rtant business-venture made him restless.
Besides, Harold's wedding was near at hand: in less than a week the
mother would be sole regent of her son's home no more. No wonder that
this made her grave and anxious--so that even her old friend's presence
was a slight restraint Yet she bade him adieu with her own cordial
sincerity. He began to pour out thanks for all kindness--especially the
one kindness of all, adding--

"But I will say no more. You shall see or hear from me in a few days at
farthest."

"Not until after the wedding--I can think of nothing till after the
wedding," answered Mrs. Gwynne. "Now, farewell, friend! but not for
another thirty years, I trust!"

"No, no!" cried Angus, warmly. He looked at her as she sat by the light
of her own hearth--life's trials conquered--life's duties fulfilled--and
she appeared not less divine a creature than the Alison Balfour who had
trod the mountains full of joy, and hope, and energy. Holy and beautiful
she had seemed to him in her youth; and though every relic of that
passionate idealisation he once called love, was gone, still holy and
beautiful she seemed to him in her age.

Angus Rothesay rode away from Harbury parsonage, feeling that there he
had gained a new interest to make life and life's duties more sacred.
He thought with tenderness of his home--of his wife, and of his "little
Olive;" and then, travelling by a rather circuitous route, his thoughts
rested on Harold Gwynne.

"The kind-hearted, generous fellow! I will take care he is requited
double. And to-morrow, before even I reach Oldchurch, I will go to my
lawyer's and make all safe on his account."

"To-morrow!" He remembered not the warning, "Boast not thyself of
to-morrow."

CHAPTER XVII.

Olive sat mournfully contemplating Sara Derwent's last letter--the last
she knew it would be. It was written, not with the frank simplicity of
their girlish confidence, but with the formal dignity of one who the
next day would become a bride. It spoke of no regret, no remorse for her
violated troth; it mentioned her former promise in a cold, business-like
manner, without inferring any changed love, but merely stating her
friends' opinion on the "evil of long engagements, and that she would be
much better married at once to Mr. Gwynne, than waiting some ten years
for Charles Geddes."

But to Olive this change seemed a positive sin. She shuddered to think
of Sara's wicked faithlessness; she wept with pity,