CHAPTER XIV.

And last to these

Love, like an Alpine harebell, hung with tears
By some cold morning glacier; frail at first
And feeble, all unconscious of itself,
But such as gather'd colour day by day.

than usual.

TENNYSON.

FOOTSTEP came along the walk. She looked up reluctantly, and found it was her husband. Not so composed, and yet graver Eve never felt she had a right to share his sorrows-she dared not directly question him, and yet she longed to help him. 'You are much earlier than usual,' she said, gently.

'Yes; I am troubled and puzzled how to act, which you will not think habitual to me. But I have a letter which tells me my mother is ill; and I would have gone to her to-night, but for an engagement of the utmost importance tomorrow.'

'Of greater importance than she is!' Eve said, involuntarily, and then was annoyed at

her own presumption. But it did not vex him -very much the contrary.

or if my But I am

Not if she were dangerously ill, engagement affected only myself. thankful to say, though suffering tediously, I don't fancy she is very seriously indisposed; and my business is one which, neglected, would injure many others. Still, it is so sad for her to lie there alone, that I am sorry to lose a day, or probably more, for I hardly expect to get through all to-morrow.'

'I will go to her. I can be ready in an hour. I should like it much. I should be so glad if I might. Pray let me go.' Breathlessly the sentences were hurried forth, and deep was the colour which burned suddenly upon her cheek.

'It is a long journey for you, and you are not strong enough to bear sick-nursing, and it will be very dull for you.'

'Oh, no! not if I could be a comfort. But would she not like to have me?' Timidly spoken those last words, with the blood curdling back from cheek and lip.

'No fear of that,' Sir Mark answered, quickly. He was reviewing hastily the reasons for and against her plan. The fatigue, the loss of her presence from home (for little light as

she shed there, somehow it was a pang to part with her), were weighed against the joy of finding her so full of eagerness to soothe his mother, and the chance of their now learning to love each other.

'May I go?' she said, at last, putting one hand on his arm.

'Yes.'

"To-night?'

'No, Eve; to-morrow morning.'

And his eyes fell on the hand so rarely laid on him confidingly. In an instant it was gone; but she turned to him a face of grateful gladness. It would be pleasant, she thought, to be of use to him, and to the gentle old lady. Somehow she did not shrink from her any longer.

It was a busy evening-orders to give,

letters to write; she must send home Laura's boy-she must let Mrs. Cuthbert know that her expected visit must be postponed. At this moment Eve felt little regard for the storm of anger such a step would call forth. She was to start at daybreak by her own earnest desire.

Sir Mark watched her flitting eagerly about, full of an alacrity he was all unused to see;

skilfully arranging small matters, thoughtfully writing her notes, and very intent on the packing of fruit and flowers, and whatever she hoped might be a change or comfort to the invalid. He was, or felt he ought to be, glad to see her doing right-to see her interested and hopeful, even if the step which caused this pleasurable excitement were one which separated her from him; and yet- God help me!' he said, wearily, in his inmost soul.

It was not without an effort to win her confidence and love that matters had come to this point. How he had struggled with himself and borne with her, none would ever know. How he had resolved to wait to hope -if possible; but at least to have patience, forbearance, and compassion.

A busy evening, a short night, a cold grey morning, the carriage at the door, all ready but Eve, who has run up for one parting caress to Laura's child. She comes back quickly, looking frightened at keeping the horses waiting. He meets her at the foot of the stairs, and they hurry into the carriage. It is not far to the station; her servant is with them, and Eve is full of cares for all her little packages. By-andby she is stepping into the train; the door is

shut, Sir Mark draws close to it-they have

taken no farewell.

'Eve!'

'Yes.'

'You will write to me every day?'

on paper.

His lingering hope to know her better even She looks at him with some surprise, but no dissent, and sees sorrow in his face.

'Eve!'

She stoops down to hear the whisper-it is low and husky. Eve, I shall miss you.'

'Miss me!'

Eyes full of reproachful tenderness and grief look into her's an instant, just in time to see the gush of tears which blind her; and her hand is in his one little moment—one moment which makes her feel she is not alone in this world—before she is swept away from his sight.

It was Eve's first journey alone, but she had no room for any nervousness or anxiety. Her servants cared for both her luggage and herself; and it was fortunate, for her thoughts were thoroughly engrossed by Sir Mark's farewell, and the welcome his mother might give her.