The young man turned away despairingly from her rigid attitude. So be
it--he had brought his fate on himself.

He had gone but a few steps when Estella suddenly found her voice with
a gasp.

"Spencer!" He came swiftly back. "Oh, Spencer--do--you--do you love me
still?"

He caught her hands in his.

"Love you--oh, Estella, yes, yes! I always have. That other wasn't
love--it was just madness. When it passed I hated life because I'd
lost you. I know you can't forgive me, but, oh--"

He broke down. Estella flung her arms around his neck and put her face
up to his. She felt as if her heart must break with its great
happiness. He understood her mute pardon. In their kiss the past was
put aside. Estella's martyrdom was ended.

The Old Chest at Wyther Grange

When I was a child I always thought a visit to Wyther Grange was a
great treat. It was a big, quiet, old-fashioned house where
Grandmother Laurance and Mrs. DeLisle, my Aunt Winnifred, lived. I was
a favourite with them, yet I could never overcome a certain awe of
them both. Grandmother was a tall, dignified old lady with keen black
eyes that seemed veritably to bore through one. She always wore
stiffly-rustling gowns of rich silk made in the fashion of her youth.
I suppose she must have changed her dress occasionally, but the
impression on my mind was always the same, as she went trailing about
the house with a big bunch of keys at her belt--keys that opened a
score of wonderful old chests and boxes and drawers. It was one of my
dearest delights to attend Grandmother in her peregrinations and watch
the unfolding and examining of all those old treasures and heirlooms
of bygone Laurances.

Of Aunt Winnifred I was less in awe, possibly because she dressed in a
modern way and so looked to my small eyes more human and natural. As
Winnifred Laurance she had been the beauty of the family and was a
handsome woman still, with brilliant dark eyes and cameo-like
features. She always looked very sad, spoke in a low sweet voice, and
was my childish ideal of all that was high-bred and graceful.

I had many beloved haunts at the Grange, but I liked the garret best.
It was a roomy old place, big enough to have comfortably housed a
family in itself, and was filled with cast-off furniture and old
trunks and boxes of discarded finery. I was never tired of playing
there, dressing up in the old-fashioned gowns and hats and practising
old-time dance steps before the high,