He looked up in sudden apprehension. Middleton's Is anything the matter?" "No; it isn't Aunt Middleton's.

"Is it about a will? Mrs.

It's mine," was the composed

reply. But seeing relief, and almost amusement, on his face, she added hastily, "I can make a will, can't I? I'm twenty-one, you know. It's my birthday to-day."

"Then I wish you many happy returns of the day."

"Thank you; but can I make will?"

my

"Of course you can make a will."

"A will that will be good," Sissy insisted, still speaking in the low tone she had adopted when she began to explain the object of her visit. "Can I make it here and now?"

"You "Not on horseback, I think," said Hardwicke, with a smile. would be tired of sitting here while we took down all instructions. your It isn't very quick work making ladies' wills. They generally leave no end of legacies. I suppose they are so good, they don't forget anybody."

"Mine won't be like that. Mine will be very short," Sissy said. "And I suppose I am not good, for I shall forget almost everybody in it." She laughed as she said it, yet something in her voice struck Hardwicke as curiously earnest. "I will come in, I think, and tell you about it," she went on. "I want to make it to-day."

"To-day!" he repeated, as he helped her to dismount.

"Yes. I'll tell you," said Sissy, entering his room, "and you'll tell Mr. Hardwicke, won't you? I'll get the Elliotts to give me some luncheon, and then I can come here again between two and three. I shall have to sign it, or something, shan't I? Do tell your father I want it all to be finished to-day."

"I'll tell him."

"Tell him it's my birthday, so of course I must do just as I please, and have everything I want, to-day. I don't know whether that's the law, but I'm sure it ought to be."

"Of course it ought to be," Henry replied, with fervour. think I can undertake to say that it shall be our law, anyhow."

"And I

"Thank you," said Sissy. "I shall be so very glad. And it can't take long. I only want him to say that I wish all that I have to go to Percival Thorne."

"To Percival," Hardwicke repeated, with a sensation as if she had suddenly stabbed him. "To Percival Thorne. Yes. Is that all I am

to say?"

"That's all. I want it all to be for Percival Thorne, to do just what he likes with it. That can't take long, surely."

Hardwicke bit the end of a penholder that he had picked up, and looked uneasily at her. "You're awfully anxious to get this done, Miss Langton-you aren't ill, are you?"

"Oh, I'm well enough, much better than I was last year," said Sissy,

lightly. "But there's no good in putting things of this sort off, you know"-she dropped her voice-"as poor Mr. Thorne did. And your father said once, that if I didn't make a will when I came of age, my money would all go to Sir Charles Langton. He doesn't really want any more, I should think, for they say he is very rich. And he is only a second cousin of mine, and I have never seen him. It's funny, having so few relations, isn't it?"

"Very," said Hardwicke.

"And some people have such a lot," said Sissy, thoughtfully. "But I always feel as if the Thornes were my relations."

has

"I suppose so. At any rate, I don't see that Sir Charles Langton any claim upon you." There was silence for a minute, Sissy drawing an imaginary outline on Hardwicke's carpet with her riding-whip, he following her every movement with his eyes.

"I shall have to sign both my Christian names, I suppose?" she said, abruptly.

"Have you two? I didn't know. What is the other?" "Jane."

"Jane-I like that," said Henry. Yes, sign them both." "Thank you. I don't want to seem like an idiot to your father. I should like it best if I could just write 'Sissy,' and nothing else, as I do at the end of my letters. When I see Cecilia Jane Langton,' I feel inclined to call out, 'This is none of I!' like the old woman."

Everything to Percival Thorne."

"Percival Thorne is an uncommonly lucky fellow," said the young man, looking down.

Sissy stopped short, glanced at him, and coloured. In her anxiety she had never considered the light in which the bequest might strike Henry Hardwicke. In fact, she had not thought of him at all, except as a messenger. She was accustomed to take him for granted on any occasion. She had known him all her life, and he was always, in her eyes, the big friendly boy, with whom she pulled crackers, and played blindman's buff, at children's parties. She dreamed of no possible romance with Henry, and did not imagine that he could have such a dream about her. He was as harmless as a brother, without a brother's right to question and criticise. It was precisely that feeling which had been at the root of the friendliness which the Fordborough gossips took for a flirtation. They could not have been more utterly mistaken. She liked Henry Hardwicke; she knew that he was honest, and honourable, and good; but if any one had said that he was a worthy young man, I believe she would have assented. And that is the last adjective which a girl would apply to her ideal.

Sissy's scheme had been in her mind through all the winter, but she had always imagined herself stating her intentions, in a business-like

way, to old Mr. Hardwicke, who was a friend of the family. She had been so thunderstruck when she found that he was out, that she had taken Henry into her confidence at a moment's warning. She dared not risk any delay. It would be impossible to go home, leaving Percival's future insecure. Suppose she died that night-and she was struck with the fantastic coincidence of Mr. Hardwicke's second absence at the critical moment-suppose she felt herself dying, and knew that the only thing she could have done for Percival was left undone! She could not face the possibility of that agony. Indeed she wondered how she had lived through the long hours which had elapsed, since the clock struck twelve, and the day began which made her twenty-one; not the girl Sissy any longer, but the woman who held Percival's fortune in her hands. How could she have gone away with her purpose unfulfilled?

When Henry said "Percival Thorne is an uncommonly lucky fellow," she coloured, but only that transient flush betrayed her, for she answered readily.

"Why, Mr. Hardwicke, what a dreadful thing to say to me! I hope you don't have second sight, or anything horrible of that sort?"

"Second sight," Henry repeated doubtfully, looking down at a little dangling eyeglass, "what's that?"

"Oh, you must know! Isn't it second sight when you can tell if people are going to die? You see them in their winding-sheets, and they are low down if it will only be rather soon. But if it is to be quite directly, their shrouds are wrapped round them, high up. mine like, that you said Percival Thorne was so lucky? Up to here?" And, standing before him, she smiled, and touched her chin.

What was

"God forbid!" said Henry. "How can you say such fearful things?"

"Oh! you didn't see it then? I'm very glad."

"Good heavens-no! And I don't believe it. I didn't mean that Thorne would be lucky if you died!"

"I can't do him any good any other way," said Sissy, with sweet composure; "but I don't think I'm going to die, so I don't suppose I shall do him any good at all. Do you think this is a strange fancy of mine? The truth is, Aunt Middleton and I have been unhappy about Percival ever since last May, because we know his grandfather meant to have done something for him. He isn't rich, and he ought to have had Brackenhill, so I should like him to have my money if I die. It is only a chance, because I daresay I may live fifty years or so-only fancy !— but I would rather Percival had the chance than Sir Charles. That's all. You'll explain it to your father? It can't do any harm, if it does no good."

I see. It can't do any harm."

"Oh, no; "And now I'll be off," laughed Sissy. "How dreadfully I have

made

you waste your time! I daresay if I hadn't been here, you would have written ever so many things on parchment, and tied them up with

red tape."

"Oh yes, quantities!" Hardwicke replied, as he escorted her to the door.

dustrious."

"A cart-load at least. I'm glad you think I'm so in

Standing outside, he said something about her horse. He did not like Firefly's look, and he told her so. Moreover he threatened to tell

Mrs. Middleton his bad opinion of Sissy's favourite.

"Nonsense!" she answered, lightly. "There's nothing to be afraid of." But suddenly she turned and looked at him. "Don't you really think Firefly is safe?" she said. "Well, I must see about it. William, I'm not going back now, and I think I'll walk to Mrs. Elliott's. You had better meet me here at half-past two."

And with a parting glance at Hardwicke, she went away down the sunshiny street, and he stood looking after her. He would have liked to be her escort to the Elliotts' house, but he had her message to deliver

Besides, to tell the

to his father, and he knew she would not permit it. truth, she had taken him by surprise, and gone away before he thought of anything of the kind. So he could only stand bareheaded on the office steps, watching her as she went on her way. But suddenly his lips parted to let out a word, which certainly would not have escaped him had he been by Sissy's side.

"There's that Fothergill fellow!" said Henry, recognising the Captain's slim figure, and black moustache. And he turned on his heel and went in.

He was quite right. It was Fothergill who came sauntering along the pavement, looking at the shop windows, at the passers-by, at the preparations for the market, with quick eyes and an interest which con veyed the impression of his superiority to it all, better than any affectation of languid indifference. His glances seemed to say, "And this is a country town—a market-these are farmers-people live here all their lives!" But when he saw Sissy Langton he came forward eagerly. And perhaps it was just as well that he was at hand to be her squire through the busy little street, for the girl was seized with a new and unaccountable nervousness. A bit of orange-peel, lying in the road, caused her a sudden tremor. Two or three meek and wondering cows, which gazed vacantly round in search of their familiar pasture, appeared to her as a herd of savage brutes. She looked distrustfully up and down the road, and waited at the pavement's edge for a donkey-cart to pass, before she dared attempt a crossing. It was just at this moment that the Captain appeared, quickening his pace, and lifting his hat; only too ready to guard her through all the perils of a Fordborough market-day.

Henry Hardwicke hated reading, and had no particular love for the law. His father said he was a fool, and was inordinately fond of him,

nevertheless. It might be that the old lawyer was right on both points. And, dull as Henry was supposed to be, he was capable of delicate feelings and perceptions, as far as Sissy Langton was concerned. It seemed to him that accident had revealed to him a hidden wound in her heart; and the revelation pained him, not selfishly, for he had never hoped for himself, but because of the secret suffering which it implied. His one idea was to do her bidding, yet not betray her. He delivered her message to his father, with a tact of which he was himself unconscious. On his lips it became no less urgent, but he dwelt especially on Sissy's desire to see justice done to the man who had been accidentally disinherited; on her feeling that she owed more to the Thornes, whose home and love she had shared, than to the Langtons, with whom she shared nothing but a name; and on her impatience of even an hour's delay, because the Squire's sudden death had made a deep impression on her mind.

All this, translated into Harry's blunt and simple speech, was intelligible enough to Mr. Hardwicke. The girlish whim that all should be done on her birthday made him smile; but the remembrance of Godfrey Thorne was present in his mind as in hers. He did not attach much importance to the whole affair, and felt that he should not be overwhelmed with surprise should he hear a few months later that Sissy was going to be married to some one else, and wanted to make some compromise-perhaps to resign the Squire's legacy to Percival. To his eyes it looked more like an attempt at restitution than anything else. "She is sorry for him, poor fellow," thought Hardwicke. "She did not know her own mind, and now she would like to atone to him somehow."

Sissy came back, alone, at the time she had fixed, looking white and anxious. A client came out as she arrived, and five farmers were waiting in the office to see Mr. Hardwicke; therefore, though she was ushered in at once, the interview was brief. The old lawyer paid her a smiling compliment on her promptitude. "We have to advise people to make their wills sometimes," he said, "but you are beforehand with us." Sissy expressed a fear that she had troubled him on a very busy day, and he assured her that, to blame her, because her twenty-first birthday happened to fall on a Friday, would be the last thing he should think of doing. Then the girl looked up at him, and said that old Mr. Thorne had always been so good to her, and she thought that perhaps, if he could see, he would be glad-so she could not put it off-she stopped abruptly, and her eyes filled. Mr. Hardwicke bent his head in silent acquiescence; the brief document was duly signed and witnessed; and Sissy went away, riding home as if she had never known what fear meant. Suppose Firefly threw her, what then? She had been to Mr. Hardwicke, and though her "Cecilia Jane Langton" was not all she could have wished, because she was nervous, and Mr. Hardwicke's pen was so scratchy, still there it was. And was not the paper, thus signed, a talisman against all dread of death?