again, and hadn't I better go out as a gov- | six months-well! thank you, aunt, that

erness ?"

"I go back again? Never! I should be an idiot to do so. And you! You do not think your being poor will make any difference to that lover of yours, do you? If you do, you-we-will starve, before you shall marry him. But there will be no need to starve, or even to want: I shall work, as I have always longed to do."

you sent it at all, though it wasn't out of kindness you did so. I shall see now what truth there is in some of these fine words. If they are true, why then, the world is not so bitter but a smile may make it sweet' for somebody. But tell me, Millie, child, is it true that men are deceivers ever? Do you expect to find any man constant, loving one for oneself alone?"

"I would I were dead if not," Millie

Millie lifted up her eyes, and said quietly: "O Hildred! I did not mean that. But I should not like-he's not rich-answered faintly. and-"

"I see. But you are not penniless even now; you shall still be a bit of an heiress." And Hildred then first conceived a resolution she afterwards acted out.

"But, Hildred, was not your aunt kind? Oh! if I had but known you were not happy!" Millie spoke so earnestly that tears came into her eyes. "Why didn't you write?"

"Do you think I was going to tell you all my wild troubles, child? I bore them, and they did not break my spirit. Indeed, if I had been a meek, mean, hypocritical creature, I might have been very comfort

able."

"Is it so, Millie ?" Hildred said, halfstartled at the fervency of that low reply. Stooping down, she pressed a kiss on the girl's forehead, saying: "That is right; be thorough in all your life."

"Dear Hildred, some of us have to suf fer; no one suffers thoroughly who does not suffer patiently."

"Suffer! You shall not know much about suffering if I can help it. Now tell me," she went on, "when does this mysterious friend of yours, whose name I have not heard you name yet-when does he return ?"

"Very soon-any day. O Hildred! when you see him, you will think it strange that he cares for such a girl as I am. I never could fancy it true that he liked me much, till-till I was in great trouble, and then he was so tender.

But

With what scorn she said the last word! "If I wanted to go back ever so much," she added, "I could not. I lost all chance of reinstatement by coming to you. Mine was too good a place to be empty long. II don't like talking about this, even to had a spiteful letter from the old lady this you, for he has never said to me plainly morning, bidding me an affecting farewell, that—" and telling me of an amiable and accomplished cousin of mine who is filling my place to the old lady's entire satisfaction, reminding me, too, that I could not live on the miserable pittance left me by my father!"

"You had other letters, hadn't you, Hildred ?"

"One from this same heir, in answer to an epistle of mine. He is so polite that I feel mine was unnecessarily bitter. He talks about duty to those nearest him compelling him to do what is painful, and such stuff as that. Perhaps he satisfies his own conscience, however."

"Your other letter?"

Hildred looked fearlessly into Millie's inquiring eyes; but a richer color came into her cheeks as she answered:

"An inclosure in my aunt's. A cruel letter," she went on dreamily; "yet it pleases me well enough. Truly it has been somewhat long in reaching me-five,

"That he loves you: wishes to marry

you

"So I don't feel as if it were right to talk about it."

"Ah! when he comes back you will not care much about poor Hildred any more."

"I shall, Hildred, you know I shall-I am not fickle, I never forget. But isn't it odd? He did not even know I had a sister until a few days before he left. You see, I did not know you well, did'nt love you, or I should have spoken about you. When I thought of you, Hildred, it used always to be with fear."

"Why, silly one?"

"I don't know; I had heard you were very proud-and so you are. I thought you would despise poor me, but you don't. I was right in picturing you in other things though. When I crept into the room, the day you came, and, before you knew I was come, saw you standing erect,

stately, there, by the window, looking so face, and her dark brows knit in eager grand in that splendid dress (you have thought; and then went up-stairs; knelt not had it on since), I knew directly that-no nightly form with her-by the winyou were my queenly sister, Hildred."

of her manners, as she had constantly | ramble. She said she would not have done at first; but still Millie's fear re- her pretty head troubled about business, turned a little now and then. and left her lying on the sofa in the firelighted drawing-room.

Millie was very pretty: so Hildred told her as they sat on the hill-side, overlooking their house and the valley beneath it. She watched the color deepen on the soft, clear cheek, and the beautiful light sparkle in the dove-like eyes that generally shone with a meek calm lustre. When Millie answered simply, "I am very glad!" her sister knew of what she was glad, and of whom she thought most. Then Hildred's passionate heart beat high, full of love, longing, unrest, jealousy; and her eager eyes looked out into her own future somewhat fiercely.

For the first time since his death the uncle's study was lighted up, and Hildred sat there with the man of law.

As Millie lay thinking how sweet it was to have a sister so strong, so wise, to take care of her; wondering if it were sweeter yet to have a mother, and then, perchance, pondering deeply how it would be to have a husband-her thinking, after awhile, became dreaming; she did not stir when some one opened the housedoor, as if with a privileged hand; when a firm step came through the hall; and, after a moment's pause, into the very room. The study was at the back of the house; Hildred sitting there, bringing the whole power of her intellect, concentrating her attention upon the matter before her, heard nothing external to that study, apart from that matter. She had some trouble in persuading Mr. Blankardt that it was any use for him to go over the business with her; more for he was a sensible, conscientious, practical man-in making him understand, that she had fully determined, and that it was no use to oppose her, on a course of action he could not approve, and from which he tried to dissuade her; most of all, in extracting from him a promise that (as she would have her own way) he would take the necessary steps for her when she sent him her final command to do so: all this took time, energy, and what was far more difficult to Hildred, patience.

Lying on the turf beside Millie, she stretched out her right arm appealingly, not heeding that she threw her hand violently upon a short tuft of prickly gorse; she was thinking too absorbedly to feel the pain. It was not until Millie exclaimed, "O Hildred! your poor hand!" that her attention was drawn to it. Hildred's were beautiful, though not very small hands; well-formed, and as white as Millie's own. She was sorry the right hand was scratched, for it looked ugly, and she took delight in having every thing belonging to her admirable-not that she cared for admiration, save such as innocent Millie's; for often in her short life she had turned from it with disdain; but that it seemed to her right and fitting that she should be handsome, proper that she should be proud. Hildred gloried in all consciousness of power-and beauty was a power. She had never wished to be deformed or ugly; although often she had disliked to read in people's looks that they saw her beautiful. Hildred was That some one who had entered so unsorry, therefore, that she had disfigured ceremoniously, came softly up to where her hand; but she liked to feel Millie's the bright fire-light played upon a fair soft, caressing touch as she bound up the young head, thrown back upon a crimson wounds. Yet, when patched up, it look-sofa-cushion, as Millie lay dreaming, with ed very ugly, and Hildred transferred the her hands folded, crossed quietly upon her two or three splendid rings she always breast. That some one was a large man, wore on it to her other, that the wounded and he looked gigantic in the dim, uncerone might not be so conspicuous. tain light; yet he had walked quite noiselessly up the room, and bent down over the sweet, calm face, before even an eyelash stirred. He bent very low; and a heavy lock of his strong hair swept across a pale cheek; then Millie awoke, in tumultuous fright, conscious of a presence. But when she sat up, and could be quite sure that she was not still dreaming, no one was near her; only a tall, dark figure

It was growing afternoon, and clouding over drearily; Millie looked chill. Hildred proposed that they should go home, and they wound their way down the hillside.

Daylight was fading when the expected lawyer came. Hildred had fancied that Millie looked a shade paler than usual, and seemed weary after the morning's

Meanwhile, what was passing in the drawing-room?

"No! My sister came! O Mr. Lyne-ness seemed to touch her on all sides, to ward, I love her dearly!" Millie began.

peration by its early enlightenment of the | from her? Hildred was conscious of power world's hollowness. She had spurned all-of power over Erle Lyneward such as men. He, like the rest, she thought then no one else had ever possessed. What wooed the heiress, Hildred Vynern; not should she do?-how shield Millie? She the woman, who had a heart richer than had judged her sister's character well much fine gold. enough to feel sure that if ever the love that had been between Hildred and Erle Lyneward came to her knowledge, shechild as she was-was capable of resolutely sacrificing herself to make two she loved beyond all the world happy. Millie must discover nothing. There was safety for Millie, as well as consolation for Hildred, in the one thing; Erle Lyneward did not suspect that proud Hildred Vynern had ever loved him. This knowledge must be kept from him for ever. What a weary, dreary, heart-sickening future!

It was long months since he had written her that letter-his indignantly passionate appeal-the last, as he told her, he would ever make. It had never been answered. Who was guilty then? No trust had been betrayed, if she had placed none. Ay! but those happy weeks she had spent with Millie! What had she not learned to believe? What hopes had she cherished? What wild way her love had made!

Some one must be deeply guilty, or whence this racking misery? Then she thought of the false old woman who had Hildred retraced her way with difficulty; kept that letter back from her so long-gained her own room, and locked her sent it at last in mockery, to show that door, in safety. She had but just escaped she no longer cared if niece Hildred meeting Mr. Lyneward. She shrunk hanged herself, or married a Lyneward-back, shrouded in darkness, had almost one of a race she hated. As Hildred felt him touch her, as he went away down thought, she put up her two strong hands, the garden. Millie now would come and with them clasped her brow tightly as if she felt that, indeed, the horrible pain there might split it. She sat a long time in that posture, the winds raving round her, driving the rain against her in sheets.

Upon the stormy troubled sea of her thoughts Millie's face soon shown down, surrounded by a halo; no sin, no sorrow, must tarnish the effulgence of that encircling radiance.

For awhile this was the one distinct thought-all else was surging pain and scorn-scorn, infinite scorn, of a man who could love here and love there (if indeed, he had ever loved her)-for whom one love, even if unreturned, could not suffice for a life-time-who, disappointed in his first few feeble attempts to win a response to his passion, turned to love elsewhere, instead of either putting love out of his life, or consecrating and concentrating all power he had to the gaining of what he had first wanted. One of these two things Hildred felt she would have done had she been such a man as she was woman.

After all, was it possible that Erle Lyneward should love Millie Grey? Millie was fair, sweet, and good; but could a man whose heart and mind had so vast an emptiness to be filled, rest satisfied with shrining there the little child Millie? No! If not, what danger was there for Millie

seeking for her? What must she do?

She had torn off her wet dress, hidden it, wrapped her dressing-gown round her, and shaken some of the cold rain from her hair, when Millie knocked at the door. Hildred opened it, but turned quickly from her sister's gaze.

"How pale you are, Hildred!" the girl exclaimed.

"And cold and tired. I've been at work, you know. I'm going to bed now. It is late, isn't it?" Hildred said hurriedly.

"Not much past nine, and tea is waiting for you; and, O Hildred! I have so much to talk to you about," Millie exclaimed.

"Have some mercy, child! I am utterly weary. Erle Lyneward has been here. You see I know already."

I

"Hildred, how did you learn his name? never mentioned it, because"Because it is an enemy's name." "You are not angry, dear Hildred-" "No, no. Tell me all to-morrow. Put out your light. My head is bad, and it hurts me."

"O dear Hildred, forgive me! How selfish I am! You have been tiring yourself for me. Lie down quickly, dear, and I will bring you up some tea. It will do your head good," Millie pleaded tearfully.