely aware of the nature of his emotions until she announced to him her approaching departure from her uncle's.

They were standing together in a little summer-house in the garden, a few weeks after the old man's death, and Carrie was with them, when Jennie looked sadly out upon the old seat that had been left vacant beneath the trees, and said:

"Don't let them remove that, when I am away, Carrie, darling. You know it is all that restored to me my relatives."

"Are you going to leave——, Jennie?" said Henry, with a sudden start which made both the girls gaze eagerly at him. Jennie did not perceive the deep flush that overspread his face; but Carrie observed it, yet thinking it better to appear as if she had noticed nothing unusual, she picked an autumn bud, that had obtruded itself within the trellised window, and quietly handing it to him, said,

"Every thing that we love seems to be going from us at this dreary season, Henry. Even that last bud would have faded from me with the next few chilly hours. Perhaps it is well," she continued, "that we can not have the good and the beautiful always around us, we might forget our unfading inheritance!"

Henry did not answer, for he could not trust himself to speak just then; but Jennie turned to the window that overlooked the village churchyard where her grandfather's grave was made, and repeated, in a low voice, that beautiful hymn of Mrs. Heman's, "Passing Away." As she came to the verse,

her voice faltered, and she did not attempt to finish, but sinking upon a bench near her, she wept unrestrainedly.

"Quite a tragic scene! Whose benefit is it to-day, Carrie?" said Ellen Halberg, who that moment approached the summer-house.

"No wonder Jennie feels some sorrow at leaving a spot where we have spent so many happy hours," said Carrie, "one must have no heart, to break away from friends without any manifestation of regret."

"Oh! I can easily conceive of its being a great grief to leave a place where she finds so many attractions as here," said Ellen, looking significantly at Henry, who was mentally contrasting the two girls so nearly allied, yet so unlike.

"Doubtless your cousin has emotions which you can neither understand nor appreciate, Miss Ellen," said he, with somewhat of sarcasm in his tone. "There are minds so constituted, that wherever they dwell they form attachments which are not easily loosed!"

"Oh! I fully sympathize in Jennie's distress," said Ellen, mockingly holding her handkerchief to her eyes.

Not for worlds would she have committed that one thoughtless act, had she known how contemptible it would make her in the estimation of him whom she most cared to please! Henry Moore of all others was the object of her especial regard. From their childhood they had been thrown constantly together, and, until the coming of her cousin among them she had appropriated him to herself as a lawful and undisputed right. All the villagers had looked upon their union as a "settled thing," and no doubt Henry would gladly have fulfilled their prophecies if Ellen's maturer years had verified the promise of an earlier age; but as he saw her give way to petty envies and jealousies, and to an uncontrolled and vindictive temper, he turned from her to the study and contemplation of her sweet and gentle cousin. No wonder he became a worshiper of so pure an image, rather than pay homage to a distorted object. Jennie meanwhile, was wholly unconscious of the interest she excited. So completely had her mind been occupied in contributing to her grandfather's comfort, that she sought no other affection, and so long as her friends looked kindly upon her, she was too happy to question their feeling toward her. One only sorrow had she experienced since her restoration to her kindred, and that was in her cousin Ellen's continued ill-will and hatred toward her. Perhaps she might have succeeded in winning her to an opposite feeling, by the little acts of courtesy and love so constantly shown, if the demon jealousy had not insinuated itself into Ellen's bosom.

Was it a crime to beget in another a love so deep and holy, when she herself was free from all design, and even unsuspicious that she was regarded with more warmth than were her cousins? So Ellen must have thought, or she would not have taken every opportunity to thwart and tease her orphan relative, and to detract from her merit when in the presence of her friends.

On this day especially she seemed to feel a peculiar malice and spite toward her. She had seen—herself unobserved—the emotion of Henry when Jennie's departure was spoken of, and her own heart told her that no light or common feeling produced it.

As she removed the handkerchief from her face, she perceived that she had gone too far, for even the unresentful Jennie, unable to bear the ridicule of her most sacred sentiments, had arisen to go to the house. She did not escape, however, before Henry had whispered the request, that she would go with him to Blinkdale on the morrow.

"To-morrow is Sunday," said she, quietly, "and I shall accompany uncle to church."

"Well, the next day; I will call for you," said Henry. "You can not refuse to take one last walk with me?"

"I have no disposition to refuse," replied Jennie, as she turned slowly and sadly from the spot.

"Ellen, how could you!" said Carrie with flashing eyes, "so short a time as Jennie is to be with us, and yet you make her miserable?"

"She shall not come between me and happiness with her soft and hypocritical ways!" said Ellen, snapping off the leaves of a twig near her, and looking upon the retreating figures of her sister and cousin, who were going up the avenue. Then turning to a point where she could see in the distance the dim form of Henry Moore, she took the seat that her cousin had vacated, and gave vent to a keener anguish, but how different!