As it was very clear the neighbourhood knew little about the true state of things in Herman Mordaunt's family, I took my hat and proceeded to execute the intention with which I had left home. I was sorry to hear that Bulstrode was at Lilacsbush, but had no apprehension of his ever marrying Anneke. I took the way to the heights, and soon reached the field where I had once met the ladies, on horseback. There, seated under a tree, I saw Bulstrode alone, and apparently in deep contemplation. It was no part of my plan to be seen, or to have my presence known, and I was retiring, when I heard my name, discovered that I was recognised, and joined him.

The first glance at Bulstrode showed me that he knew the truth. He coloured, bit his lips, forced a smile, and came forward to meet me, limping just enough to add interest to his gait, and offered his hand with a frank manliness that gave him great merit in my eyes. It was no trifle to lose Anne Mordaunt, and I am afraid I could not have manifested half so much magnanimity. But, Bulstrode was a man of the world, and he knew how to command the exhibition of his feelings, if not to command the feelings themselves.

"I told you, once, Corny," he said, offering his hand, "that we must remain friends, coute qui coute—you have been successful, and I have failed. Herman Mordaunt told me the melancholy fact before we left Albany; and I can tell you, his regrets were not so very flattering to you. Nevertheless, he admits you are a capital fellow, and that if it were not for Alexander, he could wish to be Diogenes. So you have only to provide yourself with a lantern and a tub, marry Anneke, and set up housekeeping. As for the honest man, I propose saving you some trouble, by offering myself in that character, even before you light your wick. Come, take a seat on this bench, and let us chat."

There was something a little forced in all this, it is true, but it was manly. I took the seat, and Bulstrode went on.

"It was the river that made your fortune, Corny, and undid me."

I smiled, but said nothing; though I knew better.

"There is a fate in love, as in war. Well, I am as well off as Abercrombie; we both expected to be victorious, while each is conquered. I am more fortunate, indeed; for he can never expect to get another army, while I may get another wife. I wish you would be frank with me, and confess to what you particularly ascribe your own success."

"It is natural, Mr. Bulstrode, that a young woman should prefer to live in her own country, to living in a strange land, and among strangers."

"Ay, Corny, that is both patriotic and modest; but it is not the real reason. No, sir; it was Scrub, and the theatricals, by which I have been undone. With most provincials, Mr. Littlepage, it is a sufficient apology for anything, that the metropolis approves. So it is with you colonists, in general; let England say yes, and you dare not say, no. There is one thing, that persons who live so far from home, seldom learn; and it is this: There are two sorts of great worlds; the great vulgar world, which includes all but the very best in taste, principles, and manners, whether it be in a capital or a country; and the great respectable world, which, infinitely less numerous, contains the judicious, the instructed, the intelligent, and, on some questions, the good. Now, the first form fashion; whereas the last produce something far better and more enduring than fashion. Fashion often stands rebuked, in the presence of the last class, small as it ever is, numerically. Very high rank, very finished tastes, very strong judgments, and very correct principles, all unite, more or less, to make up this class. One, or more of these qualities may be wanting, perhaps, but the union of the whole forms the perfection of the character. We have daily examples of this at home, as well as elsewhere; though, in our artificial state of society it requires more decided qualities to resist the influence of fashion, when there is not positive, social rank to sustain it, perhaps, than it would in one more natural. That which first struck me, in Anneke, as is the case with most young men, was her delicacy of appearance, and her beauty. This I will not deny. In this respect, your American women have quite taken me by surprise. In England, we are so accustomed to associate a certain delicacy of person and air, with high rank, that I will confess, I landed in New York with no expectation of meeting a single female, in the whole country, that was not comparatively coarse, and what we are accustomed to consider common, in physique; yet, I must now say that, apart from mere conventional finish, I find quite as large a proportion of aristocratical-looking females among you, as if you had a full share of dutchesses. The last thing I should think of calling an American woman, would be coarse. She may want manner, in one sense; she may want finish, in a dozen things; she may, and often does, want utterance, as utterance is understood among the accomplished; but she is seldom, indeed, coarse or vulgar, according to our European understanding of the terms."

"And of what is all this apropos, Bulstrode?"

"Oh! of your success, and my defeat, of course, Corny," answered the major, smiling. "What I mean, is this—that Anneke is one of your second class, or is better than what fashion can make her; and Scrub has been the means of my undoing. She does not care for fashion, in a play, or a novel, or a dress even, but looks for the proprieties. Yes, Scrub has proved my undoing!"

I did not exactly believe the last; but, finding Bulstrode so well disposed to give his rejection this turn, it was not my part to contradict him. We talked together half an hour longer, in the most amicable manner, when we parted; Bulstrode promising not to betray the secret of my presence.

I lingered in sight of the house until evening, when I ventured nearer, hoping to get a glimpse of Anneke as she passed some window, or appeared, by the soft light of the moon, under the piazza that skirted the south front of the building. Lilacsbush deserved its name, being a perfect wilderness of shrubbery; and, favoured by the last, I had got quite near the house, when I heard light footsteps on the gravel of an adjacent walk. At the next instant, soft, low voices met my ears, and I was a sort of compelled auditor of what followed.

"No, Anne, my fate is sealed for this world," said Mary Wallace, "and I shall live Guert's widow as faithfully and devotedly, as if the marriage-vow had been pronounced. This much is due to his memory, on account of the heartless doubts I permitted to influence me, and which drove him into those terrible scenes that destroyed him. When a woman really loves, Anneke, it is vain to struggle against anything but positive unworthiness, I fear. Poor Guert was not unworthy in any sense; he was erring and impulsive, but not unworthy. No—no—not unworthy! I ought to have given him my hand, and he would have been spared to us. As it is, I can only live his widow in secret, and in love. You have done well, dearest Anneke, in being so frank with Corny Littlepage, and in avowing that preference which you have felt almost from the first day of your acquaintance."

Although this was music to my ears, honour would not suffer me to hear more, and I moved swiftly away, stirring the bushes in a way to apprize the speaker of the proximity of a stranger. It was necessary to appear, and I endeavoured so to do, without creating any alarm.

"It must be Mr. Bulstrode," said the gentle voice of Anneke, "who is probably looking for us—see, there he comes, and we will meet—"

The dear speaker became tongue-tied; for, by this time, I was near enough to be recognised. At the next instant, I held her in my arms. Mary Wallace disappeared, how or when, I cannot say. I place a veil over the happy hour that succeeded, leaving the old to draw on their experience for its pictures, and the young to live in hope. At the end of that time, by Anneke's persuasion, I entered the house, and had to brave Herman Mordaunt's disposition to rally me. I was not only mercifully, but hospitably treated, however, Anneke's father merely laughing at my little adventure, saying, that he looked upon it favourably, and as a sign that I was a youth of spirit.

Early in October we were married, the Rev. Mr. Worden performing the ceremony. Our home was to be Lilacsbush, which Herman Mordaunt conveyed to me the same day, leaving it, as it was furnished, entirely in my hands. He also gave me my wife's mother's fortune, a respectable independence, and the death of Capt. Hugh Roger, soon after, added considerably to my means. We made but one family, between town, Lilacsbush, and Satanstoe, Anneke and my mother, in particular, conceiving a strong affection for each other.

As for Bulstrode, he went home before the marriage, but keeps up a correspondence with us to this hour. He is still single, and is a declared old bachelor. His letters, however, are too light-hearted to leave us any concern on the subject; though these are matters that may fall to the share of my son Mordaunt, should he ever have the grace to continue this family narrative.

THE END.