rose. But her aunt's soft cold hand
glided silently on her drooped head, pressing its throbbings into peace.

"I am wae to think," continued the old lady, "that ye are the last of
the Rothesay line. The _name_ must end, even should Olive marry."

"I shall never marry, Aunt Flora! I shall live as you have done--God
make my life equally worthy!"

"Is it so? I thought it was different. Then, Olive, my child! may God
comfort thee with his peace."

Mrs. Flora kissed her on the forehead, and asked no more. Shortly
afterwards, she again began to speak about her will. She wished to
be just, she said, and to leave her property where it would be most
required. Her heart inclined chiefly to her niece, as being a woman,
struggling alone through the world; whereas Harold, firmly settled in
his curacy, would not need additional fortune.

"Oh, but he does need it; you little know how sorely!" cried Olive.

"Eh, my dear? He, a minister!"

Olive drew back, afraid lest she had betrayed too much of the-secret so
painfully shared between her and Harold Gwynne. She trembled and blushed
beneath the old lady's keen eyes. At last she said, beseechingly,

"Aunt Flora, do not question me--I cannot, ought not, to tell you any
more than this--that there may come a time when this money might save
him from great misery."

"Misery aye follows sin," said Mrs. Flora, almost sternly, "Am I
deceived in him, my dear Harold--poor Alison's son?"

"No, no, no! He is noble, just, and true. There is no one like him in
the whole world," cried Olive; and then stopped, covered with blushes.
But soon the weakness passed. "Listen to me, Aunt Flora, for this once.
Harold Gwynne,"--she faltered not over the name,--"Harold Gwynne is, and
will be always, my dear friend and brother. I know more of his affairs
than any one else; and I know, too, that he may be in great poverty one
day. For me, I have only myself to work for, and work I must, since it
is the comfort of my life. As to this fortune, I need it not--how should
I? I entreat you, leave all to him."

Mrs. Flora wrapped her arms round her niece without speaking--nor did
she again refer to the subject.

But the night before Olive left Edinburgh, she bade her farewell with a
solemn blessing--the more solemn, as it was given in words taken out of
the Holy Book which she had just closed--words never used lightly by the
aged Presbyterian.

"The Lord bless thee and keep thee!
The Lord cause Hi