liation,
she returned to her "Egmont," resuming her translation of a speech by
"Claerchen." Ere long Hattie knocked at the door:

"Mr. Palma says, please to come down to the library; he wishes to
speak to you."

"Ask him if he will not be so kind as to wait till morning? Say I
shall feel very much obliged if he will excuse me tonight."

In a few minutes she returned:

"He is sorry he must trouble you to come down this evening, as he
leaves home to-morrow."

"Very well."

She went to the drawer that contained all her souvenirs of Mr.
Lindsay, and lingered some minutes, looking sorrowfully at the
photograph; then passed her lips to the melancholy image, and as if
strengthened by communion with the dead face, went down to the
library.

Mr. Palma was walking slowly up and down the long room, and had
paused in front of the snowy azalea. As she approached he put out his
hand and took hers, for the first time since they had sat together in
the Park.

"How deliciously this perfumes the room, and it must be yours, for no
other member of the household cares for flowers, and I see a cluster
of the same blossoms in your hair."

"I had forgotten that Olga fastened them there this afternoon. I
bought it from the greenhouse in ---- Street, where I often get
bouquets to place under mother's picture. Azaleas were Mr. Lindsay's
favourite flowers, and that fact tempted me to make the purchase. We
had just such a one as this at the parsonage, and on his birthday we
covered the pot with white cambric, fringed the edge with violets,
and set it in the centre of the breakfast-table; and the bees came in
and swung over it."

She had withdrawn her hand, and folding her fingers, leaned her face
on them, a position which she often assumed when troubled. Her left
hand was uppermost, and the opal and diamonds seemed pressed against
her lips, though she was unconscious of their close proximity. Mr.
Palma broke off a cluster of three half-expanded flowers, twisted the
stem into the buttonhole of his coat, and answered coldly:

"Flowers are always associated in my mind with early recollections of
my mother, who had her own greenhouse and conservatories. They appear
to link you with the home of your former guardian, and the days that
were happier than those you speed here."

"That dear parsonage was my happiest home, and I shall always cherish
its precious memories."

"Happier than a residence under my roof has been? Be so good as to