your dear mother, that I would bring myself to it, if I
could; but the very thought brings Archie up so vividly before me
that I cannot! He has almost seemed to be sitting by me all this
time. It seems as though beginning again would kill my right to
think of him foremost of all."

"I could bear with that and trust to time," said Raymond. "Think it
over, Jenny. I will be candid with you. The old delusion was too
strong for any repetition of that kind, as you may see by the lame
performance I am making now."

Jenny gave a little agitated laugh, and ejaculated, "Dear Raymond!"
then added, "It is not on your account, but mine."

"But," he added, "my marriage is becoming a necessity, if only for
my mother's sake; and you stand far before any other woman with me,
if that would but satisfy you. I verily believe that in a short
time we should be just as comfortable together as if we could start
with more romance."

"I dare say we should, dear Raymond," said Jenny; "but I cannot feel
that it is the right thing, while I have not _that_ feeling for you
which overpowers everything else; it seems to me that I ought not to
give up my place at home. Papa depends on me a good deal, and they
both will want me more and more."

"Less than my mother."

"I don't know; and they are my first duty. I can always come to
your mother when I am wanted, and I know in your secret soul you
prefer me on those terms."

He made no answer, only when passing the lodge he said, "Will you
consider it a little longer, Jenny?"

But this only resulted in a note:--

"DEAR RAYMOND,--Considering only shows me that I must be Archie
Douglas's now and for ever. I can't help it. It is better for
you; for you can find some young girl who can wake your heart
again, as never could be done by your still affectionate J. B."

Raymond and Jenny had met so often since, that the matter was
entirely past, and no one ever guessed it.

At any rate, Rosamond, the most ready to plunge into counsel to
Cecil, was the least likely to have it accepted; Rosamond had
foibles of her own that Cecil knew of, and censured freely enough
within herself.

That never-ending question, whether what became the Colonel's
daughter became the clergyman's wife, would crop up under endless
forms. Rosamond, in all opinions, was good-natured and easy, and
always for pardon and toleration to an extent that the Compton code
could not understand. She could not bear that anybod