his, arranging her shawl with a care like a woman's. And
so he led her into the house, with a tenderness beautiful to see.

Olive, as she followed silently after, felt her whole heart melted
towards him. She never forgot Harold's first meeting with, and his
kindness to, her mother.

He went away, promising to pay another visit soon.

"I am quite charmed with Mr. Gwynne," said Mrs. Rothesay. "Tell me,
Olive, what he is like."

Olive described him, though not enthusiastically at all. Nevertheless,
her mother answered, smiling, "He must, indeed, be a remarkable
person. He is such a perfect gentleman, and his voice is so kind and
pleasant;--like his mother, too, he has a little of the sweet Scottish
tongue. Truly, I did not think there had been in the world such a man as
Harold Gwynne."

"Nor I," answered Olive, in a soft, quiet, happy voice. She hung over
her mother with a deeper tenderness--she looked out into the lovely
autumn sunset with a keener sense of beauty and of joy. The sun was
setting, the year was waning; but on Olive Rothesay's life had risen a
new season and a new day.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

"Well, I never in my life knew such a change as Farnwood has made in
Miss Manners," observed old Hannah, the Woodford Cottage maid; who,
though carefully kept in ignorance of any facts that could betray the
secret of Christal's history, yet seemed at times to bear a secret
grudge against her, as an interloper. "There she comes, riding across
the country like some wild thing--she who used to be so prim and
precise!"

"Poor young creature, she is like a bird just let out of a cage," said
Mrs. Rothesay, kindly. "It is often so with girls brought up as she has
been. Olive, I am glad you never went to school."

Olive's answer was stopped by the appearance of Christal, followed by
one of the young Fludyer boys, with whom she had become a first-rate
favourite. Her fearless frankness, her exuberant spirits, tempered only
by her anxiety to appear always "the grand lady," made her a welcome
guest at Farnwood Hall. Indeed, she was rarely at home, save when
appearing, as now, on a hasty visit, which quite disturbed Mrs.
Rothesay's placidity, and almost drove old Hannah crazy.

"He is not come yet, you see," Christal said, with a mysterious nod to
Charley Fludyer. "I thought we should outride him--a parson never can
manage a pony. But he will surely be here soon?"

"_Who_ will be here soon?" asked Olive, considerably