CHAPTER VII.

"YOU KNOW THIS IS A GREAT SECRET."

"'And had he friends?' 'One friend perhaps,' said he,
'And for the rest, I pray you let it be.'"—Jean Ingelow.

Queenie was terribly restless during the next few days. While the important negotiation was impending she held aloof as much as possible from her friends at Church-Stile House. She could scarcely look Garth in the face when she met him in the village, so heavily did her secret weigh upon her. She had been once to see Langley, and had sat with her some time; but their talk had languished, and at last degenerated into silence. Langley had been too sad and heavy-hearted to make any pretence of cheerfulness, and Queenie had been so oppressed with secret consciousness that she had failed in outward manifestations of sympathy.

"If talk would only mend matters you would have no reason to complain of my silence," Langley said, by way of excuse for her downheartedness, when Queenie rose to take leave.

"One cannot always talk; I wish I were only as patient as you," had been Queenie's reply. But she breathed more freely when she had crossed the little bridge and was walking down the lane in the grey, waning light.

But Cathy came to the cottage, and was so low-spirited, and drew such dismal pictures of the future, that Emmie, who was weakly and tender-hearted, burst out crying, and for a long time refused to be comforted.

"Oh, Queen, if we were but rich!" sobbed the poor child, "how nice it would be to help them. I can't bear to think of Langley and Cathy working as you used to work at Granite Lodge, and being hungry and cold and miserable. Cathy might come and live here, there is plenty of room."

"Yes, yes, my sweet," returned Cathy, drying her eyes and kissing her hurriedly, "I will promise to come to you if I am starving; but I am going to nurse the sick people in the great London Hospital, you know, and nurses are sure to get plenty to eat," and the warm-hearted girl changed the subject, and began a ludicrous narration of Ted's sayings and doings during the last few days.

But Emmie could not forget her friends' troubles; she brooded over them silently, and at last made a little pilgrimage on her own account.

Garth, sitting moody and listless in his study, was surprised by a feeble tap, and then by the entrance of the child in her little scarlet hood.

"Why, Emmie, my dear," he said kindly, "has your sister brought you over to see us? surely you have not come alone this cold evening."

"Queenie and Cathy are talking so busily that they will not miss me; they think I am with Patience. I did not mind the cold a bit; I came all by myself, because I wanted to see you, Mr. Garth."

"To see me!" in a surprised tone, for, in spite of their friendship, Emmie had never before distinguished him in this way; her visits had always been to Langley. "Well, I am highly honored, and must make much of my visitor. Will this thing untie?" touching the red hood. But Emmie took no notice of his question; she stood beside him with her large blue eyes fixed gravely on his face, and then she put up her hand and stroked his cheek, but very gently and timidly.

"Poor Mr. Garth, I am so sorry for you."

"Why, my dear?" But he was touched in spite of himself, the little thin hand spoke so eloquently.

"Because you have lost all your money, and are so dreadfully unhappy. Was there a great deal, Mr. Garth?"

"Well, it was a tolerably large sum, at least for me," he replied gravely.

"And God has taken it away from you; that is very sad, is it not? I don't like to think of you being poor, it makes me feel bad all over."

"Why, Emmie, I never expected you to feel it like this! You must not trouble your dear little head about my affairs."

"I am sorry, but not half so sorry as Queenie is, I know, though she says so little about it. She never talks now, at least hardly at all, and she has not told me stories for ever so long; but she sits and looks at the fire, and sometimes her eyes are full of tears, though she thinks I do not see them."

He flushed at this, and a look of pain crossed his face.

"She may have troubles of her own; she will not like you to tell me this," he began in an embarrassed tone; but Emmie was too much engrossed with her subject to heed him.

"Shall you be very poor?" she persisted; "shall you be obliged to leave this old house, where you and Langley were born, and go and live in a poky little place in Warstdale, as Cathy says?"

"Cathy knows nothing about it; she ought not to tell you such things," rather quickly. "Of course we must leave this house, and of course we shall have to work; but we are young, and that will not hurt us. Come, come, things are not as bad as you and Cathy make them out; put all these sad thoughts out of your head. How could they have talked so before the child?" he muttered to himself.

But Emmie was not so easily comforted. She stood silently by Garth a minute, and then her eyes filled, and two large tears coursed slowly down her cheeks.

"Now, Emmie, don't be silly; I can't have you crying over this!" but his tone was kind; and as he spoke he drew the child gently to him.

"I can't help it," she whispered. "Cathy says you eat nothing, and that you are getting so thin and ill; and that frightens Queenie, and makes her look grave."

"Why, this is too absurd!" he began, and then his tone changed. The child would make herself ill if she went on like this. "Do you think you could make me some tea and some hot buttered toast if I were to promise to eat it? Now I think about it I am rather faint, and hot buttered toast is a favorite luxury of mine. Langley will find you the toasting-fork and things if you go and ask her."

In a moment Emmie's tears were dried by magic, and the little red hood laid aside. When, half-an-hour afterwards, Queenie entered the house in some alarm to know what had become of Emmie, she found a little scene that surprised her.

Garth and Emmie were seated with a little round table between them; a choice pile of buttered toast, done to a nicety, lay on the young man's plate. Emmie's face was flushed with excitement and heat, her hands were slightly blackened.

"He has promised to eat all that!" she cried out, pointing with the teapot in the direction of Garth's plate; "and he says he feels better already. I have made the tea so strong, just as he likes it. Langley let me go to the caddy myself!"

Garth rose with a droll expression and shook hands with Queenie.

"Emmie has played truant, I am afraid. She has got it into her head that I am starving myself to death as the best way of escaping my difficulties. I have had to eat and drink before her to dissipate the unpleasant idea."

"Oh, Emmie! how could you think of running away like this?" exclaimed her sister, fondly pressing the child's fair head between her hands; but she said very little to either of them after that. In the months to come that little scene often recurred to her, and the strange, embarrassed look on Garth's face as she entered.

More than a week had elapsed since the two conspirators had met in the little parlor at Brierwood Cottage. Queenie was just beginning to feel that the suspense was becoming terrible, when one night, as she was sitting alone after Emmie had gone to bed, she heard Mr. Logan's voice in the entry, and in another moment he came in shaking the raindrops off him.

"Well," he said, beaming on her through his spectacles, "I have not kept you too long waiting, have I? Of course you have been very anxious, but a delicate matter like this required plenty of time and management."

"Oh, yes, I know," she replied hastily; "but, all the same, my suspense has been dreadful. Tell me quickly, Mr. Logan. Has he taken it?"

"He has."

"Oh, thank heaven!" she exclaimed, and turned away lest the relief and joy should be too legibly written on her face.

"It has been a difficult job," he went on, sitting down and spreading his white, finely-shaped hands over the blaze. "At one time I feared whether I could carry it through. He was so hard to manage; but I timed it well, and spoke before Miss Clayton. I knew I could count on her common-sense to help me."

"But how did you begin? Did you say the words I put into your mouth? Tell me all about it, please," and Queenie tried to compose her glowing face.

"I can hardly remember my words. I said very little at first. I told Garth that a sum of money had lately come into my possession, and was lying idle at the Carlisle Bank; that it was there, and that I intended to make no use of it; and I entreated him, for his sisters' sake, to lay aside his pride and accept the loan offered to him."

"Well?"

"Well, he was very difficult at first. He seemed cut up, poor fellow, and very low over the whole business. He would have it that it was dishonest to help himself to another man's money unless he could see his way clear to repay it in a fair time; that his embarrassment was such that, even with this help, it might be two or three years before he could perfectly right himself; that he had had other losses lately; and that perhaps the wisest course would be to throw up the Works and take a manager's place himself. 'We should not starve on a hundred and fifty a-year, and Ted would earn something,' he said more than once."

"Of course you did not give in to him?"

"No; I grew tremendously eloquent, and Langley helped me. I talked myself hoarse for nearly two hours before I could move him. I hurled all sorts of thunders at him. I anathematized the Clayton pride as an unholy thing. I told him that it was a grievous sin against charity to refuse the help of a friendly hand when it was stretched out to save him. What would have been thought of the conduct of the poor traveller if he had refused the assistance of the good Samaritan; if he had lain there in his obstinacy, declaring that no such bindings up of oil and wine should be his?"

"Ah, you had him there."

"Well, he did look a little uneasy at that; and then I plied him with arguments. Did he think it a manly thing to let his sisters go out into the world and work because he could not do as other men did under such circumstances, and bend that pride of his? I noticed he winced at that. And then I upbraided him with his want of friendship. What did Charlotte and I want with the money? we had sufficient for our simple needs. Buy books with it? for he actually suggested that in a feeble sort of way. Did he think we were such lukewarm Christians that we should lay it out in luxuries while our dearest friends were on the brink of ruin?"

"I can well imagine your eloquence."

"It was worse than preaching half-a-dozen sermons. I was just getting weary and out of breath when Langley came to my rescue, and begged him, with tears in her eyes, not to grieve me; and then between us we talked him into a better and more hopeful state of mind."

"And he consented to accept it at last?"

"Yes; he is to draw two hundred and fifty to-morrow to meet some bills that are pressing upon him, and next week he is to take three hundred more, that will put him straight; but he will require the remainder for current expenses. It appears there will be little or no profit coming in from the Works for the next six months. His great fear is that he may not be able to repay me for two or three years."

"What does that matter?" exclaimed the girl, joyfully. "Oh, Mr. Logan, how shall I thank you for doing what you have done to-night? How did he look? and what did Langley say to you?"

"Well, he looked very pale, poor fellow; but I think on the whole he is very grateful and relieved. I know he wrung my hand nearly off when I took my leave. I felt such a consummate hypocrite when Miss Clayton burst into tears, and thanked me for saving her brother. I wonder what they would say if they knew the truth!"

"Hush! we will not say anything about that. Have you come straight from Church-Stile House? does Miss Cosie know yet?"

"No; but I must tell her directly I get home. By-the-bye, where is Miss Catherine, I missed her to-night?"

"She is spending the evening with Mrs. Stewart. Dr. Stewart has gone over to Karldale for the night. Mrs. Chester is very ill, and there is to be a consultation."

"Her days are numbered, poor soul, at least I greatly fear so," he returned very gravely, and soon afterwards he took his leave.

Queenie could scarcely compose herself to sleep that night, her relief was so intense; but in the morning the old fear obtruded itself. Could they rely with any degree of safety on Miss Cosie?

"Solomon tells us, that in the multitude of counsellors there is wisdom," she thought to herself; "but I do not think it holds good in the case of a dear fussy little old maid like Miss Cosie." And then she groaned in spirit, and finally decided to go then and there to the vicarage, and threaten that harmless old maiden with all sorts of pains and penalties if she did not keep that busy tongue of hers in order.

She found her in an old wooden out-house, that went by the name of the dairy, busily skimming a great bowl of yellow cream, with the inevitable grey shawl pinned round her, and a little drawn grey hood tied over her curls.

When she caught sight of her visitor she dropped her spoon, and came clattering over the brick floor in her little clogs.

"Dear, dear, it is never you, Miss Marriott! and not a wink of sleep have I got all night with thinking of you and those poor creatures at Church-Stile House; but there, there, I must not upset you," went on the little woman breathlessly, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss her.

"Dear Miss Cosie, I knew how glad you would be."

"Glad! I couldn't coin the word that would express my feeling. I seem as though I were made of india-rubber, I feel so drawn out and expanded with sheer happiness. It is a mountain that is lifted off me and Christopher, that's what it is," continued the soft-hearted little creature, wiping her eyes, and dimpling all over her round bright face. "Dear, dear, to think that you are a rich woman, and all the rest of it."

"Now, Miss Cosie, remember this is a great secret," began Queenie solemnly.

"My dear, I wouldn't breathe a word to a soul not if it were to save my life. Didn't Christopher tell me all about it last night, sitting there in his big chair, looking so good and beautiful, more fit to be lifted straight up to heaven, as I always say, than to be down here in father's big elbow chair, and with the tears all but running down his cheeks, so that he had to take off his spectacles to wipe them."

"But, Miss Cosie—"

"And to begin in that joking way, too," went on Miss Cosie, too intent on her reminiscences to heed the interruption. "'Well, Charlotte, my dear,'—I hardly thought I should be deceived at my time of life in this bare-faced manner,—'what do you think this sly little puss of a schoolmistress has been doing?' that's how he began."

"I wish I had been behind the door."

"Why, it was as good as a play, and he enjoying my fright, for I was quite in a fuss and worry in a moment. 'Don't tell me that our Miss Marriott could do anything wrong, for I won't believe it, Kit,' I returned; 'for she is as good a girl as ever lived, and a better sister to that poor little sickly child never breathed, and you may take my word for it, as sure as my name is Charlotte Logan.'"

"Thank you for that, dear Miss Cosie."

"'Don't put yourself out, Charlotte, there is no reason for it,' he answers, quite calmly. 'I am not saying a word against Miss Marriott's goodness; but she is a sly little creature for all that, for she is hiding from us all that she is a rich woman, with a tidy little fortune of five thousand a-year.' Dear, dear, the maze I was in when he said that!"

"If only I had been there!" ejaculated Queenie feelingly.

"I wouldn't believe it for a long time, and then it seemed to come on me like a flash. 'Why of course, Kit, my dear,' I said, as well as I could speak for crying, for he had been telling me all about the Brierwood Cottage conspiracy as he called it, and a more blessed deed of charity never reached my ears; but it shall be restored four-fold, pressed out and running over, and all that, my dear, you may rest assured of that. 'Why it stands to reason, Kit, my dear,' I said, 'that a young lady like Miss Marriott, who has the carriage of a duchess, and puts on her clothes well, and always holds her head high, and looks you in the face, and moves about as though she knew there was a barouche and pair waiting for her round every corner; why it stands to reason that a noble young creature like that should turn out to be somebody.'"

"But, Miss Cosie," exclaimed Queenie, trying not to laugh in the little woman's face, "I am the same that I was before; it does not make any difference in me, really, because Emmie's uncle chose to leave me all his money."

"No, my dear, certainly not; and of course in church you will always call yourself a miserable sinner, and all that, and of course that will be right and proper; but if only you could have heard what Christopher said about you! but I must not make you vain."

"Ah, Mr. Logan has been so good in helping me; he has managed everything so cleverly," returned Queenie, thankful to turn Miss Cosie's thoughts into a less embarrassing channel.

"My dear, you have no conception of Christopher's cleverness; he ought to be the bishop of the diocese, or the prime minister, with that head of his. No one can hold a candle to him, that is what I always say; he is the wisest and the best and the cleverest man I ever knew, in spite of his never remembering to take a clean handkerchief out of his drawers unless I put it ready for him. Why he actually ran after the bishop in that old patched dressing-gown of his; but I have told you that story before," interrupting herself just in time, and stopping to take breath. Now was Queenie's opportunity.

"Miss Cosie," she began, still more solemnly than before, "you know this is a great secret, and that it must be only known to us three."

"Yes, yes; of course, my dear."

"If the truth were to leak out in any way the whole plan will be spoilt. Mr. Clayton would not touch the money if he knew it were mine and not Mr. Logan's, and then he and Langley and Cathy would be ruined."

"My dear, as though I would breathe a syllable!"

"No; you will not mean to say a word, but, all the same, a hint or a moment's forgetfulness would betray us. Ah, there is Langley coming up the garden; she has come, of course, to thank you as well as Mr. Logan. Dear, dear Miss Cosie, do promise to be careful!"

"There, there, you are quite agitated, and no wonder; but you may trust me; oh, you may trust me!" returned Miss Cosie with a soothing pat and nod.

But she had no time to add more, for Langley was approaching them with her pale face brightened with unwonted smiles.

"Dear Miss Cosie, I hardly know what I am to say to you and Mr. Logan," she exclaimed, clasping the little woman in her arms with unusual warmth, for Langley, in spite of her gentleness, was not a demonstrative woman.

"There, there, say nothing at all about it," returned Miss Cosie hurriedly and nervously; "that is by far the wisest plan, is it not, Miss Marriott?" appealing in some alarm to her young companion.

"Yes; Miss Cosie would rather not be thanked," returned Queenie in a low voice.

"Must I not tell you good dear people what I think of you both?" continued Langley in her soft, persuasive manner. "When one's heart is brimming over with gratitude one cannot refrain from speaking. I always knew what unselfish Christians you were, but now you have proved it without doubt."

"Oh, my dear, this is dreadful! pray, pray do not say any more, you make me quite unhappy," exclaimed Miss Cosie, putting up her plump hands in dismay. "Miss Marriott, if you love me, ask this dear soul not to say any more."

"I think it upsets her and Mr. Logan to be thanked," observed Queenie, turning her face a little aside, for Miss Cosie's helplessness and terror moved her to inward laughter. "I think I would let it be, Langley."

"Yes, do, there's a dear good creature," returned Miss Cosie, breathing a little more freely; "it cuts one like a knife to hear you, and then to know that one has nothing to do with the matter at all."

"Miss Cosie means that she and Mr. Logan have no present use for the money, that they did not intend to spend it," put in Queenie calmly; "but she is so flurried and upset by the whole business that it is kindest not to talk to her at all upon the subject. It only distresses her kind heart," went on the young girl with the utmost calmness, though her heart sank over Miss Cosie's first blunder.

And Langley, with her usual tact, quietly changed the subject.

But Queenie returned home ill-at-ease.

"I feel as though I were walking over a mine that might explode at any moment under my feet," she said to Mr. Logan when he came to her the next day to inform her that Garth had paid that visit to the Carlisle Bank. "I hardly dare trust Miss Cosie out of my sight."

"Oh, it will be all right," he answered soothingly; "in a few days the subject will have blown over, and she will have forgotten all about it. Don't trouble yourself. This little plot of yours is making you nervous."

"I think it is," she returned frankly; "my peace of mind is quite gone, and I do nothing but anticipate difficulties; but, all the same, I would not undo our work," smiling in her old bright manner.

CHAPTER VIII.

CROSS PURPOSES.

"When love shall, pitying, call me home,
    To that sweet, sweet home that has long been hers,
With yearning rapture my eyes will roam
    O'er throngs of the sainted worshippers.
For I think the child with the starry eyes,
    Who vanished away to that far-off land,
Will look from some window in Paradise,
    And beckon me in with her tiny hand."
                                                            Helen Marion Burnside.

Queenie's forebodings were not verified, for, in spite of two untoward circumstances, the greater part of the winter passed quietly to the inhabitants of the cottage and Church-Stile House.

Only two things marred its perfect harmony. Garth had not yet spoken, and Cathy had bade good-bye to her friends at Hepshaw, and had begun her London work in earnest.

Queenie felt the loss of her friend bitterly; every one missed the bright, light-hearted girl. Cathy's moods had of late been strangely variable: fits of despondency had alternated with bursts of wild, exuberant spirits; a certain sweet recklessness had tinged even her farewell greetings.

They were all at the station to see her off, even Mr. Logan and Miss Cosie, and at the last moment Dr. Stewart appeared.

Queenie seemed utterly quenched, and Langley looked depressed and tearful; but Cathy looked at them all with her bright, resolute smile.

"Good-bye, dear friends; don't miss me too much, before long I shall be amongst you again," she said, as she waved her hand gaily, and the train moved slowly away.

A curiously sweet expression crossed Mr. Logan's face as he walked by Queenie's side down the path bordered by plane trees that led from the station to the Deerhound.

"Miss her! how can we help missing her?" cried the girl, appealing to him with sorrowful eyes, as though to claim his sympathy. "Langley will be dreadfully lonely without her, and as for Emmie and me! why she was the only friend that we had at Granite Lodge, the dearest, and the kindest, and the bravest." But here Queenie's eulogy ended in a little sob.

"Young things love to try their strength," replied Mr. Logan, softly. "We would fain clip their wings, but they would be sure to grow again. When I think of Miss Catherine," he went on, his eyes darkening strangely, "going out so bravely to her work in the heart of the great city without a tear on her bright face, however much her heart may be aching at leaving us all behind, I cannot help thinking of the white dove flying all those days over those wastes of water, with the olive branch in its mouth, and what Noah must have felt when he pulled it into the ark. It did not come to him even of its own accord, the wild weary thing, but he must needs put out his hand and draw it into its refuge."

Queenie looked up at him somewhat startled, but he did not seem to notice her surprise; his eyes had a far-off, abstracted look in them, and during the remainder of the walk he preserved an almost unbroken silence.

Cathy wrote long cheery letters, full of amusing descriptions. She liked her work on the whole, she told them, and was not daunted by the difficulties that beset the path of beginners. "It was all in the day's work," as she wrote; "and what was the good of possessing a fount of endurance fit for a Spartan woman if there was nothing to bear. In fact, I am determined to serve my noviciate properly, and to make the best of things. I am no more inclined to see bugbears now than I was to discern Emmie's favorite ghost in the old garret at Granite Lodge; so make your mind easy, my precious old Queen, and do not indulge in any more troublesome fancies on my account."

Queenie did not show these letters to any one but Emmie; but the two gloated over them in private, and tried to imagine Cathy in her black stuff dress and little white cap, moving among the dim wards with her light springy step hushed so as not to disturb the sleepers, "looking not a bit like our Cathy, but like any other ordinary person," as Emmie observed with a sigh. But if Queenie missed her friend now, the time was to come when she would yearn for her out of the fulness of an over-charged and wounded heart; when her first thought would be, "If only Cathy were here."

Things were not quite satisfactory between herself and Garth Clayton. The young man had grown strangely shy in his ways with her, and held himself almost entirely aloof from the cottage.

The fact was, Garth was in a predicament.

He was more in love than ever; but in his present circumstances marriage was out of the question. How was he to bring home a wife to the old home, entangled as he was by a load of debt and difficulties?

Garth was perfectly honest in his intentions. He had made up his mind that Queenie Marriott was the woman he loved; but he had a man's horror of a long engagement. "What's the good of telling a girl you love her if you can't see your way clear to make her your wife?" he always said; and he acted on this opinion so thoroughly that his quiet withdrawal of attentions filled the girl's heart with dismay.

"Would he be so cold and distant with me if he really loved me?" Queenie asked herself. "He never comes to see me now, and if I go up to Church-Stile House he is always so busy, and seems as if he fears to be alone with me. Does he think that I want him to pay me attentions if he has ceased to care for me in the way he did?" asked the girl, her breast heaving at the thought; and she mourned for the loss of her friend, and in her secret soul refused to be comforted.

But she knew nothing of the conflict that went on under that assumed coldness of manner that wounded her so greatly.

Garth found his life anything but easy just now; to be sure, ruin no longer stared him in the face, but his debt was a secret torment to him, and fretted his proud nature with a sense of positive injury.

He would fain have drawn out as little as possible of the sum placed for his benefit, but his needs were pressing. Scarcity of orders, the rise in the men's wages, the heavily-freighted accounts of the cottages he had so lavishly provided for his workmen, had obliged him to expend already seven or eight hundred pounds of the money. The quarry was now in good working order again; and in a few months the young master of Warstdale trusted that he would be enabled to repay the first instalment of the debt; and then, and not till then, would he open his lips to speak any words of love.

Garth was capable of keeping any resolution that he had formed. It was no fear of betraying himself that made him avoid Queenie; but the girl's presence was so sweet to him, and the longing to tell what was in his heart was so great, that the pain of such silence was unendurable to him.

And so he quietly withdrew himself, and went on with his daily work as though no such thoughts were his; and Queenie meekly accepted her banishment and bore Langley's reproaches on her unsociability as patiently as she could, until Langley discovered how matters were, and held her peace ever afterward like a wise woman, and petted and made much of the girl when she came down to the cottage.

And Queenie saw little of Garth, only lifting her brown eyes timidly to his face when she met him in the village, and he stopped to exchange a greeting with her and Emmie; but he never once said, "Why do we see you so seldom at Church-Stile House?" but only asked kindly after hers and the child's welfare, and bade her wrap up Emmie and cherish her now the bitter winter weather had set in.

Queenie ate her Christmas dinner at the vicarage, with only Mr. Logan and Miss Cosie; and her New Year's day was spent at Juniper Lodge. The Claytons were not present on either of these occasions; Garth had gone up to London to see Cathy, and Langley had spent both days at Karldale Grange in Gertrude Chester's sick room. A long season of suffering that no skill could avert or tenderness alleviate had set in for the unhappy lady, and Langley's services were in constant requisition.

Now and then Mr. Chester came over to Hepshaw. He always paid a visit to the cottage, and would go up, as a matter of course, into Emmie's little room, and sit for a long time by the empty bed where his darling had slept her little life away, and then he would come sorrowfully down again, and he and Queenie would talk softly of the child and her endearing ways.

These visits always made Queenie feel very sad. Time had not mitigated the father's heavy loss. He still mourned heavily for his little Nan. His florid face looked pale and haggard. A few threads of grey were clearly perceptible in the golden brown beard; but his eyes always lighted up with a look of tenderness when Queenie mentioned his wife.

"Ah, my poor Gertie," he would say, sorrowfully. "You would scarcely know her, Miss Marriott, she is so changed; she suffers so terribly. Langley will have told you; and yet since the death of our little darling there has never been a word or breath of complaint. She endures her worst agonies with fortitude; even Dr. Stewart marvels at her, and says he had never witnessed greater stoicism. It is only 'Hold my hand, Harry,' or 'I shall soon be relieved, dear husband, when this attack has passed,' just that, and nothing more."

"Yes, indeed; Langley cannot say enough in her praise, she says her self-control is wonderful."

"Poor soul, she's fighting away her life by inches. You cannot tell what a man feels when he sees his wife suffering and is helpless to relieve it. Sometimes I think that for her sake I shall be thankful when it is over, and she is with the child. I can't get it out of my mind that she ought to have her mother or myself to take care of her; she must feel so lost in that great glittering place."

"She is safer and better cared for there than even in your arms, dear Mr. Chester."

"Yes, I know; and Gertie reproves me and says I am a sad heathen, and so I am; but I am sure of one thing," speaking in a voice of suppressed emotion: "that if I am ever good enough—God help me for the sinner that I am,—but if I am ever helped to win an entrance in heaven, that my little Nan will be the first to see me, and she will come running to me, the darling, and I shall feel the clasp of her sweet arms about me, and the softness of her baby face against mine; and 'father's come,' she will say that first, I know," breaking off hurriedly as the tears came into Queenie's eyes.

"And a little child shall lead them." The words seemed to come to her mind with sudden, irrepressible force. What if he were right, though he spoke only the language of love's fantasy? Might not the baby hand be stretched out to him through the darkness and silence that lay between those two loving souls, ever beckoning him on to possible good and high endeavour, through devious wanderings, past yawning pitfalls, over the tumultuous sea of life, beckoning with faint invisible touches, ever higher and higher.

"Father's come." Fanciful, and yet what more probable in the mystery of Providence and God's dealing with men than this, that amid the shining crowds the form of his little Nan should softly glide towards him; and even there in God's bright home a little child shall lead them.

And so with all apparent quietness, but with many secret anxieties, the winter wore softly away.

A week's holiday at Christmas had given the young school-mistress a short reprieve from her duties, and she had taken advantage of it to pay a three days' visit to her old friend Caleb Runciman. Emmie had pleaded hard to accompany her, but the weather was unusually inclement, and Queenie shrank from exposing the child's delicacy to such a test; so she remained under Mrs. Fawcett's charge, as Langley was engrossed with continual visits to Karldale Grange.

Caleb and Molly made much of their visitor, but the old man grumbled a good deal over his favorite's looks.

"Well, Miss Queenie, I don't believe school-keeping has agreed with you after all," he began, shaking his head. "She is thin, Molly, is she not, and looks a bit graver than she used to look?"

"Now, Caleb, don't begin fancying such nonsense. I was never better in my life. Think of this hearty meal I have just eaten; thin indeed!" and Queenie opened her brown eyes and threw up her pretty head with a movement of disdain.

"Of course you must be having your own way, Miss Queenie dear," returned the old man as he lighted his pipe; "but, all the same, I don't believe that Hepshaw air agrees with you both. There, why the precious lamb has a cough, didn't you tell Molly so just now? and you are ever so much thinner yourself, my pretty; and when is it all going to end, this play-acting, the school-mistressing, I mean, and you and the blessed lamb settle down comfortably, like sensible-minded Christians, in a nice handsome home of your own, eh, Miss Queenie?"

"Why, I don't know, Caleb," stammered the girl, rather startled at this very direct question, "I don't know at all; I have not made up my mind. Not before the end of the summer; no, certainly not before then."

Caleb laid down his pipe, with a dissatisfied look.

"I thought better of your common-sense, I did, indeed, Miss Queenie."

"Now, Caleb, if you are going to be cross I shall tell Molly to pack up my bag, and I shall just take the next train home. What is the good of being an heiress if one is never to have one's own way?"

"You have had it for a pretty long spell, I'm thinking," returned the old man with unusual pettishness, but the girl's whim fretted him sorely. "Mark my words, Miss Queenie, you will play at this thing a bit too long."

"I shouldn't wonder if you were right," a touch of gravity replacing her fun; "and I think myself that it would be as well to fix a limit, for fear I should be tempted to put off the evil hour."

"Eh, eh! now you are going to be sensible."

"I must have six clear months. Let me see, I will say the first of August. There, Caleb, on the first of August I will enter into possession of my riches. Will that content you?"

"Why not say May or June, Miss Queenie?"

"No; not a day, not an hour before," returned the girl resolutely. "My dear old friend, this is not a whim only, it is real stern necessity. The dearest friends I possess have been in great trouble, as you know, and my seeming poverty has enabled me to help them; it is for their sake, not mine, that I am making this further delay. There, it is decided; and now let us talk of something else," she finished gaily.

But Caleb was only half-mollified.

"She is thinner, and looks different somehow," he said to his faithful confidante, Molly, that night. "There is a peaking look in her brown eyes, like a half-fledged bird that sees its nest, but can't find its way to it. I doubt that she is not quite happy, Molly."

"Nay; she is no differ from other young girls," returned Molly shrewdly. "Bless your dear heart, Mr. Runciman, they are all alike! they fret a bit, and then cheer up. It is the law of nature, that's where it is; she will be as perky and chirping-like as ever by-and-bye," and Molly, who knew the symptoms well, and had buried her own sweetheart many years ago, changed the subject with womanly tact and sympathy.

CHAPTER IX.

"TOO MANY COOKS."

"Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out of the keyhole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out of the chimney."—Shakespeare.

It was a mild day in February, and as Queenie closed the door of the little school-house, and walked up the field that led to the vicarage, it seemed to her as though the very air held a promise of spring. Now Queenie, like all healthy young creatures, dearly loved the spring-time; to her imaginative temperament there could be nothing more beautiful and satisfying than to watch this spectacle of a faded and dead nature rising again into fresh life.

"How can people say there is no hereafter, when the miracle of the resurrection is every year repeated before our eyes?" she said to herself. To her there was ever a fresh pleasure in seeing the brown, lifeless limbs of the elms and sycamores gradually clothe themselves, first with budding shoots, and then with fair, green leaves. The bursting hedgerows, the unfolding of the fronds of ferns, the first peep of the fairy white bells of snowdrops, the pale glitter of primroses, and the fragrance of violets, gave her a positive feeling of happiness.

Everything so new, so fresh, so fair, soiled by no dust, scorched by no burning sunshine; the whole world bright and unsullied as a baby soul, to whom good and evil are unknown mysteries, and life means nothing but perpetual satisfaction and content.

Queenie had a little errand to fulfil at the vicarage; one of her scholars was ill, and she wanted Miss Cosie's recipe for a certain compound that Miss Cosie judged to be highly efficacious in such cases.

She entered the little parlor with her usual light step. Miss Cosie was engaged in her favorite occupation—knitting socks for her brother. She put down her work with a little flurry when she caught sight of her visitor.

"There, there," exclaimed the little woman, turning very red, "Christopher was right, as he always is, dear old fellow; and of course you've come to scold me."

"To scold you, dear Miss Cosie!"

"Dear, dear, to think of my poor head getting into such a muddle, and the words slipping out before I knew they were coming. Why, I could have bitten my troublesome tongue I was so vexed with myself; but what was the use of crying over spilt milk, as my poor mother used to say, and a secret is sure to be proclaimed on the house-top some time or other, as I told Mr. Garth."

"Now, Miss Cosie, what does this mean?" asked Queenie, conscious of an uncomfortable sensation creeping over her; little Janie's sore throat was quite forgotten. "Do you mean that, after all my entreaties and warnings, you have betrayed me?"

"There, there, perhaps it is not so bad as you think," returned Miss Cosie, patting her curls nervously, and prefacing her words with a gentle cough; "it was only just a sentence or two that I let drop to Mr. Garth when he came in here last night for a pleasant chat with Christopher and me."

"Well?" somewhat sternly, for there was no denying that Queenie was a trifle angry.

"Well, we were sitting as comfortably as possible; Christopher hadn't come in, he had gone to baptize Wheeler Wilson's baby, and none too soon, for it died this morning; and I took it its little burying gown, and laid it out, the precious blossom, myself. And very touching it was, and the poor mother crying her eyes out, because it looked so pretty; and well, if she does take a drop of spirits now and then we are all miserable sinners, the very best of us, and Wheeler Wilson is none too careful; and—where was I, dearie? for I have just gone and muddled myself again, I believe."

"You said you were alone with Mr. Clayton," returned Queenie, with an inward prayer for patience. Miss Cosie's garrulity was terribly trying.

"Yes; he was sitting there just where you are, and he was talking and laughing and making believe to joke,—you know his way,—but all of a sudden he turned serious. 'Miss Cosie,' he said, 'I have never spoken to you about that money. Langley tells me you don't like to be thanked; but, all the same, you and your brother have earned my gratitude for the rest of my life, and I must say, God bless you for it!' flushing up to the roots of his hair, poor young fellow, what with the heat of the fire and his feelings together."

Queenie's hands clasped each other rather tightly, but she made no observation as Miss Cosie paused to take breath.

"Well, I was turning the heel of my stocking, and I don't believe I rightly took in the meaning of his words. 'You have nothing to thank us for,' I said, as innocently as possible. 'We would have lent it you and welcome, over and over again, Mr. Garth,' I said; 'but Kit is as poor as a church mouse, and we hadn't more than a matter of ninety pounds or so in the Bank.'"

"Miss Cosie, were you in your senses?" burst from Queenie's indignant lips.

"Well, I was a bit dazed, I believe, for turning the heel of a stocking is rather a delicate job to do by the firelight, and Dolly had forgotten to light the lamp; but I was frightened as soon as I had said it, for there he was staring at me with his eyebrows lifted, and making me all of a tremble. 'Ninety! you mean nine hundred pounds, Miss Cosie!' he said, quite sharply, for he could not make me out at all. 'No; ninety, Mr. Garth,' I returned, for I knew I had gone too far. and a lie is a thing I have never taken on my lips; but I was all of a shake thinking about what Christopher and you would say to me, and there he was forcing the truth out of me with his eyes. 'What's the use of trying to deceive him?' I thought, 'I am brought to book, and nothing but a heap of falsehoods can save me,' and a falsehood has never come natural to me since I was a baby, and poor mother read to me the story of Ananias and Sapphira," finished Miss Cosie in her innocent way.

"Go on; I am listening," sighed Queenie in a resigned voice.

"Well, I couldn't tell a direct story, as I said before, but I thought just a tiny bit of deception wouldn't be wrong. 'There is only ninety pounds now, Mr. Garth,' I went on; but that wouldn't do at all. 'I don't like the look of this,' he muttered, and such a frown came over his face, for he was getting put out with my stammering and nervousness. 'Miss Cosie, tell me the truth, as you are an honest woman; did you and Mr. Logan lend me these nine hundred pounds?' 'Why no, Mr. Garth,' I answered, for there was no evading such a direct question. 'Then, in the name of heaven, who did lend me the money?' he asked, looking as cross and perplexed as possible. Well, I didn't want to answer him till Christopher came in, for I felt I had done enough mischief for one evening, so I let him guess one person after another, till he jumped up and said he could bear it no longer; he would go out and find Mr. Logan, or perhaps Miss Marriott might be in the secret, and could give him an idea who his secret benefactor was. Yes; he would go and ask her first, for she always spoke the truth, and would tell him at once if she knew who had lent him the money."

"I wish he had come to me. Yes; I wish he had spoken to me himself," murmured Queenie.

"Dear, dear, to think of that! and all I thought was to prevent his coming. 'You must not go near her, Mr. Garth,' I said, 'for she is so sensitive that she would half break her heart if you were to say an angry word to her; and the poor child meant well when she lent you the money.' 'The poor child! what do you mean, Miss Cosie?' for he thought me daft, I could see that. 'I was talking of Miss Marriott, what has she got to do with it, I should like to know?' 'Dear, dear, this is dreadful, Mr. Garth,' I cried, for he was standing over me, and wringing the truth out of me by inches. 'Why don't you go and ask Christopher, he will tell you all about it?' 'I will,' he answered, quite steadily, but there at the very moment was Kit standing on the threshold looking at us, and I clapping my hands with joy to see him."

"And what did Mr. Logan say?" asked Queenie with a proud flash upon her face.

"Well, there was no keeping it back after that. Kit told him everything clearly out, and how you were a rich woman and all that, and how you had begged and prayed him to lend the money in his name."

"Tell me, tell me quickly, for I can bear no more, did Mr. Clayton seem very angry?"

"Angry! oh, dear no," returned Miss Cosie, soothingly. "All his fierceness died away, and he seemed quite lamb-like directly Christopher spoke. After the first exclamation of surprise he never said a word, but just sat looking as pale and dazed as possible until Kit had finished all he had to say, and then he got up and said that he must tell Langley, and he shook hands with me and Christopher and went away."

"And he said nothing more?"

"No; his eyes looked a little queer, and I noticed his hand felt cold, but he would not listen to me when I pressed him to have some hot elder wine. I do believe he was quite in a maze with astonishment and being taken so aback, poor young man."

"Thank you for telling me all," Queenie said very quietly, as she stood up and drew on her gloves. Little Jane's sore throat was quite forgotten; she was rather pale, and her lips trembled slightly as she spoke, but there was no trace of excitement in her manner.

"And you are not vexed with me, my dear."

"Oh, no, I am not vexed; it may all be for the best, you know." Her brief wrath had vanished. Who could long be angry with Miss Cosie, with her gentle little mouse-face and tender-hearted ways? she was not to blame, surely, for this strange sinking of heart, for these uneasy fears.

Something must have happened to the Spring sun-light, it was so much less radiant as she crossed the threshold of the Vicarage, a little of the glory and freshness had died out of it somehow. "Can he really be angry with me? I feel I cannot bear this suspense a moment longer, I must know the worst at once. Ah! is it possible?" and a slight trembling passed over the girl's frame, for there was Garth Clayton coming up the Vicarage lane, and in another moment they would meet face to face.

Miss Cosie had not been wrong in her account of Garth's utter bewilderment the previous night, the news had simply stunned him. He had gathered up his scattered forces, and had wished them good night, and then he had gone home straight to Langley.

A sudden craving for sisterly sympathy had taken possession of him; he must find some outlet for the bitterness that was in him. He was battling bravely with untoward circumstance, but this fresh misfortune that had overtaken him had deprived him temporarily of all courage. That the sweetness of the hope within him should be so utterly quenched! oh, it was hard, terribly hard.

Langley looked up a little startled as he threw himself into his easy-chair. The old care-worn expression had returned again, he looked pale and moody.

"Is there anything wrong; is it about Harry?" she faltered, for the poor soul had been occupied that evening with her own troubles, and was full of fears that needed tranquillizing.

"Wrong! oh, no! Won't you sit down and write a note of congratulation to Miss Marriott; and won't you say something very nice and kind from us both, Langley? One does not come into a fortune every day, and of course she would wish to be congratulated," and then with a sort of enforced quietness he told her all that he had lately heard at the Vicarage; and when he had finished Langley's face wore a look of great perplexity.

"Stop a minute, Garth. I don't think I quite understand. Are you sure that you have told me rightly; that Mr. Calcott has left all his money to Miss Marriott, and that she and Emmie are rich, and have secretly lent us all this money?"

"Emmie knows nothing about it. I am sure I told you that," impatiently.

"Ah, she has kept it even from her. Well, perhaps that was wisest under the circumstances; and in her goodness of heart she had made herself your creditor. Yes, I understand; it is very strange. I cannot half believe it, but I think it is good news and need not make you unhappy."

"Is that all you have to say about if?" with renewed bitterness.

"Oh, no; I have a great deal to say about it. I am very fond of Miss Marriott; I like her better every day. I hope you do not mean to be angry with her about this."

Then he was silent.

"I almost wish she had confided in us from the first," went on Langley, thoughtfully. "All disguises are perilous, however well-intentioned; but she has planned this loan with the utmost delicacy and consideration for your feelings. As far as we are concerned she has behaved with the truest generosity; I think you must own that yourself."

"Truth is better than generosity," he answered gloomily.

"I never knew any one so thoroughly frank and honest," returned his sister, eager to take up the defence of her favorite, but conscious of the increasing gloom of his face. "I do think in these sort of matters you are a little hard."

Then his bitterness overflowed and burst forth.

"Look here, Langley, I am not a bit hard. I have not a word to say against Miss Marriott; in my opinion she has not perhaps adopted the wisest course. I hate all make-believes and mysteries, even if they are in a good cause, and I think with you that it would have been far better for her to have told us all about it; but that's not the question. The main point is, that I have gone and made a fool of myself, and it is all no use."

Langley lifted her quiet eyes to his face, but she only smiled a little at his excitement.

"Oh! it is no use your looking at me like that. You don't believe what I say, but it is true for all that. Haven't I made a fool of myself, and lost my heart to her, and given up Dora for her, and made no end of plans for myself? and now this act of hers has sundered us completely."

"Why so, dear Garth, when you know as well as I do that Queenie Marriott has grown to care for you?" and Langley's voice was very sweet in her brother's ears as she said this.

"Ah, she is young, she will get over that," but he shuddered slightly at the sound of his own words. "I have not spoken to her. I have been careful not to compromise her in the least, remember that, Langley. I am not to blame if she have discovered things for herself."

"But why put yourself to the needless pain of saying all this when you care for each other, and must surely, by the leading of a kind Providence, come together in the end."

"Is there a Providence in such cases?" he retorted bitterly. "I thought people often met too late, or took wrong turnings in life; half these affairs end crookedly."

"But not yours, my dear brother," her cheek turning pale at this chance allusion. How often, poor woman, a bow was drawn at a venture and wounded her in this random way.

"Yes; mine. Why not? Am I better than other people? Just look at the bearings of my case: here I am, involved in debt and difficulty, with years of hard work and harass before me, fighting inch by inch for independence; what if I do care for this girl?" his voice softening in spite of himself. "Do you think I am such a mean, poor-spirited fellow that I should throw myself and my poverty and my family claims at her feet, and ask her to take me in spite of it all, and endow me with her riches?"

"If she loves you her riches need be no obstacle to either of you," she returned firmly.

"Well, perhaps not, in your view of the case; I have hardly made up my mind about that. But what of this debt, Langley? do you think I shall know peace until I have wiped it off? To be a debtor to a woman, and, worse than that, to the woman I love; is it within the limits of possibility that I can entertain the thoughts at which you still hint until I have at least paid back to her every farthing of this money?"

"And how long will it take you to do that?"

"Two years, at the present rate of things; at the very best a year and a half?"

"Two years of suspense. Oh, Garth, how cruel!"

"Cruel to act like an honest man, and not take advantage of a simple, inexperienced girl? What does she know of life and men?" he went on; "has she ever seen any worthy of her interest? For shame, Langley! you are thinking more of me than of her; you are not her best friend by any means. Let her leave us, let her quit Hepshaw, and assume her proper station; let her have the opportunity of judging us fairly, and comparing us with others. How do you or I know that she will not meet with some one far more worthy of her than ever I shall be?"

"Garth, my dear brother, this is truly generous; but I know Queenie, she will stand your test, hard as it is, but she will suffer terribly."

"She will not suffer as much as I, who am sending her from me. Do you think it is no suffering to have to alienate her by a coldness I must assume, for her good as well as mine? Do I not know her? am I blind or without feeling? If I were to say to her, 'I am poor, but I love you; will you take pity on me?' I am sure—yes, I am sure of what her answer would be; but, as I am an honest man, I will not take such mean advantage of her."

"Is this your final decision, Garth—to leave her free for two years?"

"Yes, it is," he replied slowly, but his face was pale, and he frowned heavily as he spoke. "It must be two years, I am sure of that, and then I will not speak to her unless I see my way clear before me. And now we had better finish with this, it is somehow getting too painful for me; I suppose I may trust to you not to betray me?"

"I must not give her a hint of your real intentions?" rather pleadingly.

"Of course not," he returned sternly, "that would undo the good and purpose of my sacrifice—to leave her freedom and scope for choice. Promise me you will do nothing of the kind, Langley."

"Oh, I will promise to do and say nothing of which you would not approve," she answered meekly. Not for worlds would she add to his trouble by even hinting that she was sorry for his decision, and thought his generosity over-strained. She knew well what he must be enduring, and all the length and breadth and depth of that great pain; but as she leant over him, silently smoothing out with her fingers the lines and furrows of his forehead, and thinking what she might say to comfort him, he suddenly drew her towards him, and kissed her twice very hurriedly, and then got up with a sort of groan and left the room.

CHAPTER X.

"HAVE YOU NOTHING TO SAY TO ME?"

                    "Yet a princely man!—
If hard to me, heroic for himself!"
                                    Mrs. Browning's 'Aurora Leigh.'

When Queenie saw Garth coming towards her she shrank back for a moment in natural trepidation and some little dismay, the meeting was so utterly unexpected; but her self-possession soon returned. "It is better to get it over," she said to herself, "and to know the worst at once."

They shook hands without looking at each other, and then Garth turned back and walked by her side in silence. Neither knew exactly how to begin the conversation.

Garth was the more nervous of the two; he had passed a sleepless night, and his condition of mind was truly wretched. The bitter impulse that had led him to unburthen his mind to his sister had by this time passed away, but his resolve was still unaltered. As he lay awake in his restlessness he argued the whole matter with himself; pride, and a certain stubbornness of will, may have had a voice in his decision, but the more he thought about it the less he felt that he could take advantage of the girl's evident affection and secure her wealth for himself.

"How can I do this mean thing?" he repeated again and again to himself. "Even if Langley be right, and she has grown to care for me, it may be only temporary, and she has seen no one else. Ought we not to urge her rather to leave Hepshaw and take her proper position in the world! It may be a dangerous test perhaps, as Langley says, and it may end in my losing her altogether, for how can I give her her freedom and expect her to be faithful? but at least my conscience will be clear." And then he swore to himself that, as far as he was concerned, he would not coerce her movements. If she went his judgment would applaud her resolution; if she stayed his trouble would be a hard thing to bear, for he must then wrap himself up in reserve and coldness, and this would be difficult to him. "She cannot really misunderstand me, the thing is too evident," he said, striving to comfort himself. And indeed he was not without some interior consolation; his very self-sacrifice and unselfishness, constrained and unnecessary as they might appear to others, gave him a certain feeling of strength and security. His conscience was clear, his independence assured and well-defined, while somewhere, deep down in some hidden recess, lay a secret hope of Queenie's steadfastness and fealty. Langley's words still rang sweetly in his ears: "She will stand the test, severe as it is, but she will suffer terribly." Ah! well, would he not suffer too?

But this meeting was painful to him. What was he to say to her? and how was he to bring himself to speak of what was in his mind without betraying his hidden trouble, and perhaps hurting her feelings?

"Were you going to see Langley?" he asked, just when the silence was becoming embarrassing.

"Yes; is she at home?" returned Queenie venturing to raise her eyes, and then becoming conscious all at once of Garth's paleness, and evident constraint of manner.

"She was sitting at her needlework when I left her just now, and was lamenting that Cathy was not there to help her. I think we miss Cathy more and more every day."

"I know I do," sighed Queenie, and there came over her a sudden yearning to unbosom herself to this faithful friend. Langley was good to her, but she was not Cathy.

Garth echoed the sigh, but scarcely for the same reason. Cathy's warm-hearted sympathy would not have helped him.

"I have just left Miss Cosie. Mr. Clayton, have you nothing to say to me, nothing special, I mean?" Queenie was growing desperate, while Garth was secretly marvelling at her boldness. His paleness and changed looks filled her with dismay. "I think you must have something to say to me," with a little sharpness in her voice.

That roused him in a moment.

"Yes; of course we have a great deal to say to you, Miss Marriott. I told Langley last night that she ought to write to you. I need hardly tell you, I suppose, that you have our warmest congratulations on your good fortune?"

"I don't think I care much about congratulations."

"Nevertheless, you must put up with them," with a faint smile. "You must pay the penalty of being a rich woman."

"Were you very much surprised?" looking him full in the face; but he did not return her glance.

"I am afraid I must own to a very fair amount of astonishment; such a romantic story has never before been told in Hepshaw. It savours a little of Hans Andersen."

"Ah, I know you think me silly, and all that," she replied, in a voice that was at the same time proud and pained. "I shall never be able to make any of you understand why I did it. I begin to see a grave ending to my little joke; and yet it made me so happy."

"I almost wish you had told us from the beginning."

"That would have spoiled everything. You and Mr. Logan would have made me resign my school at once, and my pleasant summer holiday would have been at an end. Perhaps it was cowardly; but I could not bear being rich."

"That sounds strange."

"Ah, but it is true," she returned earnestly. "Such a little would have contented me; five hundred a-year would have made me a happy woman; I told Mr. Logan so. We would have taken a cottage, Emmie and I, larger and prettier than the one we are in, and we should have been as happy as the day is long; but now, what am I to do with it all?" putting out her hands with a sudden gesture of repugnance and helplessness.

He seemed struck with that, and hesitated for a moment before he answered her; there was a certain forlornness in her words and aspect that touched him. They had reached the end of the lane; but now he made a movement as though to retrace his steps, and she turned obediently and walked on again by his side. As she did so he stole a swift glance at her. Did she look any different in his eyes now she was an heiress? His survey took in the tall, slim figure in the simple black dress. That was the hat, surely, to which Dora had objected, and yet how well it suited her. He noted all the little details—the indescribable air of finish that had always pleased his fastidiousness, the set and poise of the pretty head, the mixture of girlish frankness and modesty that gave such a charm to her manner; and then again that inward voice made itself heard. "Oh, if she were only poor, and I dared speak to her!" and the struggle within him gave a little hardness to his voice.

"I think you ought to look at it in quite another light," he began gravely. "It is a great responsibility that has come to you, a talent for which you must account. I don't think you ought to hide it under a bushel in the way you are doing."

"You mean that Mr. Logan must find another mistress? Brierwood Cottage ought to have another tenant?" she returned huskily, speaking out her greatest fear.

"I certainly do mean something of the kind; but there will be plenty of time to discuss that. You cannot decide on your future plans without a good deal of consideration. At present I have something else to say, something for which I wish I could find adequate words. I don't know," stammering and hesitating, "how I am to thank you for your goodness, your generosity—"

"Mr. Clayton," stopping him, "will you do me one favor?"