82 ‘' ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS.

the shadows of the opposite trees and houses
lay prostrate across the road—the aspect of the
village street was lonely, very lonely and sad—
there was no hum from the school—no inquisi-
tive eyes peeped from the casements—no echo-
ing steps upon the neatly-gravelled footpath—
the old elm-tree showed like a mighty giant,
standing out against the clear calm sky—and
there was one star, only one, sparkling amid its
branches—a diamond of the heavens, shedding
its brightness on the earth. The stillness was
positively oppressive. Rose felt as if every time
she inhaled the air, she disturbed the death-like
quiet of the scene. A huge shadow passed along
the ledge of the opposite cottage; her nerves
were*so unstrung that she started back as it ad-
vanced. It was only their own gentle cat,
whose quick eye recognised its mistress, and
without waiting for invitation, crawled quickly
from its eminence, and came rubbing itself |
against the glass, and then moved stealthily

away, intent upon the destruction of some un-|
suspicious creature, who, taught by nature, be-.
lieves that with night comes safety.

Almost at the end of the street, the darkness |
was as it were divided by a ray of light, that
neither flickered nor wavered. Whata picture,
it brought at once before her !—the pale, lame
grandchild of old Jenny Oram, watching by the
dying bed of the only creature that had ever
\oved her—her poor deaf grandmother. And