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 . 23, 1861.] be my first object. But who is this young man?”

“Father, this is Denis—Denis who was so good to me when I was a little child, and no one else was kind to me.”

“Mrs. Brady’s son.”

And Father Jerome looked scrutinisingly at the young man, for Mrs. Brady’s character was not calculated to impress any one in favour of her relations.

“And my brother,” said Coral, detecting the look and accent of distrust.

“I should wish to think well of any one who has been kind to Mademoiselle do Vallette,” said Father Jerome, “but your visit has been at a most unfortunate time.”

“I made him come,” said Coral, the flash of anger drying all her tears, “and if my father had been alive he would have been glad to see him,—he loved everything and everybody that I loved.” And again her eyes flowed over.

“My dear child,” said Father Jerome, “will you not go to your room? it is not fit that you stay here any longer.”

“But Denis must not go away, Father Jerome,” said Coral.

“Leave him with me, daughter,” said the priest, gently; “I will take care of him.”

“Yes, dear Coral, go to your room,” said Denis; “it is better that you should. Don’t mind me.”

“But I will mind you, Denis; no one shall prevent me!” she said, with all her untamed Indian blood flashing in her eyes.

And then the thought of her dead father, and all his tenderness, came over her, and she softened again.

“Well, I will go,” she said, “if you promise to stay here.”

“I cannot stay, Coral; you know I must go to see my father and mother.”

“Well, then, promise me not to leave Quebec till I see you again.”

“I promise that, Coral; nothing could make me go away without seeing you again.”

“Very well; remember I trust you.” And releasing his hand she left the room.

“Mademoiselle de Vallette seems much attached to you,” said Father Jerome quickly, “and, no doubt, you are equally so to her.”

“By no means,” said Denis, looking straight at the priest; “I love her a thousand times better than she loves me.”

“Ah!” said the priest, “you are candid. Well, in return, I will be candid with you. The laws and customs of the world have placed an impassable barrier between you and the young lady. She is now the sole heiress of great wealth,—the acknowledged daughter of a man of rank and property; your birth, situation, and circumstances belong, as you must be aware, to another and totally different sphere; her position and prospects have changed, and the relations between you must change also; there can no longer be anything like equality between you; therefore, the less you see of each other the better.”

“The better for me, perhaps,” said Denis; “for her it does not matter.”

“Perhaps not; but as her father confided her to my care in case of his death, I must guard against the possibility of danger. At the same time, if she wishes to show her gratitude for any services you may have formerly rendered her, by assisting you in whatever mode of life you have chosen, I shall not object. If you have had the presumption to cherish any other hopes, they can never be realised, even if Mademoiselle were foolish enough to encourage them. I tell you plainly, I should know how to frustrate them.”

At this the indignant blood burned in Denis’s cheek, and his eye flashed fire.

“I want no help from any one,” he said. “Coral owes me no gratitude, and no man but a priest dares suspect me of underhand plans or motives. It is not because she is a Count’s daughter, and an heiress, that I love her; I loved her as well when I thought she was the daughter of old Indian Louis, and had not a cent in the world; and she knows that. But she cares nothing for me—she never did—except some small share of sisterly kindness and pity, and that at least she will bear for me while she lives, for she has a true and tender heart, and no worldly fashions will ever spoil it. But if she did love me,” and the wild light of his eye almost startled the priest as he spoke, “I tell you, old man, not all the priests nor all the soldiers in your walled town should keep her from me. Love and nature are stronger than all the chains custom or gold can forge. And you may find that out yet!” he said, as the thought of Keefe crossed his mind.

“This violence is singularly unbecoming at such a time,” said Father Jerome, as calmly as ever.

“I cannot listen to such things with indifference,” said Denis, “but I am a fool to be angry with such as you.”

“You certainly are,” said the priest, “for, I assure you, I should have great pleasure in serving you if I knew any way in which I could do so with propriety.”

“I want no help or assistance from any one, least of all from Coral or any of her new friends. My hands are able to earn more than enough to satisfy my wants, and if they were not, it is not from you, or such as you, I should ask for aid. And, now, if you will tell me where Nicholas Brady lives, I will rid you of my presence.”

Father Jerome did so, and Denis left the room and the house.

“A very fiery youth indeed,” said Father I Jerome to himself, as he looked after Denis from the window, “and not a bad-looking fellow either, though a complete rustic. I must take care she does not see him again.”

has heard, or should have heard, of the kindly ritual called the “Golden Wedding,” and of the more frequently performed ceremonial known as the “Silver Wedding.” But if anyone does not comprehend the meaning of these graceful observances, or the poetry which can be made to surround them, let him procure Miss Frederica Bremer’s novel, “The Neighbours,” and, when he