sed you, but it was unavoidable.
He had kept Lord Arundale waiting already, and it would not be courteous
to delay another day. You will not mind?"

"Oh no! oh no!" The hand was pressed down closer over the eyes.

Mrs. Gwynne pursued. "Though I have all confidence in my son, yet I own
this sudden scheme has troubled me. His health is better;--why could he
not stay at Harbury?"

Olive, wishing to discover if she knew anything of her son's sad secret,
observed, "It is a monotonous life that Mr. Gwynne leads here--one
hardly suited for him."

"Ah, I know," said the mother, sighing. "His heart is little in his
calling. I feared so, long ago. But it is not that which drives him
abroad; for I told him if he still wished to resign his duties to his
curate, we would give up the Parsonage, and he should take pupils. There
is a charming little house in the neighbouring village that would suit
us. But no; he seemed to shrink from this plan too. He said he must go
entirely away from Harbury."

"And for how long?"

"I cannot tell--he did not say. I should think, not above a year--his
mother may not have many more years to spend with him;" and there was a
little trembling of Mrs. Gwynne's mouth; but she continued with dignity:
"Do not imagine, Olive, that I mean to blame my son. He has done what he
thought right. Against my wish, or my happiness, he would not have done
it at all. So I did not let him see any little pain it might have given
me. 'Twas best not. Now we will let the subject rest."

But, though they spoke no more, Olive speculated vainly on what had
induced Harold to take this precipitate journey. She thought she had
known him so thoroughly--better than any one else could. But in him lay
mysteries beyond her ken. She could only still rest on that which had
comforted her in all she suffered;--an entire faith in him and in his
goodness.

Mrs. Gwynne sat an hour or two, and then rose to return to the
Parsonage. "We must be home before it is dark, little Ailie and I. We
have no one to take care of us now."

Some pain was visible as she said this. When she took her grandchild by
the hand, and walked down the garden, it seemed to Olive that the old
lady's step was less firm than usual. Her heart sprang to Harold's
mother.

"Let me walk with you a little way, Mrs. Gwynne. I am thoroughly rested
now; and as for coming back alone, I shall not mind it."

"What a little trembling arm it is for me to lean on!" said Mrs.