ard her repeatedly
shriek out Olive's surname, in tones so wild, that whether it was meant
for rage or entreaty they could not tell.

Olive wanted to return.

"No, my dear, she would only insult you. Besides, I will _go_ myself
to-morrow. Poor wretch! she is plainly near her end. We must be merciful
to the dying."

Olive walked home thoughtfully, not speaking much. When they passed out
of the squalid, noisy streets, into the quiet lane that led to Woodford
Cottage, she had never felt so keenly the blessing of a pure and
peaceful home. She mounted to the pretty bedchamber which she and her
mother occupied, and stood at the open window, drinking in the fresh
odour of the bursting leaves. Scarcely a breath stirred the soft spring
evening--the sky was like one calm blue lake, and therein floated, close
to the western verge, "the new moon's silver boat."

She remembered how it had been one of her childish superstitions always
"to wish at the new moon." How often, her desire seeming perversely to
lift itself towards things unattainable, had she framed one sole wish
that she might be beautiful and beloved!

Beautiful and beloved! She thought of the poor creature whose fierce
words yet rang in her ear. Beautiful and beloved! _She_ had been both,
and what was she now?

And Olive rejoiced that her own childish longings had passed into the
better wisdom of subdued and patient womanhood. Had she now a wish,
it was for that pure heart and lowly mind which are more precious than
beauty; for that serene peace of virtue, which is more to be desired
than love.

Now her fate seemed plain before her--within her home she saw the vista
of a life of filial devotion blest in

"A constant stream of love that knew no fall."

As she looked forth into the world without, there rose the hope of her
Art, under shadow of which the lonely woman might go down to the grave
not unhonoured in her day. Remembering all this, Olive murmured no
longer at her destiny. She thanked God, for she felt that she was not
unhappy.

CHAPTER XXII.

Perhaps, ere following Olive's fortunes, it may be as well to set the
reader's mind at rest concerning the incident narrated in the preceding
chapter. It turned out the olden tale of passion, misery, and death. No
more could be made of it, even by the imaginative Miss Meliora.

A few words will comprise all that she discovered. Returning faithfully
next day, the kind little woman found that the obje