e here. And her full heart, hardly conscious why, ran over with a
trembling joy.

Nevertheless, amidst all her own hope, she remembered tenderly her poor
sister far away. And also Lyle, whom since that day he parted from
her she had never seen. Thinking, "How sweet it is to feel happy!" she
thought likewise--as those who have suffered ever must--"Heaven make all
the world happy too!"

It was just after this silent aspiration, which of all others must bring
an answering blessing down, that the long-desired one came home. His
mother heard him first.

"Hark--there's some one in the hall. Listen, Olive! It is his voice--I
know it is! He is come home--my son!--my dear son, Harold." And with
eager, trembling steps, she hurried out.

Olive stayed behind. She had no right to go and meet him, as his mother
did. And after one wild throb, her heart sank, so faintly that she could
hardly stand.

His voice--his long silent voice! Hearing it, the old feeling came
over her. She shuddered, even with a sort of fear. "Heaven save me
from myself! Heaven keep my heart at peace! Perhaps he will not suffer
himself to love me, or does not wish me to love him. I have thought so
sometimes. Yes! I am quite calm--quite ready to meet him now." And she
felt herself growing all white and cold as she stood.

The door opened, and Harold came in alone. Not one step could she
advance to meet him, not one word of welcome fell from her lips,--nor
from his, which were pale as her own. But as he clasped her hands and
held them fast, she felt him gazing down upon her--now, for the first
time, beginning to read her heart. Something in that fond--ay, it was
a fond look--was drawing her closer to him--something that told her she
was dearer than any friend. It might have happened so--that moment might
have proved the crowning moment of life, which blends two hearts of man
and woman into one love, making their being complete, as God meant it
should be.

But at the same instant Mrs. Gwynne came in. Their hands fell from one
another; Harold quitted Olive's side, and began talking to his mother.

Olive stood by herself in the window. She felt as if her whole destiny
was changing--melting from cloud to glory--like the sunset she had
watched an hour before. Whatever was the mystery that had kept him
silent, she believed that in the secret depth of his heart Harold loved
her. Once she had thought, that were this knowledge true, the joy would
overpower her rea