n the day. There is great mournfulness in waking
thus of one's own accord, and alone; hearing the various noises of the
busy mid-day household, and feeling as if all would go on just the same
without thought of us, even if we had died in that weary sleep.

Olive wished she had!--that is, had Heaven willed it. She could so
easily have crept out of the bitter world, and no one would have missed
her. Still, if it must be, she would try once more to lift her burden,
and pursue her way.

There was a little comfort for her the minute she went downstairs.
Entering the drawing-room, she met Mrs. Flora's brightest smile.

"My dear lassie, welcome! Have you been sleeping after your weary walk
this morning?"

"This morning!" echoed poor Olive. She had half forgotten what had
happened then, there had come such a death-like cloud between.

"Ye were both away at the Hermitage, Harold said. Ah! poor Harold!"

Olive stood waiting to hear some horrible tidings. All misfortunes
seemed to come so naturally now; she felt as though she would scarcely
have wondered had they told her Harold was dead.

"My dear Harold is gone away."

"Gone away," repeated Olive, slowly, as her cold hands fell heavily on
her lap. She gave no other sign.

"Ah," continued the unconscious old lady, "something has gone ill with
the lad. He came in here, troubled like, and said he must just depart at
once."

"He was here, then?"

"Only for a wee while. I would have sent for ye, my dearie, but Jean
said you were sleeping, and Harold said we had best not waken you, for
you had seemed wearied. He could not wait longer, so he bade me bid you
farewell, Lassie--lassie, stay!" But Olive had already crept out of the
room.

He was gone then. That last clasp of his hand was indeed the last. O
miserable parting! Not as between two who love, and loving can murmur
the farewell, heart to heart, until its sweetness lingers there
long after its sound has ceased; but a parting that has no voice--no
hope--wherein one soul follows the other in a wild despair, crying,
"Give me back my life that is gone after thee;" and from the void
silence there comes no answer, until the whole earth grows blank and
dark like an universal grave.

For many days after _that_ day, Olive scarcely lifted her head. There
came to her some friendly physical ailment, cold or fever, so that she
had an excuse to comply with Mrs. Flora's affectionate orders, and take
refuge in the quietness of a