discoursing of their domestic trials in notes of dulcet melancholy;
while lower down, three or four ring-doves nestled on the roof in a
patch of sunlight, spreading up their pinions like miniature sails,
to catch the warmth and lustre.

Within the deep, shadowy embrasure, like a jewel placed on dark
velvet, was seated a girl spinning,--no other than the mysterious
maiden of the shell cavern. She was attired in a plain, straight
gown, of some soft white woolen stuff, cut squarely at her throat;
her round, graceful arms were partially bare, and as the wheel
turned swiftly, and her slender hands busied themselves with the
flax, she smiled, as though some pleasing thought had touched her
mind. Her smile had the effect of sudden sunshine in the dark room
where she sat and span,--it was radiant and mirthful as the smile of
a happy child. Yet her dark blue eyes remained pensive and earnest,
and the smile soon faded, leaving her fair face absorbed and almost
dreamy. The whirr-whirring of the wheel grew less and less rapid,--
it slackened,--it stopped altogether,--and, as though startled by
some unexpected sound, the girl paused and listened, pushing away
the clustering masses of her rich hair from her brow. Then rising
slowly from her seat, she advanced to the window, put aside the
roses with one hand, and looked out,--thus forming another picture
as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than the first.

Lorimer drew his breath hard. "I say, old fellow," he whispered; but
Errington pressed his arm with vice-like firmness, as a warning to
him to be silent, while they both stepped farther back into the
dusky gloom of the pine boughs.

The girl, meanwhile, stood motionless, in a half-expectant attitude,