Gwynne. "I think I will go home
with Lyle--that is, if he will take my son's place for the occasion. It
is not quite right of Harold; he does not usually forget his mother."

Olive instinctively hinted some excuse. She was ever prone to do so,
when any shadow of blame fell on Harold.

"You are always good, my dear. But still he might have come, even for
the sake of proper courtesy to you."

Courtesy!

Mrs. Gwynne entreated Olive to call at the Parsonage on her journey next
morning. It would not hinder her a minute. Little Ailie was longing for
one good-bye, and perhaps she might likewise see Harold. Miss Rothesay
assented. It would have been hard to go away without one more look at
him--one more clasp of his hand.

Yet both seemed denied her. When Olive reached the Parsonage, he was not
there. He had gone out riding, little Ailie thought; no one else knew
anything about him.

"It was very wrong and unkind," said Mrs. Gwynne in real annoyance.

"Oh, no, not at all," was all that Olive murmured. She took Ailie on her
knee, and hid her face upon the child's curls.

"Ah, dear Miss Rothesay, you must come back soon," whispered the little
girl. "We can't do without you. We have all been much happier since you
came to Harbury; papa said so, last night."

"Did he?"

"Yes; when I was crying at the thought of your going away, and he came
to my little bed, and comforted me, and kissed me. Oh, you don't know
how sweet papa's kisses are! Now, I get so many of them. Before he rode
out this morning he gave me half-a-dozen here, upon my eyes, and said I
must learn all you taught me, and grow up a good woman, just like you.
What! are you crying? Then I will cry too."

Olive laid her thin cheek to the rosy one of Harold's daughter; she
wept, but could not speak.

"What kisses you are giving me, dear Miss Rothesay, and just where papa
gives me them, too. How kind! Ah, I love you--I love you dearly."

"God bless and take care of you, my dear child--almost as dear as though
you had been born my own," was Mrs. Gwynne's farewell, as she bestowed
on Olive one of her rare embraces. And then the parting was over.

Closing her eyes--her heart;--striving to make her thoughts a blank, and
to shut out everything save the welcome sense of blind exhaustion that
was creeping over her, Olive lay back in the carriage, and was whirled
from Harbury.

She had a long way to go across the forest-country until she reached the
nearest railwa