hs of the girl's heart as a fierce wind stirs the
ripples on a lake.

As the sunlight fell through the green leaves and rested on her, the
change in her was wonderful to see. The beautiful, noble face had lost
all its pride, all its defiance; the play of the lips was tremulous,
sensitive, and gentle; the light in the dark eyes was of love and
kindness. Time had added to her loveliness; the grand, statuesque figure
had developed more perfectly; the graceful attitudes, the unconscious
harmony, the indefinable grace and fascination were more apparent than
ever. But she no longer carried her grand beauty as a protest, but made
it rather the crown of a pure and perfect womanhood.

Something dimmed the brightness of her face, for Sir Vane had come to
her with strange news and a strange prayer. His arm was clasped round
her as they walked under the shadow of the limes where lovers' footsteps
had so often strayed.

"Yes, Pauline, it has come so unexpectedly at last," spoke Sir Vane.
"Ever since Graveton has been in office, my dear mother has been
unwearied in asking for an appointment for me. You know the story of our
impoverished fortunes, and how anxious my dear mother is to retrieve
them."

Her hand seemed to tighten its clasp on his, as she answered:

"Yes, I know."

"Now an opportunity has come. Graveton, in answer to my mother's
continued requests, has found for me a most lucrative office; but, alas,
my love, it is in India, and I must shortly set out."

"In India!" repeated Pauline; "and you must set out shortly, Vane? How
soon?"

"In a fortnight from now," he answered. "It is an office that requires
filling up at once, Pauline. I have come to ask if you will accompany
me? Will you pardon the short notice, and let me take my wife with me to
that far-off land? Do not let me go alone into exile--come with me,
darling."

The color and light died out of her beautiful face, her lips quivered,
and her eyes grew dim as with unshed tears.

"I cannot," she replied; and there was a silence between them that
seemed full of pain.

"You cannot, Pauline!" he cried, and the sadness and disappointment in
his voice made her lips quiver again. "Surely you will not allow any
feminine nonsense about dress and preparations, any scruple about the
shortness of time, to come between us? My mother bade me say that if you
will consent she will busy herself night and day to help us to prepare.
She bade me add her prayer to mine. Oh,