and
leave you to tell him what seems best, for, with the instinct of an
animal, I always go away to outlive my hurts alone. But remember that I
acquit you of blame, and believe that I will yet be happy in your
happiness. I know if Geoffrey were here, he would let me do this,
because he has suffered as I suffer now."

Bending, he gathered her to an embrace as different from that other as
despair is from delight, and while he held her there, crowding into one
short minute, all the pain and passion of a year, she heard a low, but
exceeding bitter cry--"Oh, my Sylvia! it is hard to give you up." Then
with a solemn satisfaction, which assured her as it did himself, he
spoke out clear and loud--

"Thank God for the merciful Hereafter, in which we may retrieve the
blunders we make here."

With that he left her, never turning till the burden so joyfully cast
down had been resumed. Then, staff and hat in hand, he paused on the
margin of that granite cup, to him a cup of sorrow, and looked into its
depths again. Clouds were trooping eastward, but in that pause the sun
glanced full on Warwick's figure, lifting his powerful head into a flood
of light, as he waved his hand to Sylvia with a gesture of courage and
good cheer. The look, the act, the memories they brought her, made her
heart ache with a sharper pang than pity, and filled her eyes with tears
of impotent regret, as she turned her head as if to chide the blithe
clamor of the horn. When she looked again, the figure and the sunshine
were both gone, leaving her alone and in the shadow.

CHAPTER XIV.

A FIRESIDE FETE.

"No cousin Faith to-night. The rain has prevented her from taking this
boat, and she is not likely to come later as she comes alone," said
Moor, returning from a fruitless drive to meet his expected guest one
October evening.

"It always rains when I want anything very much. I seem to have a great
deal of bad weather in my life," answered Sylvia, despondingly.

"Never mind the rain; let us make sunshine for ourselves, and forget it
as children do."

"I wish I was a child again, they are always happy."

"Let us play at being children, then. Let us sit down upon the rug,
parch corn, crack nuts, roast apples, and be merry in spite of wind or
weather."

Sylvia's face brightened, for the fancy pleased her, and she wanted
something new and pleasant to divert her thoughts from herself. Glancing
at her dress, which was unusually matronly in honor