n her new-found happiness, placed the
envelope, around which the damp still hung, beneath her pillow, and
dreamed of the bright future she deemed in store for her.

He would write to her, or perhaps come and see her; yes, he would come
and see her, and let her hear from his own lips what his missive had so
plainly hinted at. And in her happiness she waited. She waited, and
waited till her heart grew sick with disappointed longing.

The days passed, but never a word came from the one who had grown so
dear to her, and as they passed the gladness faded from her face, and
the light went out from her eyes.

At last she could but feel that she had been mistaken. It was only a
foolish joke that had meant nothing, and her heart grew hot within her.
How could she have been so weak and silly as to have imagined such a
thing? She put the envelope and its contents away, and, saddened and
subdued, fought bravely to return to her former self.

Miss Clayton made a slow recovery, and when convalescent went for a
change to the sea, carrying off Selina with her, for she had noticed the
change in the girl, and put it down to her labours in the sick-room.

School-time commenced again, but without Maude Elliott as a pupil; she
had gone to be "finished" to a school in Lausanne, and it was months
before Selina received a letter from her, and then she only casually
mentioned that her cousin Edgar had left them directly after Christmas
for a good appointment in Brazil, where he expected to remain for some
years.

With that letter the last traces of Selina Martyn's romance ended. It
had crossed her life like a shooting star, and had only left a
remembrance behind.

But that remembrance never entirely died; its sharp edge was dulled, and
as the years went on--and in time she took Miss Clayton's place as the
head of Seaton Lodge--she came to regard the unrequited bestowal of her
young affections as an incident to be smiled over, without any
vindictive feelings.

And now, when the silver hairs were beginning to make their appearance
among the ruddy gold, she would each Christmas take out from its
hiding-place in the old-fashioned, brass-bound writing-desk the
time-stained envelope, and compare the old-world design within with the
modern and more florid cards, and in her heart of hearts she found more
beauty in the simple wreath of holly with the couple of robins perched
above and the bunch of mistletoe hanging below than in its more ornate