aby and I
might die together; for if Hugh can not love me, my sorrow is greater
than I could bear."

CHAPTER XXII.

TWO STRINGS TO ONE BOW.

Over the grass we stepped unto it,
And God He knoweth how blithe we were,
Never a voice to bid us eschew it;
Hey the green ribbon that showed so fair!

The beck grows wider, the hands must sever
On either margin, our songs all done,
We move apart, while she singeth ever
Taking the course of the stooping sun.

JEAN INGELOW.

That room of Mrs. Watkins's was unusually quiet that May evening, only
Fern Trafford was sitting alone by the open window looking out
listlessly at the few passers-by.

Fern's busy hands were idle to-night, and the work lay unheeded in her
lap. There was a shadow too on the fair face, and a little pucker of
anxiety on the smooth girlish forehead, as though some harassing
problem were troubling her.

Fern was not quite happy in her mind. Erle Huntingdon had been there
that very afternoon, but he had not stayed long, and his manner had
been different somehow.

Fern was revolving the visit in rather a troubled way. She wondered if
Erle's decided nervousness and want of ease had been owing to her
mother's rather cool reception of him. Mrs. Trafford had not been
cordial in her manner; she had treated the young man with some
restraint and dignity, and had not pressed him to prolong his visit.
Erle must have felt that he was not wanted, for he had very soon risen
to take his leave, and had gone away a little sadly.

Fern was too loyal to blame her mother, but she wished she had been a
little kinder to poor Erle. Something was vexing him she was sure; he
was not in his usual spirits. Once or twice when there had been a
moment's pause, she had looked up from her work and found him watching
her; and once she was sure that there were tears in his eyes. If they
had only been alone she would have asked him what was the matter, and
if anything was vexing him. He wanted to tell her something, she was
sure, but her mother had been there all the time, and had followed him
to the door herself; and though she had gone to the window for a
parting look he had not once glanced up--he had walked away very fast
with his head bent, as though he were absorbed in thought.

It had not been quite a happy winter to Fern. First Erle and then
Crystal had been away, and she had missed them both