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the glowing beauty of their mixed parentage in their dark skin and lustrous eyes. Though they had hitherto been among the gayest of the gay, nothing could now exceed the demureness of their conduct. It was tacitly understood that the clergyman was to marry Winnie, but the elder sister entertained the fear, and the younger the hope, that Mr. Fletcher would exhibit in his selection the usual perversity of his sex. As for the father of the family, he had never interfered in the love affairs of his daughters either for good or ill. He was an indolent, taciturn man, who appeared to live mainly on tobacco and reflection, supplemented by occasional financial assistance from his relations, but he left the management of affairs to his wife, who, for all her dark skin, was a European in her instincts. Mallow washed himself and brushed his hair only under pressure from his family. He preferred walking about the sands in his bare feet rather than in boots, and if the choice offered, he would hold companionship with a Maori sooner than a European, and with himself in preference to either. For all this he was an affectionate parent, and—which counted for a good deal—the best fisherman on the river.

Mabel had walked along the beach to Hogg’s store for the letters, because Winnie was getting the parson’s breakfast, and she now came back with the weekly paper, a bill for Mr. Mallow, and two letters addressed to the Rev. T. Fletcher. Mabel knew that one of the clergyman’s correspondents was a local one by the postmark, and she judged that the writer was a man from the character of the handwriting. The other letter was plainly