was neither a clown nor a fool, he felt he was staring as helplessly at his new wonder of the world as Cymon could possibly have done. And, what was worse, saw no hope of acquitting himself equally well in the end. For alas! things might be done in ancient times, and especially in poetic fable, that were by no means possible in these prosaic days. What could he or should he do?

One minute he was earnestly wishing that she would wake so that he might see her eyes lighten in consciousness, and then he would quiet her natural fears and

go.

The next he was just as anxious she should remain as she was, if but for a little while longer. Only so could he prolong the delight he experienced; and which he knew in any case must soon end, and the world become a sudden blank.

What could have brought her here, and then brought him? A very strange coincidence! Most likely her friends were not far off.

And then he found in her very loneliness a reason why he ought to stay in case she should need a protector.

And yet who could injure—who could help bending in almost reverential awe before a creature so lovely even in slumber; and who must be a thousand times more winning when the springs of life should awake to their duties and be again active; when every lineament of the face, every movement of the slender, graceful form, should reveal disposition, mind, charac

ter.

Again he asked himself must he go or stay, growing uneasily conscious how he ought to answer.

But then the very considering such a matter with the care it demanded struck him, half-humorously, as forming a new reason why he should at least stay till he had quite decided. For would it not be ridiculous were he to go under one impulse, and presently return in obedience to another.

"What sweet, round, rosy, delicious lips! Who shall first hear from them the words never after to be forgotten-I love!' Who shall first press his own lips on them, and so know for evermore the highest bliss the soul of man can conceive or long for?

"Might I but do it, and not awaken her, and then in silence go away? I wonder whether I should be able ever after to think of anything else, as I found that one moment had concentrated for me the glory of a life time!

"What would she say? how act if I did venture and she awaked?

"Come, come, Larry, my boy; this won't do; you know that very well. Go while you can, and may God bless and protect her."

CHAPTER II.

A PAIR OF TOURISTS.

Not trusting himself to another glance, Larry turned, moved slowly, silently, and sadly down towards the stepping stones, but paused at the sight of a couple of tourists, advancing as if to cross to his side.

Thought was quick at such a moment, and brought him to a sudden decision.

"They must not pass. They shall not-If I can prevent them. They should be gentlemen by their dress. I'll so speak to them. If they do pass I shall certainly be with them."

Moving on to the stones, he reached the one nearest to the Table Rock in the centre.

They seeing his movement hurried, without the smallest regard to appearances, to meet him, as if to enjoy the fun of the embarrassing situation he would be placed in; and indulging in loud laughter as they reached the Table Rock, and stood there in triumph as masters of the position.

Standing face to face with them Larry searchingly scanned their features; and so drew the conviction that they meant to make him go back, and were already enjoying his humiliation.

The going back he would not have minded. In fact, he would like to have done so, and with such a show of profound courtesy as to shame them, if susceptible to influences of that kind.

But they were, he thought, just the men to wound, insult. and terribly alarm the sleeping girl, and think it a capital joke; while probably not intending her any more serious injury. So he said to them

"Pray excuse my taking this position, while you were also coming to cross. My reason was simply this. I have just now seen a young girl, sleeping under the trees above. I have carefully avoided disturbing her, and I wished to tell you that you might do the same."

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Young!" asked the taller of the two men taking a cigar from his mouth, knocking the ashes from it, and replacing it deliberately.

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Pretty?" added the other man, with a knowing wink at Larry, which he did not reciprocate; and then with a similar wink at his fellow tourist, who acknowledged it in a manner that seemed to suggest-"Never spoil sport by too great hurry."

Taking no notice of their questions, except by a slight but

significant smile, and continuing his sentence as though it had not been finished, Larry said,

"No doubt her friends are close by."

"Then you are not one of them?" remarked the tall man, with the same air of studied coolness in dealing with his speech and his cigar as before.

"I enjoy that honour only till you have gone back, and pursued your walk in a different direction."

"Suppose we don't choose to go back?" said the previous speaker.

"I have not the remotest objection to wait," responded Larry, ""Tis a fine scene around us. Can I have the pleasure to indicate to you any of the choicer spots in the neighbourhood." Nothing could be less objectionable that the words, nor more irritating than the tone or the manner in which they were said. Thick-skinned as these tourists were they could not mistake the amused contempt with which they were regarded. So the shorter and more silent man suddenly blurted out—

"Pitch him over."

"All right," responded his comrade, turning to him. "Only let us take things quietly." Then facing Larry, he said—

“Take care, my friend; I am going to jump," and he posed himself at the verge of the rocky table, in readiness.

"And if you do, I will take care, my friend,' that you will join me in a bath that will be anything but a shallow one."

The two remained for perhaps half a minute or more, moveless, staring at each other, Larry keeping himself prepared for the possible impact of such a "friend."

But a new personage now appeared.

The young girl had heard something, she knew not what, while only half awakened, apparently by the sound. Her eyes opened, and as full consciousness returned, and she was about slowly to rise, the angry voices of men came to her ear from the water below.

In sudden alarm she hurried down the slope hoping to find her friends; but saw instead Larry and the two tourists in their extraordinary position: unmistakably antagonistic.

Frightened, but reassuring herself by thinking their quarrel could have no possible connection with her, she continued to descend.

The tourists' attention being drawn to her, and their hostile attitude at once changing, Larry guessed the cause, looked back, and saw the fair maiden who had so transported him out of himself.

Repassing instantly to the bank, he advanced to meet her hat in hand, and said, in tones that were strangely low, sweet, and penetrating:

“Madam, I had accidentally the happiness to see you asleep;

and then the sorrow to feel compelled to pass] away; and so probably to see you no more."

"These considerate and remarkably gentlemanly men have convinced me it was better to stay, and help them, if need be, to see you in safety to your friends. My name is Larry O'Neill at least, that is how my friends all call me--lately a student at Trinity College. Who these gentlemen are I leave them to explain."

The tall tourist turned to his fellow and said—

"You hear. He wants to know your name, and all about you."

"Yes, and you too."

A loud hoarse laugh, in which both the men joined, was practically the only information vouchsafed.

And, then, with some sense of shame, produced rather by the beauty of the young girl than by Larry's veiled sarcasms, which they saw she only too well understood, they still had not the grace to excuse themselves by some decent pretence, and so make the best of a humiliating departure.

"The lady is waiting to cross," said the tall tourist. "If this low fellow won't get out of her way, I hope she perceives that in our going back for her sake we try to teach him a lesson in manners by resigning our right first to cross."

He and his fellow took off their hats, bowed very low to the young maiden--then, with another burst of merriment, retraced their steps to the bank and moved away.

But even then they could not go in peace. Twice they turned round in mockery, hats off, bowing humorously low; and then, in boisterous mirth, continued their journey.

"I think I see, sir," said the young maiden after a pause, "how great has been your kindness-and-and-for which," she continued in faltering tones, "I am deeply grateful."

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My claim in that way, I fear," said Larry with a smile, "is but a shadowy one to rest on, even if I presume no farther upon it than to venture to ask your name."

"Norah Blake," she said simply.

"Norah Blake!" repeated Larry, in tones of such deep feeling, and with such a sense of protracted enjoyment of the tremulous music of her voice, that it really seemed as if he were unconsciously trying to express all that the sound of the name inspired coming from her lips.

And as to Norah herself, listening to his repetition, while with burning blushes she saw his inmost soul reflected in the rapt glow of his face, her own name became to her from that time what it had never before been.

And then, before Larry could get the opportunity he was so anxiously waiting for a few minutes conversation—that might

show that the beauty of the shrine was only typical of the beauty of the soul within, she said hurriedly

"Ah, there are my friends. They left me on the other side to rest." Then with a little laugh, "I danced all my strength away last night. And there is my father, too. I hope he won't be angry with me. He was not with the rest when I persuaded

them to leave me behind."

She hurried to the stepping-stones, and mounted the first before Larry could stop her or offer her help. He trembled at what he thought her temerity, as she so lightly passed from rock to rock, but dared not call on her to pause, lest, through a sudden turn, she might lose her balance or make a false step.

She landed in safety. And then, and then only, did Larry venture to follow with equal speed, knowing he could no longer embarrass her.

He saw now a group of people, chiefly middle-aged, hurrying to meet Miss Blake, and greatly wondering to see her crossing the stepping-stones followed by a stranger.

Emerging from the group, which he had only just overtaken, having been engaged in seeking cars to take them away, a white-haired, strong, sharp-featured man met Norah, his daughter.

Larry watched from a little distance his behaviour while she gave her explanations. He wondered anxiously if they would include the fact he had made known to her, of his watching her asleep; and, if so, what her father would think or say.

Twice Mr. Blake turned as if to take measure of the man who had thus assisted his daughter, and the second time the look was so marked that Larry took off his hat in answer, and moved a little nearer.

Mr. Blake took no notice at the time, but when he had placed his daughter under the charge of a female friend (the sister of her deceased mother), and seen the party on the move, he came towards Larry, scanning critically his features and dress the while.

As they met he put out his hand, which Larry cordially, almost vehemently, grasped, but was chilled by the utter want of response.

"I gather from my daughter's narrative I have to thank you for a possible service in keeping aloof a pair of those tourist nuisances who are always running about the world, not to disgrace themselves-that is beyond their power-but to disgrace the country that is obliged to own them. Will you walk a few steps? I must follow my friends."

Walking, then, together, Larry's warm, sensitive feeling sinking lower in the emotional thermometer every instant as he found himself brought into contact with a nature that he