Blade-O'-Grass. Golden Grain. and Bread and Cheese and Kisses.

Mrs. Naldret repressed her sobs, and pressed him closer to her faithful breast, and whispered,

'Ah, George, there are a many women in the world for you, but there's only one mother!'

He whispered back to her, 'There's only one woman in the world for me, and that's my darling Bessie; and there is only one other who is as good as she is, and that's the mother I hold in my arms.'

And all she could reply to this was, 'O, George, George! O, my dear, dear boy!' with a world of love and pity in her voice.

And so the sad evening passed away, until George said, Hadn't father and mother better go home? He would soon be with them. They knew that he wanted to say good-bye to Bessie, who sat pale and tearful, with her hand in his; and they rose to go, saying he would find them up when he came home.

'I know that, dear mother and father,' he said, and went with them to the door, and kissed them, and came back with the tears running down his face.

'I'll tell you what, George,' whispered old Ben Sparrow in George's ear. 'You shall say good-bye to Tottie and me, and we'll go to bed; and then you'll have Bessie all to yourself. But don't keep too long, my dear boy, don't keep too long.'

Tottie had been fast asleep for more than an hour, and George took her in his arms without waking her.

'Good-bye, Tottie,' he said; 'good-bye, little one!' He kissed her many times, and the child, stirred by his caresses, raised her pretty little hand to his face. He kissed her fingers, and then resigned her to old Ben, who, with his burden in his arms, grasped George's hand tight, and bade him good-bye and God speed.

'And don't forget, George,' he said, with a secret look towards Bessie.

'No, Mr. Sparrow,' George replied, 'I'll bear in mind what you told me.'

'God bless you, then, and speed you back!'

With this the old man ascended the stairs, with Tottie in his arms, turning over his shoulder to give George a parting look, and humming 'Cheer, boys, cheer!' softly, to keep up the spirit of the lovers.

They had listened with a kind of strained attention to the old man's voice, and when it was hushed, and silence fell upon them, George turned to Bessie, and in an instant she was in his arms, lying on his breast. A long silence followed. George heard Bessie's heart beat plainer than the tick of the old-fashioned clock, which stood like a ghost in a corner of the room. Not another sound could be heard but the ticking of the old clock and the beating of their hearts. As Bessie lay in her lover's arms, she thought whether it would be generous in her to question him about Tottie. The very asking of the question would imply a doubt. A voice whispered to her, 'Trust him; perfect love means perfect confidence.' But the woman's words were present to her also; and George was paying for the child. She would not admit the thought of anything dishonourable in George; but the sting of the doubt was in her. Would it not be better for her to ask a simple question, which George could easily answer, than to be tormented with doubt during the long months he would be away from her? Would it not be simple justice to Tottie? for if she were not satisfied, she might grow to hate the child. And Bessie really loved the pretty little forsaken one. The maternal instinct was in her, like the seedling of a flower in the ground, waiting for the summer-time to ripen it into the perfect beauty of motherly love. She loved children.

And here, a word. Whether out of place or not, it must be written. Trust not that woman who has no love for little ones. She is unworthy of love.

How long the lovers remained silent they did not know. But the time flew all too swiftly, for the solemn tongue of Westminster proclaimed the hour. Each clang was like a knell. It was midnight.

Midnight! What solemn reflections arise at such a moment, if the mind be attuned to them! If the world were spread before us like a map, what varied emotion and feeling, what unworthy striving, what unmerited suffering, what new lives born to pain, what old lives dying out in it, what thoughts dark and bright, what flowers of tender love, what weeds of ruthless circumstance, what souls born in the mire and kept there, what hope, what remorse, what sounds of woe and pleasant fountain-voices with sparkles in them, what angel-lights and divine touches of compassion, would, in the brief space occupied by the striking of the hour, there be displayed! And so that bell may toll, night after night, for generation after generation, until a time shall come-say in a hundred years-when every human pulse that at this moment beats throughout the world, when every heart that thrills and thirsts, when every vainful mortal that struts and boasts and makes grand schemes for self's exaltment, shall lie dead in earth and sea! Such thoughts should make us humble.

The bell awoke the lovers from their dream, and they spoke in low tones of the future and the hopes that lay in it for them.

'When I come back with a little bit of money, my darling,' said George, 'I shall be content to settle down to my trade, and we shall jog along as happy as can be. We couldn't settle down without pots and pans, and these I am going away to earn. I can see our little home, with you sitting by the fireside, or waiting at the door for me to give me a kiss when my day's work is done. Then I shall come round to mother's old way, with her bread-and-cheese and kisses. That will be good enough for me, my darling, with you to give me the kisses.'

And he gave and took an earnest of them there and then.

So they talked of one thing and another until One o'clock was tolled by the Westminster bell, and during all that time Bessie had not found courage to speak of what was in her mind. George had noticed the ear-rings in Bessie's ears, but had not spoken of them, thinking that Bessie would have drawn his attention to them. But Bessie's wound was too fresh; the pain and bewilderment of it were all engrossing. She had no thought for anything else.

'And now I must go, my darling,' said George, as they stood by the shop-door; 'for mother and father are waiting for me.' He took her face between his hands and kissed her lips. 'One kiss for hope; one for faith; and one for love.'

Bessie raised her face again to his, and whispered as she kissed,

'And one for confidence.'

'And one for confidence,' he repeated, as heartily as his sadness would allow.

'There should be no secrets between us, George dear.'

'Certainly there should not be, darling,' he replied, 'though you've been keeping one from me all the night, you puss!'

'I, George!'

'Yes, you, dearest. You have never told me who gave you those pretty ear-rings.'

Upon such slight threads often do our dearest hopes hang! Bessie, yielding to the weak impulse, to play off confidence for confidence, said,

'Never mind those, George. I want to ask you something first.'

At this moment the sound of music came to them, and the waits commenced to play the dear old air of 'Home, sweet home.'

'That's Saul's doing,' thought George. 'Good fellow! What will become of him during the time I am away?' As he and Bessie stood linked in a close embrace, the soft strains floated through the air into their hearts.

'There shall be no secrets between us, George, in our own home, sweet home!'

'None, darling.'

'And you'll not be angry with me for saying something?'

'What can my dear girl say to make me angry? and at such a time!'

'Then tell me, George-about Tottie.'

'The dear little thing! What about her, dearest?'

'George, is she an orphan?'

How long seemed the interval before he replied! Tick-tick-tick-went the clock, so slowly! O, so slowly, now!

'No, Bessie.'

How strangely his voice sounded! But he held her closer to him, and she had no power to free herself from his embrace. Indeed, she would have fallen had he loosed her.

'Do not be angry with me, George,' she whispered, slowly and painfully. 'She has a father living?'

Another long, long pause, and then, 'Yes,' from George, in the same strange tone.

'Tell me his name, George.'

He held her from him suddenly, and with his hands upon her shoulders, looked her steadily in the face. But her eyes drooped in the light of his earnest gaze.

'I cannot, Bessie,' he said; 'I must not. When we are married I will tell you all. There shall be no secrets between us in our home, sweet home. Till then, be satisfied.'

Softer came the dear old air to Bessie's ears. But the tenderer meaning in it was gone for her. She turned from her lover petulantly.

'I did not think you would refuse me this, George.'