ornaments and some pretty shells, that the fisherman and Ellen's
betrothed had brought on their return from different voyages, were
tastefully arranged on the mantel-piece and tables, with several books,
which, from the pencilled passages he observed as he opened them, had
evidently been well conned. In one, a small volume of miscellaneous
poems, Ellen's name was inscribed on the fly-leaf, in a graceful Italian
hand, evidently a lady's writing.

"This fisherman's daughter must certainly be a very superior person," he
said to himself, as he turned over page after page, observing with the
eye of a critic,--for literature to him had been a familiar study from
early youth,--that the finest passages were the only ones marked,
proving, conclusively, that they had been the reader's favorites.

"Strange to find one like her in so remote and desolate a spot," and,
half-aloud, he read the stanzas, in which he had just opened, smiling as
he thought how true they were in this instance.

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

He was interrupted by the clear, sweet tones of a woman's voice in an
adjoining room.

"You will find my chamber quite comfortable, Mrs. Pierce, and I must
insist on your sharing it, for there is abundance of room for us both."

"But I am afraid of discommoding you, my dear young lady, and can easily