ed the lingering romance of Olive's nature, and made her
observe his manner and his words with a vigilant curiosity, as if to
seek some new revelation of humanity in his character or his history.
Therefore, every little incident of conversation in that first walk
was carefully put by in her hidden nooks of memory, to amuse her mother
with,--and perhaps also to speculate thereupon herself.

They reached Farnwood Dell, and Olive's conscience began to accuse her
of having left her mother for so many hours. Therefore her adieux and
thanks to Mr. Gwynne were somewhat abrupt. Mechanically she invited him
in, and, to her surprise, he entered.

Mrs. Rothesay was sitting out of doors, in her garden chair. A beautiful
picture she made, leaning back with-a mild sweetness, scarce a smile
hovering on her lips. Her pale little hands were folded on her black
dress; her soft braids of hair, already silver-grey, and her complexion,
lovely as that of a young girl, showing delicately in contrast with her
crimson garden-hood, the triumph of her daughter's skilful fingers.

Olive crossed the grass with a quick and noiseless step,--Harold
following. "Mamma, darling!"

A light, bright as a sunburst, shone over Mrs. Rothesay's face--"My
child! how long you have been away. Did Mrs. Gwynne"--

"Hush, darling!"--in a whisper--"I have been at the Parsonage, and Mr.
Gwynne has kindly brought me home. He is here now."

Harold stood at a distance and bowed.

Olive came to him, saying, in a low tone, "Take her hand, she cannot see
you, she is blind."

He started with surprise. "I did not know--my mother told me
nothing."--And then, advancing to Mrs. Rothesay, he pressed her hand in
both his, with such an air of reverent tenderness and gentle compassion,
that it made his face grow softened--beautiful, divine!

Olive Rothesay, turning, beheld that look. It never afterwards faded
from her memory.

Mrs. Rothesay arose, and said in her own sweet manner, "I am happy to
meet Mr. Gwynne, and to thank him for taking care of my child." They
talked for a few minutes, and then Olive persuaded her mother to return
to the house.

"You will come, Mr. Gwynne?" said Mrs. Rothesay. He answered,
hesitating, that the afternoon would close soon, and he must go on to
Farnwood Hall. Mrs. Rothesay rose from her chair with the touching,
helpless movement of one who is blind.

"Permit me," said Harold Gwynne, as, stepping quickly forward, he drew
her arm through