Her

Maggie was the eldest of a family of five, though the others were all much younger than herself. She was not what would be called pretty, but she had a good face, all her features were regular and well formed. expression was that of gentleness and amiability, while her large, thoughtful eyes had a depth of truth in them that made the beholder look more than once at her face. Her wavy hair was drawn off her brows, disclosing a high, intellectual forehead, evidently inherited from her father.

While Harry remained at Thorndale he saw a good deal of the Mortons. Being very fond of music, he begged to be allowed to go to the church on Maggie's practice days. The first few times he went, he sat down stairs listening to what she played, but as time went on she permitted him to accompany her to the organ-loft, and even at times to manage the stops for her. This Harry soon became very proficient in, for although unable to play the organ himself, he soon learned the nature and quality of the stops. One very sweet combination of stops of which he soon became fond, he playfully termed his vox humana, and made her use it, for some pieces when ever she played. Harry found not only solace, but occupation in this pursuit, and sometimes he would even forget his unhappiness while listening to the rich tones of the organ.

He liked the somewhat matter-offact way in which Maggie dealt with everything, and admired the practical good sense with which she was endowed. He enjoyed the winter evenings at the rector's fireside, all was so cheerful and comfortable. The old drawing-room, with its large warm fire and circle of bright faces, could not fail to attract him, while the open hospitality and genuine kindness shown him was very agreeable to him. The whole family had taken quite a fancy to the quiet, grave, young gentleman who had suddenly made his appearance among them. The rector

liked to talk over church matters with him, and was pleased to find that he was of the same school of thought as himself. But all this kindness could not all at once restore Harry to his former cheerfulness. He had not spoken to anyone of the cause of his visit to Thorndale, or how he had chosen the village at random in looking over the railway time-table the night before leaving London. He felt as if his life had been blighted, and time alone could restore him to what he had been before.

When he returned to his lodgings, one afternoon, he found a telegram from his father awaiting him. It stated that Mr. Stocton had died suddenly at Hawthorne, and telling him to come home for the funeral at once. Harry went over to the Rectory with the news, and to say good-bye to the family, though he promised to be back again in the course of a few days. The next day he left the village of Thorndale, and went up to Holyhead, where he caught the fast train commonly known as the 'Wild Irishman,' and was whirled away to London. Having a few hours in the metropolis, he called to see Helsingfors. Catching the afternoon train, he was soon at Hawthorne, driving along the well-known road towards his father's mansion.

The funeral of the wealthy banker was attended by the whole neighbourhood, and many came down from London to pay their last respects to his memory. Harry did not see Grace at all, for she would not see any one, although Lady Northwood had called twice. Harry was not sorry that he did not see her, though he sympathized fully with her in her terrible bereavement. He seemed to be able to feel for others much more of late, and he was touched by what, a short time ago, he would have passed over with indifference.

Sir Gannett Northwood, whose income, although ample for his small family, was not able to buy back his magnificent inheritance without

trenching too seriously on the principal, told Harry the difficulty he had been in, explaining that he had used the only means in his power to extricate himself. He blamed himself for the speculations in which he had invested his money, and implored his son to forgive him for having thus robbed him of what ought rightfully to have belonged to him. Harry was of course very much surprised at the news, and also that it had been kept from him until now, but his father's distress at having taken from him the old estate quite overcame him, for though he was sorry for the loss of the beautiful property which he had always expected to possess, yet he could not bear to see his father blame himself for the ill luck of his ventures.

The three sat up late in the old library talking over their plans for the future. Neither Harry nor his father would hear of taking up their residence in London, so it was at length decided that they should take a cottage somewhere in the south of France, and thus enjoy the seclusion that Sir Gannett so much desired. He made it a sine qua non that his son should accompany him, so Harry at last consented.

A week after the funeral of Mr. Stocton the Norwoods left Hawthorne, and delivered into the hands of strangers the old homestead that had sheltered their ancestors for generations back. Harry wrote to Thorndale, telling the Mortons of his unexpected departure for France.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHANGES AND CHANCES.

ABOUT a year and a half had

flown over since the events narrated in the preceding chapter took place. Sir Gannett had become quite at home in his pretty little cottage in the south of France, and even his

wife had become partially reconciled to her exile, though she sometimes indulged in some gentle regrets at being so completely out of the world.'

The first signs of spring had begun to appear when Harry one day rather startled his father and mother by saying that he purposed going back to England. This determination awakened all his mother's desire to go too, but she was at length persuaded not to go, by the promise that her husband would take her to Paris for a visit. She was the more easily reconciled to this arrangement, for she felt confident that when they were safely in Paris it would not be so hard to tease Sir Gannett into coming over to England for a few weeks at least.

Harry called to see Helsingfors as he passed through London on his way to Thorndale, but could only be persuaded to stay a couple of days. He heard from his friend that Helen was still unmarried, and also that rumour said it was not St. Cloud's fault that she was so. Harry could not help feeling gratified that St. Cloud had not been [the fortunate one, though he was surprised that she had not been married before this. He did not go down to Hawthorne, though he knew the family to whom the house had been rented, as he felt he would not care to see strange faces in the old familiar place.

The

He found things very little changed at Thorndale, though he had been away more than a year and a half, when he came there. It seemed as if he had only left it yesterday. Mortons were all very much surprised and delighted to see him, for he had not written to say he was coming. The Rector was as glad to see him as ever, and hoped that he would make something of a visit now, and not run off as unceremoniously as he had done before. The only difference that Harry could notice in the family was that Maggie's younger sister, Fanny, seemed to have quite grown into a young lady. Fanny was undoubtedly

the prettiest of the family. Her good nature and handsome face had won for her many devoted admirers in the village. Maggie still continued her organ practices at the old church, and it seemed as if no time at all had intervened when Harry found himself again listening to My Heart Ever Faithful,' and managing the stops for her while she played.

It was at one of these practices, and some weeks after Harry had returned to Thorndale, that he said to Maggie as he was beside her at the organ, What a beautiful ring that is, you wear on your left hand.'

'Yes,' she said, 'it was one my mother gave me when I was going away off on that trip on the continent, you know. Is not pretty?' she took the ring off, as she spoke, and handed it to him. It was a very handsome Turquoise ring.

6

'My mother told me that by an old superstition Turquoise was supposed to preserve the wearer from all bodily harm, so that is why she gave it to me when I was going away,' she continued. 'Father said if there was any truth in the old superstition he hoped it would shield me from "all dangers ghostly and bodily," as our church service says.' 'And so it has,' said Harry, 'I feel more like believing such old superstitions when I see one of them verified.'

'You may keep the ring till I am finished playing, and see if it will preserve you from all danger, till then,' she said laughingly.

'There is one danger which it has no charm to ward off,' he said as he slipped the ring on his little finger. And what is that, pray?' she asked.'

'One that I do not dread, yet one from which there is no escape,' he answered. Maggie turned away her head and began playing. When the practice was over, and the little bellows-blower had clattered down stairs and was gone, and Maggie had just settled up her music,

Harry took the ring off his finger and said, 'Will you let me wish the ring on for you?'

'Yes,' she replied, but how long before your wish can be realized?

'That depends,' he said, 'I could not tell you that, unless I told you the wish itself.'

'Oh, if you once tell your wish you cannot get it,' Maggie said.

'I cannot get it unless I do tell you the wish,' he replied, looking at her, full in the face.

'You had better not tell me,' she said, looking down and blushing slightly.

Well, give me your hand till I wish it on.'

She held out her hand without look

ing up. As Harry slipped the ring slowly on her finger, he said, 'I only wish to be like your Turquoise ring, and ever through the changes and chances and dangers of this world be your guard and shield.' There was a pause for several minutes; but she she did not withdraw her hand from him, when he had finished speaking.

It seemed as if the old church looked brighter to them, and the old tablets on the wall less gloomy than before, as they stood together in the light of the setting sun as it streamed in through the rich stained glass window, tracing its fairy colours on the wall.

London was as full of busy life and gaiety as ever, though the return of spring had brought round the bustle and excitement of preparation for going to the country. Helen had gone out to dinner once more, before turning her back on London, and feeling thoroughly tired she sat down by herself behind a large Japanese screen, with a sigh of relief, dreading the advent of the gentlemen, who were still down stairs. She had not enjoyed herself at dinner, and was consoling herself with the thought that she would have a little quietness, while tea and coffee were being handed round.

Presently two old dowagers came and sat on a sofa, on the other side of the screen. Helen could hear what they were saying, though she was concealed from view. She felt too tired to move and not at all desirous of losing her comfortable and retired position. So she fanned herself, and tried not to hear what was being said. The two old ladies were evidently continuing a conversation which had been begun elsewhere. One of them said, So that was the reason that young Northwood left London so suddenly nearly two years ago. And you are quite sure that he had not paid Miss Stocton any particular attention after all?'

'Oh quite sure,' replied the first speaker, I had it from the very best authority, a very great friend of his.'

But Mr. St. Cloud told me himself that Mr. Northwood had really proposed to Miss Stocton the very same night that he did to Miss De Grey, but that she heard of it in time and would have nothing to do with him.'

All a great mistake, my dear,' re plied the other, Mr. St. Cloud may have reasons for saying what he did of young Northwood, for his own attentions to Miss De Grey stopped rather suddenly, not so very long ago.'

'Is Miss Stocton married yet?' inquired the first speaker again.

'No, not yet, and it is very extraordinary too, for her father left her a good deal I am told.'

Helen had scarcely breathed during this conversation, and she was glad that she was behind the screen. It was all clear to her now; the great mistake she had made. All that Harry had said to her had been honest and true, but she had been blinded; blinded till that moment by the base insinuations of another. She had given him no chance to deny what slanderous tongues had said, but had cruelly decided the case against him, without even hearing him. St. Cloud's treachery was clear, and she was heartily

glad that she was so well rid of him. But that did not make matters right; it did not right the wrong done to Harry. The more she thought of it, the more she wondered at herself. All the old feelings of strong friendship and regard, so long repressed, came back again with renewed force. His manner, so misconstrued that night, his look, his words to her, came back again as she sat behind the Japanese screen. She remembered everything that had happened on that night when she had, woman like, listened to the voice of the deceiver, and had answered him so proudly and disdainfully. A conscientious and highspirited girl, she determined at once, cost what it would, to see him and explain all. If he felt now as he had then, she might hope that he would still be to her what he had been then. If not, she must only endure the consequences of her own rash conduct. Helen's strong sense of justice told her that this was no time for half-measures. She had grievously wronged one who had given her the purest love; and, hard and mortifying as it no doubt would be, it was her duty to make some reparation. When the gentlemen appeared Helen lost no time in learning the whereabouts of Mr. Northwood from Helsingfors, who was not a little surprised at the newly-awakened interest which Helen showed for her old lover.

The following day, therefore, saw Helen at Thorndale. She had enquired for Harry at his lodgings, but he was not in. She was, however, directed to the old church where Harry had left word he was going. As Helen came towards the old church she felt sure that she saw Harry on ahead of her, though she could not be certain, for she had not seen him for so long. He reached the gate, and without looking round, walked up the path to the church door. Helen was on the point of calling out to him, but contented herself by hurrying after him. When she reached the church

door she opened it slightly and looked in. All was still; she pushed the door open and glided inside. She caught sight of a girl's figure in the organloft opposite, and heard footsteps on the gallery stairs. Without knowing

why she did so, she slipped noiselessly into the very pew in which Harry had been concealed on his first meeting with Maggie, and drew the curtains

across.

Looking up at the gallery, in a moment more she saw Harry come forward and affectionately greet the girl who was standing by the organ. Helen could not see who it was, for her back was turned. 'I've got the ring,' he said, 'and you won't mind my wishing this one on, will you?' He took from his pocket a little case, and opening it disclosed a beautiful sapphire ring.

'Oh, what a beauty,' she cried, turning round to the light to examine it. Helen saw that it was her old friend and school mate, Maggie Morton, and a strange feeling crept over her, as she watched the pair in the gallery. Helen would not have believed that she could have felt so agitated, had anybody told her what she would witness in that old church. She seemed condemned, against her will, to be an eavesdropper, yet there was no escape without making her presence known, and this she dare not do now.

After Maggie had examined the ring, Harry offered to put it on her finger. Maggie held out her hand, and Harry, placing the ring on the third finger of the left hand, said, 'Will you let me say to you what King James I. said to the Earl of Salisbury when presenting him with a diamond ring?'

Maggie nodded, and Harry continued, 'The love and affection with which I give you this, is, and ever shall be, as the form and matter of the ring, endless, pure and perfect.'

'How pretty,' said Maggie, 'I will ever look on it in that light, Harry, but it is more to me than any King's or Emperor's ring ever could be.'

'Well,' said Harry, 'I have given you the saying of a king, let me say from myself, that like the ring, my life holds one gem only, shining by its light alone, and counted as nothing worth without it.' Was his love less true to Maggie, even if a thought of Helen crossed his mind, as he gave the ring?

Helen could hardly credit the evidence of her senses. She had learned that he had truly loved her, only to see that love given to one more worthy. She drew the curtains close and held her breath as they passed down the aisle. Helen felt it was all over now, for ever. Harry was telling Maggie that he had to hurry up to the station to meet the train, as he was expecting some important papers to be brought down to him from London. Maggie laughingly told him that she had promised her father to drive a short distance into the country to see some poor parishioners, but that she had made him promise to call for her at the church, as she did not want to miss this appointment in the old church. Maggie pulled out her watch and said her father ought to call for her in a few minutes, so they walked down to the gate together.

Helen crept softly out of her place of concealment and looked after them as they stood at the gate together in the bright sunshine. Scarcely had she reached the middle of the aisle, when she was aware of some one standing behind her. She turned round, and there stood St. Cloud. Helen was completely staggered at the presence of this man, here and at such a time. St. Cloud smiled blandly at her astonishment, and remarked playfully, and not without a touch of derision in his tone, an interesting spectacle we have witnessed this morning, Miss De Gray.' Helen bit her lip to keep back the mortification and anger she felt. 'Interesting all the

more,' continued St. Cloud, since we have nothing to do with him now.' The last words were emphasized, and