s face to shine upon thee!
_The Lord give thee thy heart's desire, and fulfil all thy mind_."

Olive rose with an indescribable sense of hope and peace. As she left
the room she looked once more at her aunt.

Mrs. Flora sat in her crimson chair, her hands laid on her knee, her
face grave, but serene, and half-lifted, like one who hearkens to some
unseen call A secret consciousness struck Olive that in this world she
should never more hear the voice, or see the face, of one who had been
truly a saint on earth.

It was indeed so.

CHAPTER XLI.

Coming home!--coming home! In different ears how differently sound
the words! They who in all their wanderings have still the little,
well-filled, love-expectant nest whereto they may wing their way, should
think sometimes of the many there are to whom the whole wide world is
all alike; whose sole rest must be in themselves; who never can truly
say, "I am going home," until they say it with eyes turned longingly
towards a Home unseen.

Something of this mournfulness felt Olive Rothesay. It was dreary enough
to reach her journey's end alone, and have to wait some hours at the
small railway station; and then, tired and worn, to be driven for miles
across the country through the gloomiest of all gloomy November days.
Still, the dreariness passed, when she saw, shining from afar, the
light from the windows of Farnwood Dell. As the chaise stopped, out came
running old Hannah, the maid, with little Ailie too; while awaiting her
in the parlour, were Christal and Mrs. Gwynne. _No one else!_ Olive saw
that in one moment, and blamed herself for having wished--what she had
no right to hope--what had best not be.

Mrs. Gwynne embraced her warmly--Christal with dignified grace. The
young lady looked gay and pleased, and there was a subdued light in her
black eyes which almost softened them into sweetness. The quick restless
manner in which she had indulged at times since she came to Farnwood
seemed melting into a becoming womanliness, Altogether, Christal was
improved.

"Well, now, I suppose you will be wanting to hear the news of all your
friends," said Miss Manners, with smiles bubbling round her pretty
mouth. "We are not all quite the same as you left us. To begin with--let
me see--Mr. Harold Gwynne"----

"Of that, Miss Christal, I will beg you not to speak. It is a painful
subject to me," observed Mrs. Gwynne, with a vexed air. "You need not
look at me so earnestly, d