ful.

"I'm not that," said Nora with quivering lips. "I love you, and I'm
grateful to you. But your life isn't for me, after all. I thought it
was--I longed so for it. And I loved it, too--I love it yet. But
there's something stronger in me that holds me here."

"I don't think you realize what you are doing, Nora. You have been a
little homesick and you are glad to be back. But after we have gone
and you must settle into the old Racicot life again, you will not be
contented. You will find that your life with us will have unfitted you
for this. There will be no real place for you here--nothing for you to
do. You will be as a stranger here."

"Oh, no. I am going to marry Rob Fletcher," said Nora proudly.

"Marry Rob Fletcher! And you might have married Clark Bryant, Nora!"

Nora shook her head. "That could never have been. I thought it might
once--but I know better now. You see, I love Rob."

There did not seem to be anything more to say after that. Mrs. Cameron
did not try to say anything. She went away in sorrow.

Nora cried bitterly after she had gone. But there were no tears in her
eyes that night when she walked on the shore with Rob Fletcher. The
wind whistled around them, and the stars came out in the great ebony
dome of the sky over the harbour. Laughter and song of the fishing
folk were behind them, and the deep, solemn call of the sea before.
Over the harbour gleamed the score of lights at Dalveigh. Rob looked
from them to Nora.

"Do you think you'll ever regret yon life, my girl?"

"Never, Rob. It seems to me now like a beautiful garment put on for a
holiday and worn easily and pleasantly for a time. But I've put it off
now, and put on workaday clothes again. It is only a week since I left
Dalveigh, but it seems long ago. Listen to the wind, Rob! It is
singing of the good days to be for you and me."

He bent over and kissed her.

"My own dear lass!" he said softly.

The Martyrdom of Estella

Estella was waiting under the poplars at the gate for Spencer Morgan.
She was engaged to him, and he always came to see her on Saturday and
Wednesday evenings. It was after sunset, and the air was mellow and
warm-hued. The willow trees along the walk and the tall birches in the
background stood out darkly distinct against the lemon-tinted sky. The
breath of mint floated out from the garden, and the dew was falling
heavily.

Estella leaned against the gate, listening for the sound of wheels and
drea