ave no other kindred tie--nothing in the whole wide world to love
beside. She laid her cheek against his hair--but softly, lest she should
waken him.

"I thought to have led a whole long lonely life for thy sake, Harold!
And I would have led it, without murmuring, either against Heaven or
thee, knowing my own un-worthiness. But since it is not to be so, I will
give thee instead a whole life of faithful love--a wife's love--such as
never was wife's before."

And then, over long years, her fancy went back, discerning how all
things had worked together to this end. She saw how patience had ripened
into hope, and suffering into joy. Not one step of the whole weary way
had been trodden in vain--not one thorn had pierced her feet, that had
not while entering there distilled a saving balm.

Travelling over many scenes, her memory beheld Harold, as in those early
days when her influence and her prayers had changed his heart, and led
him from darkness to light. Again, as in the first bitterness of her
love for him; when continually he tortured her, never dreaming of the
wounds he gave. And once more, as in the time, when knowing her fate,
she had calmly prepared to meet it, and tried to make herself a true
friend unto him--he so unresponsive, cold, and stern. Remembering him
thus, she looked at him as he lay, turning for rest and comfort to
her--only her. Once more she kissed his forehead as he slept, and then
her lips uttered the words with which Mrs. Flora had blessed her.

"O God, I thank Thee, for Thou hast given me my heart's desire!"

Soon after, Mrs. Gwynne entered the room. But no blush came to Olive's
cheek--too solemn was her joy.

"Hush!" she whispered; "do not wake him. He loves me--I know it now. You
will not be angry?--I have loved him always."

"I knew it, Olive."

Harold's mother stood a long time in silence. Heaven only knows what
struggle there might have been in her heart--so bound up as it was in
him--her only child. Ere it ended--he awoke.

"Mother!--is not that my mother?"

"Yes!" Mrs. Gwynne answered. She went up and kissed them both, first her
son, and afterwards Olive. Then, without speaking, she quitted the room,
leaving them alone together.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

It was a Sunday afternoon, not bright, but dull. All the long day the
low clouds had been dropping freshness down;--the soft May-rain, which
falls warm and silent, as if the spring were weeping itself away for
very gladness. Th