a life of active exertion. In fact, I
have nearly decided it all."

"Decided what? It is so sudden. I do not quite understand," said Olive,
faintly.

"To leave England for ever. What do you think of the plan?"

What thought she? Nothing. There was a dull sound in her ears as of
a myriad waters--the ground whereon she stood seemed reeling to and
fro--yet she did not fall. One minute, and she answered.

"You know best. If good for you, it is a good plan."

He seemed relieved and yet disappointed. "I am glad you say so. I
imagined, perhaps, you might have thought it wrong."

"Why wrong?"

"Women have peculiar feelings about home, and country, and friends.
I shall leave all these. I would not care ever to see England more. I
would put off this black gown, and with it every remembrance of the life
of vile hypocrisy which I have led here. I would drown the past in new
plans--new energies--new hopes. And, to do this, I must break all ties,
and go alone. My poor mother! I have not dared yet to tell her. To her,
the thought of parting would be like death, so dearly does she love me."

He spoke all this rapidly, never looking towards his silent companion.
When he ceased, Olive feebly stretched out her hand, as if to grasp
something for support, then drew it back again, and, hid under her
mantle, pressed it tightly against her heart. On that heart Harold's
words fell, tearing away all its disguises, laying it bare to the bitter
truth. "To me," she thought--"to me, also, this parting is like death.
And why? Because I, too, love him--dearer than ever mother loved son, or
sister brother; ay, dearer than my own soul. Oh miserable me!"

"You are silent," said Harold. "You think I am acting cruelly towards
one who loves me so well Human affections are to us secondary things.
We scarcely need them; or, when our will demands, we can crush them
altogether."

"I--I have heard so," said she, slowly.

"Well, Miss Rothesay?" he asked, when they had nearly reached the
Parsonage, "what are you thinking of?"

"I think that, wherever you go, you ought to take your mother with you;
and little Ailie, too. With them your home will be complete."

"Yet I have friends to leave--one friend at least--_yourself_."

"I, like others, shall miss you; but all true friends should desire,
above all things, each other's welfare. I shall be satisfied if I hear
at times of yours."

He made no reply, and they went in at the hall door.

There was