"Naught have I seen of the earth, for mine eyes have been darkened
Since I was born to this life, with its toils and vexations,
Yet hath the Maker, in mercy, bestowed compensation,
Music, and love of sweet singing to lighten the burden.
Here, at the loud-swelling organ, my soul is responsive
To passion and grandeur of music, and sighings melodious,
It bursts from its prison of gloom, soaring upward rejoicing,
Borne on the stormy, majestical breath of the organ."

As a rule, the conversations of lovers are hardly worth recording, consisting, as they mostly do, of incoherent rhapsodies of love and devotion, with very little of that useful quality called common sense. But Reginald and Una were the most sedate of sweethearts, and talked of other things besides the ardour of their passion. In this instance they were discussing their future and the chances of their marriage.

It would have been difficult to find a handsomer pair as they walked along; she fair and slender, with a charming smile on her face; he tall and dark, with a touch of haughtiness in his manly dignity. They looked like two lovers who had strayed from the enchanted garden of Boccaccio, with nothing to talk about but the pains and passions of Eros, but, alas, such thoughts are impossible, save under the magic influence of twilight; and this youthful pair, who seemed the incarnation of romance, were talking in a most prosaic fashion.

"You see, dear," said Reginald, after he had explained everything to Una, "it is not the slightest use my depending on my relations, even if I were to find them out."

"I don't think it's much use in any case," replied Una decisively. "It's far better for you to depend upon yourself. But how do you intend to proceed?"

"It's rather difficult to say. I have no money and no chance of obtaining any. Patience had a certain sum which she paid to Doctor Larcher for my education. I believe," said the young man, somewhat bitterly, "that I've been mostly brought up by the vicar out of charity."

"Doctor Larcher has never said so."

"No, he is too kind-hearted and generous for that, but I feel sure that such is the case. Never mind; should it ever lie in my power I will repay his charity a thousand fold."

"Do you think he will like you becoming a singer?" asked Una apprehensively.

"I don't fancy he'll approve of it--at first," said Reginald bluntly, "but what else can I do? The law, the church and medicine all require money to make a start, and even then it is a difficult game to play. I know a good deal about music, and, according to Beaumont, who is certainly no flatterer, I have an excellent voice. So it is my only chance."

"If the vicar approves, what will you do?"

"I'll ask him to lend me some money. I shall then go to London and place myself under a good master, and if my voice is good, with hard work I'll soon be able to do something."

"It seems very risky," said Una, with a sigh. "Many fail."

"And many succeed. If a man be sober, industrious and observant, he can hardly help succeeding. Beggars must not be choosers, and if I don't use the only talent I've got, what else is there for me to do? I cannot remain here all my life on the bounty of Dr. Larcher. If I did, there would be small chance of our marriage."

"I have a little money," she began timidly.

"Yes, I know," he answered hastily, "but I'm not the man to live on my wife. It is your dear self I want, not your money; though, as the squire's heiress, you are far above me."

Una laughed.

"I'm very doubtful about my being an heiress," she said gaily. "It is true I am the squire's next-of-kin, and should inherit, but you know how eccentric he is. The property is not entailed, so he can do as he likes."

"You mean he is going to leave it to his other self. Nonsense! That is the phantasy of a madman's brain. No court of law would uphold such a will. How he is going to leave it to himself when his alter ego is not in existence, I don't know."

"Nor I," replied Una frankly. "I know, of course, he is mad, quite mad, and that any will made on the principle of his hallucination would be set aside, but lately he has dropped hints about a son."

"A son? Why he was never married."

"No; but he says he has a son who is somewhere about, and he intends to leave the property to him."

"Indeed. Then what becomes of his great scheme of enjoying the money in his re-incarnated body?"

"It's a mystery," said Miss Challoner, laughing.

"I should think it was, and whatever will he makes now, leaving the property away from you, would not hold good, for he certainly is not in his right senses. You could claim as next-of-kin."

"And I certainly should do so," replied Una, with decision. "But it is my opinion he'll live for a good long time yet."

"Humph! He's very ill."

"Creaking doors hang longest. But do not let us speculate on his death. I would rather we made our own fortune."

The use of the plural member had a delicious sound for Reginald, and he felt strongly tempted to there and then kiss his lady-love, but as they were now crossing the bridge and several people were about, he restrained himself until a more convenient season.

"Never mind the Squire and his money, dear," he said fondly, "for your sake I am going to be the Mario of the future."

"I'm sure you will," replied Una with the trustfulness of love, "you know I lived a long time in Germany and heard a number of good singers--your voice is quite as good as any, if not better."

"Flatterer!"

"Well, we'll see, Signor Reginald Mario," she said gaily, as they entered the churchyard, "when you are enchanting London audiences you will remember my prediction. You should cross the poor gipsy's hand with silver."

"Can't, mum," he retorted laughing; "I'm stone broke. However, there's no one about, so I'll do better--cross the gipsy's lips with kisses," and before she could draw back, this audacious young man put his words into action.

"Oh, Reginald!"

"Oh, Una," he mimicked lightly, "don't say a word or I'll take another. Come along, here's the church, and by Jove," as the sound of music broke on their ears, "there's Cecilia at the organ."

"And she's playing the Wedding March," cried Una blushing.

"It's a good omen, dear," he whispered, as they walked up the aisle, "this is like a rehearsal of marriage, isn't it?"
............