lass. "Laces and ribbons, beautiful blue
ribbons with pink spots, like the Squire's nieces wore last Sunday.
The tall girl was dreadfully plain, and I should have looked so well in
her silk gown, with the shorter sister's chiffon fichu."

Eleanor's face brightens at the recollection of those costumes in the
Manor House pew, which appeared so lovely in her eyes while she played
the Magnificat. Dreams of dainty dresses are dear to her heart as the
occasional thoughts of love which steal over her at times. "If the two
could be combined," she thinks, "love and wealth."

It is amazing this new and sudden desire for something better, which
all but stops the beating of Eleanor's heart.

"If he loved me," she gasps "_if_--" she staggers back against the
half-closed door, her fingers clenched and pressed to her temples,
throbbing with intense excitement. All the thoughts that crowd to her
brain are offsprings of that improbable "if," each moment growing more
dazzling!

She hastens with light footsteps to an old cupboard in which her mother
has treasured some hand-made lace left in her aunt's will to the
Grebbys of Copthorne Farm.

She turns down her collar to reveal a shapely throat, pearly white, and
hidden usually from the sun's scorching power, round which the soft
folds of lace fall entrancingly.

What would Eleanor's mother say could she see her precious heirloom
donned hastily on this busy market morning, to adorn her daughter's
neck for a stroll through the fields! It is sacrilege surely, but the
prize!

The girl closes the cupboard noiselessly, creeping away like a criminal
out into the glaring day. Her eyes dance, her cheeks are flushed, and
her hair escaping (as if by accident) from its neat braids, waves in
dainty tendrils round her ears.

"I _am_ beautiful," she murmurs to herself, "why not? Stranger things
have happened--Eleanor Roche, the wife of a rich man--oh!"

The last is a gasp of hitherto unexpressed surprise at the audacity of
her day dreams.

Philip is waiting by the barley field, watching for her. As she sees
him she slackens her steps, not wishing to appear over anxious for the
rendezvous. He advances eagerly, grasps her hands, and devours her
with his eyes.

"So we meet again, Eleanor," he whispers. "I _must_ call you Eleanor;
you don't mind?"

A bold answer that inwardly makes her tremble enters the girl's head.
Why not place herself on an equality with him at once? She nerves