r years I have noticed this
20th of September; because, when she lived with us, on this day, after
teaching us in the morning, she used to go to her own room, or take a
long, lonely walk,--come back very pale and quiet, and we never saw
her again that night. It was the only day in the year that she seemed
wishful to keep away from us. Afterwards, when I grew a woman, I found
out why this was."

"Did she tell you?"

"No; Aunt Flora never talks about herself. But from her maid and
foster-sister, an old woman who died a while ago, I heard a little of
the story, and guessed the rest--one easily can," added quiet Marion.

"I think I guess, too. But let me hear, that is, if I _may_ hear?"

"Oh yes. 'Tis many, many years ago. Aunt Flora was quite a girl then,
and lived with Sir Andrew, her elder brother. She had 'braw wooers' in
plenty, according to Isbel Graeme (you should have seen old Isbel, cousin
Olive). However, she cared for nobody; and some said it was for the sake
of a far-away cousin of her own, one of the 'gay Gordons.' But he was
anything but 'gay'--delicate in health, plain to look at, and poor
besides. While he lived he never said to her a word of love; but after
he died,--and that was not until both were past their youth,--there came
to Aunt Flora a letter and a ring. She wears it on her wedding finger to
this day."

"And this 20th of September must have been the day _he_ died," said
Olive.

"I believe so. But she never says a word, and never did."

The two walked on silently. Olive was thinking of the long woe-wasted
youth--the knowledge of love requited came too late--and then of her who
after this great blow could gird up her strength and endure for nearly
fifty years. Ay, so as to find in life not merely peace, but sweetness.
Olive's own path looked less gloomy to the view. From the depths of her
forlorn heart uprose a feeble-winged hope; it came and fluttered about
her pale lips, bringing to them

The smile of one, God-satisfied; and earth-undone.

Marion turned round and saw it. "Cousin Olive, how very mild, and calm,
and beautiful you look! Before you came, Aunt Flora told us she had
heard you were 'like a dove.' I can understand that now. I think, if I
were a man, I should fall in love with you."

"With me; surely you forget! Oh no, Marion, not with me; that would be
impossible!"

Marion coloured a little, but then earnestly continued, "I don't mean
any one who was young and thoughtles