r locks touching her flaxen curls as he held the shining
trowel to her, and Harry's bright head and hardy face, as he knelt on
one knee to guide the little soft hand, while Hector stood by, still and
upright, his eyes fixed far away, as if his thoughts were roaming to the
real founder.

The Victoria coins were placed--Gertrude scooped up the mass of mortar,
and spread it about with increasing satisfaction, as it went so smoothly
and easily, prolonging the operation, till Harry drew her back, while,
slowly down creaked the ponderous corner-stone into the bed that she had
prepared for it, and, with a good will, she gave three taps on it with
her trowel.

Harry had taken her hand, when, at the sight of Dr. May, she broke from
him, and, as if taking sudden fright at her own unwonted part, ran, at
full speed, straight up to her father, and clung to him, hiding her face
as he raised her in his arms and kissed her.

Meanwhile the strain arose:

Thou heavenly, new Jerusalem,
Vision of peace, in Prophet's dream;
With living stones, built up on high,
And rising to the starry sky--

The blessing of peace seemed to linger softly and gently in the fragrant
summer breeze, and there was a pause ere the sounds of voices awoke
again.

"Etheldred--" Mr. Wilmot stood beside her, ere going to unrobe in the
school--"Etheldred, you must once let me say, God bless you for this."

As she knelt beside her sister's sofa, on her return home, Margaret
pressed something into her hand. "If you please, dearest, give this
to Dr. Spencer, and ask him to let it be set round the stem of the
chalice," she whispered.

Ethel recognised Alan Ernescliffe's pearl hoop, the betrothal ring, and
looked at her sister without a word.

"I wish it," said Margaret gently. "I shall like best to know it there."

So Margaret joined in Alan's offering, and Ethel dared say no more, as
she thought how the "relic of a frail love lost" was becoming the "token
of endless love begun." There was more true union in this, than in
clinging to the mere tangible emblem--for broken and weak is all
affection that is not knit together above in the One Infinite Love.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Of lowly fields you think no scorn,
Yet gayest gardens would adorn,
And grace wherever set;
Home, seated in your lowly bower,
Or wedded, a transplanted flower,
I bless you, Margaret.--CHARL