s life.

And so, though they did not meet again alone, and no words on the one
awful subject passed between them, Harold began to come often to the
Dell. Mrs. Rothesay's lamp of life was paling so gradually, that not
even her child knew how soon it would cease to shine among those to whom
its every ray was so precious and so beautiful--more beautiful as it
drew nearer its close.

Yet there was no sorrow at the Dell, but great peace--a peace so holy
that it seemed to rest upon all who entered there. These were not a few;
never was there any one who gained so many kindly attentions as Mrs.
Rothesay. Even the wild young Fludyers inquired after her every day.
Christal, who was almost domiciled at the Hall, and seemed by some
invisible attraction most disinclined to leave it, was yet a daily
visitor--her high spirit softened to gentleness whenever she came near
the invalid.

As to Lyle Derwent, he positively haunted them. His affectations dropped
off, he ceased his sentimentalities, and never quoted a single line of
poetry. To Olive he appeared in a more pleasing light, and she treated
him with her old regard; as for him, he adored the very ground she trod
upon. A ministering angel could not have been more hallowed in his eyes.
He often made Mrs. Rothesay and Olive smile with his raptures; and the
latter said sometimes that he was certainly the same enthusiastic
little boy who had been her knight in the garden by the river. She never
thought of him otherwise; and though he often tried, in half-jesting
indignation, to assure her that he was quite a man now, he seemed still
a lad to her. There was the difference of a lifetime between his
juvenile romance and her calm reality of six-and-twenty years.

She did not always feel so old though. When kneeling by her mother's
side, amusing her, Olive still felt a very child; and there were times
when near Harold Gwynne she grew once more a feeble, timid girl. But
now that the secret bond between them was held in abeyance, their
intercourse sank within its former boundary. Even his influence could
not compete with that affection which had been the day-star of Olive's
life. No other human tie could come between her and her mother.

Beautiful it was to see them, clinging together so closely that none
of those who loved both had the courage to tell them how soon they must
part. Sometimes Mrs. Gwynne would watch Olive with a look that seemed
to ask, "Child, have you strength to bear?"