"Thanks; I know it," Rachel said; and was preparing to go, when Rebekah Lloyd said—

"And he for whom thou wast ready to give up so much -what of him ?"

Rachel's colour rose, and the wistful, sad yearning of her eyes awoke in her questioner sorrowful sympathy and longing desire to comfort her; still more so her words—

"I do not think he for whom I have given up so much can ever be now any earthly comfort or help to me; but I am still bound to him by my promise made publicly before God, and until he liberates me I am his."

"I know a little of thy history from others," Rebekah Lloyd said, “and I should greatly fear thou has been much deceived in the

But Rachel interrupted her with a quiet dignity which was instantly felt.

"I must not discuss this matter with thee or with any one. I lay it constantly at the feet of Him who is so pitiful and knows our infirmities. More I cannot say. Farewell."

Then Rebekah Lloyd rose, and, holding out her arms, took Rachel within them in a long, close embrace. And so these two women parted—the one to enter into the very presence of God in the quiet and stillness of the night; the other to throw herself upon her knees by the bed where Winifred was quietly sleeping, and pour out her soul in a prayer which could scarcely find words—as the tears fell like rain, and her heart heaved with convul sive sobbing. For bitter indeed beyond all other bitterness is the conviction, that all along the prop on which we have leaned has been untrustworthy-the apparently sudden failing only the result of a steady and continuous decay. Truly, the very dust of humiliation is the portion

of those who have to acknowledge that on the very highest and holiest of human feeling the word "betrayed" is written as with a pen of iron-graven on a rock in letters which no wave of time shall ever wholly obliterate.

CHAPTER IX.

STEPPING ONWARDS.

“The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,
Serene, and resolute, and still,

And calm, and self-possessed."

H. W. LONGFELLOW

"THERE is a letter at last in answer to mine," Aunt Dorothy said one morning to Mr. Buchanan. "Rachel Fremantle will come for a month or two and try if she can fulfil my wishes, she says; but she adds that she thinks it right to say that her future is uncertain, and she may be called upon to leave us. If we will accept her on these terms she will come. Maurice, do you hear?"

"Yes. I suppose you are pleased. Have you told Linda ?"

"No; I must do so, and also make final arrangements with Cordelia. Linda has a little cold, and will not come down till dinner-time."

"Where is Chrystie? He has been very late of a morning lately."

"Bed is a temptation in the winter; but there is a promise of spring in the sunshine to-day. I hope Chrystie is not going to turn lazy. Is he doing well in the Bank, Maurice? I mean, do he and Alick agree better?"

"I fancy it is an agreement to disagree," said Maurice Buchanan. "There are faults on both sides. Your boy has not distinguished himself of late, Tantina!"

"There is nothing wrong, Maurice ?"

"I think he is unsettled, and not as industrious as he might be," was the answer. "He has not taken that disappointment about Winifred like a man.”

"It is a great pity that the dear boy has had all these difficulties to encounter in his first love affair. so sorry for him.”

I am

"Now, Tantina, do not waste your sympathy: it is not for a man to give in because he cannot have everything his own way. Let Chrystie learn to wait; there is plenty of time before him."

Aunt Dorothy sighed.

"Maurice has never been in love," she thought, "he does not know what it is;" and then, as he was leaving the room, she said "You did not look at Rachel Fremantle's letter: here it is. Shall I say that we expect her this day week, and will send the carriage to meet her at the station ?"

"Yes, of course ;" and then thrusting the offered letter into the depths of one of his pockets, Mr. Buchanan departed.

The next moment Chrystie appeared. He stooped over Aunt Dorothy for a moment, and kissed her forehead, and then seated himself before a covered dish and took the coffee Aunt Dorothy poured out for him, with the remark

"It is very cold."

"Yes, dear, you are so late, I am afraid you will be scarcely in time at the Bank. Have you a headache, Chrystie ?"

"No; that is, not worse than usual. The heat and

bother about this play at the De Laceys last night was intolerable."

"Were you dining at the De Laceys' again. They are not great friends of yours, are they?"

"Oh, pretty well. I have ridden George de Lacey's mare of late; he is not a bad fellow. If you doubt me, you had better ask Delia for her opinion."

The voice was scarcely as pleasant as of old. For a time at least, there was a change in Chrystie. He was embittered by Winifred's persistent refusal to receive his letters; and his pride was piqued that he should find any difficulty in securing the little Quakeress for his own-he, who was in great request in Halchester society, and who would not yield to the fascinations of girls who were attired in the most becoming fashion, and were only too willing to accept his attentions.

It was too provoking that this gentle little Friend, with her soft violet eyes, should be so firm in her determination not to engage herself to him without her mother's

consent.

Chrystie was a fine fellow; but he had his faults, and, as is often the case with strong, self-reliant natures, he chafed against opposition, and resented it—even the opposition of a tender and loving creature like Winifred. He ought to be first with her-if she loved him entirely he would be first, and nothing ought to separate them. He even persuaded himself that she did him a wrong by holding back; and here he and his uncle differed. He had promised that Winifred should not be teased and worried by perpetual letters, and he had done his best to fulfil that promise. But Chrystie did not brook any interference, and for the first time there was a barrier between him and his uncle. Like Aunt Dorothy, he was inclined to say that Uncle Maurice did