id Mrs. Trevor hospitably, "but
come and see us as often as you can. Your uncle is quite at home here,
and we shall be delighted if you will make yourself so too!"

"I shall only be too glad to avail myself of your kindness."

"I will come with you to the gate," said his uncle, and Will went out
in a maze of happiness.

"My dear boy," said Dr. Owen, taking his arm as they passed together up
the broad avenue, "I have done a good thing for you to-day. I have
introduced you to the nicest family in the neighbourhood. Keep up
their acquaintance, it will give you a good standing."

"You are very good to me, sir," said Will. "I don't know how to thank
you."

"By going on as you have begun, William. I am very pleased to find you
such a congenial companion. I mean to be good to you, better than you
can imagine. I am a lonely old man, and you must come and brighten up
my home for me."

"Anything I can do," said Will warmly.

"Well, well, no promises, my dear boy. I shall see how you go on. I
believe we shall get on very well together. Good-bye, I shall see you
tomorrow."

"You evidently take a great interest in your nephew," said Mrs. Trevor,
on the Dr.'s return to the house, "and I am not surprised. He seems a
very nice fellow, so natural and unaffected, and so like you in
appearance; he might be a son of yours."

"Yes," said Dr. Owen thoughtfully, "I am greatly pleased with him. You
see I am a lonely man. I have no one else to care for, so I shall
watch the young man's career with great interest. He will be
everything to me, and with God's help I will do everything for him."

"He is a lucky fellow indeed," said Mrs. Trevor.

"Well, yes, I think he will be."

Gwenda was sitting quietly at work in the bay window, where not a word
of this conversation was lost upon her. Was it possible that bright
hopes were dawning even for her, who had been tossed about from early
girlhood upon the sea of matrimonial schemes? Schemes from which her
honest nature had revolted; for Gwenda Vaughan had within her a fund of
right feeling and common sense, a warmth of heart which none of the
frivolous, shallow-minded men with whom she had come in contact had
ever moved. Attracted only by her beauty, they sought for nothing
else, while she, conscious of a depth of tenderness waiting for the
hand which should unseal its fountain, turned with unsatisfied
yearnings from all her admirers and so-called "lovers." She had felt