ght
have done, letting her cry her fill, smoothing the glossy hair, kissing
the slender hands, calling her by names never to be forgotten.

"My darling--my darling! my bride--my wife!"

She lifted her face at last and looked at him as she never had looked at
mortal man before. In that moment he had his infinite reward. She
loved him as only these strong-hearted, passionate women can love--once
and forever.

"Love me, Everard," she whispered, holding him close. "I have no one in
the world now but you."

* * * * *

That night Harrie Hunsden left the old home forever. The Reverend Cyrus
drove her to the rectory in the rainy twilight, and still her lover sat
by her side, as it was his blissful privilege to sit. She clung to him
now, in her new desolation, as she might never have learned to cling in
happier times.

The rector's wife received the young girl with open arms, and embraced
her with motherly heartiness.

"My poor, pale darling!" she said, kissing the cold cheeks. "You must
stay with us until your lost roses come back."

But Harriet shook her head.

"I will go to France at once, please," she said, mournfully. "Madame
Beaufort was always good to me, and it was his last wish."

Her voice choked. She turned away her head.

"It shall be as you say, my dear. But who is to take you?"

"Mrs. Hilliard, and--I think--Sir Everard Kingsland."

Mrs. Hilliard had been housekeeper at Hunsden Hall, and was a distant
relative of the family. Under the new dynasty she was leaving, and had
proffered her services to escort her young mistress to Paris.

The Reverend Cyrus, who hated crossing the channel, had closed with the
offer at once, and Sir Everard was to play protector.

One week Miss Hunsden remained at the rectory, fortunately so busied by
her preparations for departure that no time was left for brooding over
her bereavement.

And then, in spite of that great trouble, there was a sweet, new-born
bliss flooding her heart.

How good he was to her--her handsome young lover--how solicitous, how
tender, how devoted! She could lay her hand shyly on his shoulder, in
these calm twilights, and nestle down in his arms, and feel that life
held something unutterably sweet and blissful for her still.

As for Everard, he lived at the rectory. He rode home every night, and
he mostly breakfasted at the Court; but to all intents and purposes he
dwelt at the parsonage.

"Where the treasu