examining the little frond which Edith had given him. "And this is what you call maiden-hair?"

"What should you call it ?"

"A libel!" he answered promptly. "Maiden-hair indeed! Why I can see some a thousand times prettier, quite close by. What can you want with this? You can't see the other, but I'll tell you what it's like. It's the most beautiful brown, with gold in it, and it grows in little ripples, and waves, and curls, and nothing ever was half so fine before, and it catches just the edge of a ray of sunshine-Oh, don't move your head !— and looks like a golden glory"

"Dear me!" said Sissy. "Then I'm afraid it's very rough!"

-"And the least bit of it is worth a cartload of this green rubbish!' "Ah! But you see it is very much harder to get."

6

"Of course it is," said Archie. "But exchange is no robbery, they say. Suppose I go and dig up some of this, don't you think-remembering that I'm a poor sailor boy, going to be banished from England, home, and beauty,' and that I shall most likely be drowned on my next voyage -don't you think

"I think that, on your own showing, you must get me at least a cartload of the other, before you have the face to finish that sentence."

"A cartload! I feel like a prince in a fairy tale. And what would you do with it all?"

"Well, I really hardly know what I should do with it."

"There now!" said Archie. "And I could tell you in a moment what I would do with mine, if you gave it me!"

"Oh, but I could tell you that!"

"Tell me, then."

you

"You would fold it up carefully in a neat little bit of paper, but would not write anything on it, because you would not like it to look business-like. Besides you couldn't possibly forget. And a few months hence you will have lost your heart to some foreign young lady--I don't know where you are going—and you would find the little packet in your desk, and wonder who gave it to you."

"Oh, how little you know me!" Archie exclaimed, and sank back on the turf in a despairing attitude. But a moment later he began to laugh, and sat up again.

"There was a bit once," he said confidentially, "and for the life of me I couldn't think whose it could be. There were two or three girls I knew it couldn't possibly belong to, but that didn't help me very far. That lock of hair quite haunted me—see what it is to have such susceptible feelings! I used to look at it a dozen times a day, and I couldn't sleep at night for thinking of it. At last I said to myself, 'I don't care whose it is-she was a nice, dear girl anyhow, and I'm sure she wouldn't like to think that she bothered me in this way.' So I consigned it to a watery grave. I felt very melancholy when it went, I can tell you, and if my own hair had been a reasonable length, I'd have sent a bit of it

overboard with hers, just for company's sake. But I'd had a fever, and I was cropped like a convict, so I couldn't."

"You tell that little story very nicely," said Sissy when he paused. "Do you always mention it when you ask-"

"Why, no!" Archie exclaimed. "I thought you would take it as it was meant, as the greatest possible compliment to yourself. But I suppose it's my destiny to be misunderstood. Don't you see that I couldn't tell that to anyone, unless I were quite sure that she was so much higher, so altogether apart, that she never-never could get mixed up with anybody else in my mind!"

"She had better have some very particular sort of curliness in her hair too," said Sissy. "Don't you think it would be safer?"

It's sport to you, evidently,

I say, come away, and

Fothergill smiled, but Latimer's handsome face flushed. He had made a dozen attempts to supplant Carroll, and had been foiled by the laughing pair. What was the use of being a good-looking fellow of six and twenty, head of one of the county families, and owner of Latimer's Court and Ashendale, if he was to be set aside by a beggarly sailor-boy! What did Fothergill mean by bringing his poor relations dragging after him where they were not wanted? He sprang to his feet, and went away with long strides to make violent love to the farmer's rosy little daughter. He knew that he meant nothing at all, and that he was filling the poor child's head and heart with the vainest of hopes. He knew that he owed especial respect and consideration to the daughter of his tenant, a man who had dealt faithfully by him, and whose father and grandfather had held Ashendale under the Latimers. He felt that he was acting meanly, even while he kissed little Lucy, by the red wall where the apricots were ripening in the sun. And he had no overmastering passion for excuse-what did he care for little Lucy? He was doing wrong, and he was doing it because it was wrong. He was in a fiercely antagonistic mood, and, as he could not fight Fothergill and Carroll, he fought with his own sense of truth and honour, for want of a better foe. And Lucy, conscious of her rosy prettiness, stood shyly pulling the lavender heads, in a glad bewilderment of vanity, wonder, and delight, while Latimer's heart was full of jealous anger. If Sissy Lang. ton could amuse herself, so could he.

But Sissy was too happily absorbed in her amusement to think of his. She had avoided him, as she had avoided Captain Fothergill, from a sense of danger. They were becoming too serious, too much in earnest, and she did not want to be serious. So she went gaily across the grass, laughing at Archie, because he would look on level ground for her maiden-hair spleenwort. They came to a small enclosure.

"Here you are!" said Carroll. "This is what somebody said was the refectory. It makes one feel quite sad and sentimental, only to think

what a lot of jolly dinners have been eaten here! And nothing left of it all!"

"That's your idea of sentiment, Mr. Carroll? It sounds to me as if you hadn't had enough to eat."

"Oh yes, I had plenty. But we ought to pledge each other in a cup of sack, or something of the kind. And a place like this ought at least to smell deliciously of roast and boiled. Instead of which it might as well be the chapel."

Sissy gazed up at the wall. "There's some maiden-hair!

How was

it I never saw it this morning? Surely we came along the top, and looked down into this place."

"No," said Archie. "That was the chapel we looked into. Didn't I say they were just alike?"

"Well, I can easily get up there," she said. "And you may stay down here if you like, and grow sentimental over the ghost of a dinner." And laughing, she darted up a steep ascent of turf, slackening her pace when she came to a rough heap of fallen stones.

Carroll was by her side directly, helping her. "Why, this is prettier than where we went this morning!" she said, when they reached the top; "you see the whole place better. But it's narrower, I think. This is the west wall, isn't it? Oh! Mr. Carroll, how much the sun has gone down already!"

"I wish I were Moses, or whoever it was, to make it stop," said the boy; "it would stay up there a good long time."

There was a black belt of shadow at the foot of the wall. Archie looked down as if to measure its breadth. A little tuft of green caught his eye, and stooping he pulled it from between the stones.

"Oh! how broken it is here! Doesn't it look as if a giant had taken a great bite out of it?" Sissy exclaimed, at the same moment that he called after her, "Is this right, Miss Langton?"

She turned her head, and for a second's space he saw her bright face, her laughing, parted lips. Then there was a terrible cry, stretched hands at which he snatched instinctively, but in vain, and a stone which slipped and fell heavily. He stumbled forward and recovered himself with an effort. There was blank space before him—and what below?

Archie Carroll half scrambled down by the help of the ivy, half slid, and reached the ground. Thus, at the risk of his life, he gained half a minute, and spent it in kneeling on the grass-a yard away from that which he dared not touch-saying pitifully, "Miss Langton, oh! won't you speak to me, Miss Langton?"

He was in the shadow, but looking across the enclosure he faced a broken doorway in the south-east corner. The ground sloped away a little, and the arch opened into the stainless blue. A sound of footsteps made Carroll look up, and through the archway came Raymond Fothergill. He had heard the cry, he had outrun the rest, and, even in his blank bewilderment of horror, Archie shrank back scared at his cousin's

aspect. His brows and moustache were black as night against the unnatural whiteness of his face, which was like bleached wax. His eyes were terrible. He seemed to reach the spot in an instant. Carroll saw his hands on the stone which had fallen, and lay-on her, O God!—or only on her dress?

Fothergill's features contracted in sudden agony, as he noted the horribly twisted position in which she lay; but he stooped without a moment's hesitation, and lifting her gently, laid her on the turf, resting her head upon his knee. There was a strange contrast between the tenderness with which he supported her, and the fierce anger of his face. Others of the party came rushing on the scene in dismay and horror. "Water!" said Fothergill. "Where's Anderson?" (Anderson was

the young doctor.) "Not here?"

"He went by the fish-ponds with Evelyn," cried Edith suddenly; "I saw him!" Hardwicke darted off.

"Curse him! Playing the fool when he's wanted more than he ever will be again. Mrs. Latimer!"

Edith rushed away to find her mother.

Some one brought water, and held it while Fothergill, with his dis engaged hand, sprinkled the white face on his knee. Walter Latimer hurried round the corner. He held a pink rosebud, on which his fingers tightened unconsciously as he ran. Coming to the staring group, be stopped, aghast.

"Good God!" he panted, "what has happened?"

Fothergill dashed more water on the shut eyes and bright hair. Latimer looked from him to the others standing round. "What has happened?"

A hoarse voice spoke from the background, "She fell!" Archie Carroll had risen from his knees, and, lifting one hand above his head, he pointed to the wall. Suddenly he met Fothergill's eyes, and, with a halfsmothered cry, he flung himself all along upon the grass, and hid his face.

"Fothergill is she much hurt?" cried Latimer. "Is it serious?" The other did not look up. "I cannot tell," he said, "but I believe she is killed."

Latimer uttered a cry. "No! no! For God's sake don't say that! It can't be !"

Fothergill made no answer. "It isn't possible!" said Walter. But his glance measured the height of the wall, and rested on the stones scattered thickly below. The words died on his lips.

"Is Anderson never coming?" said some one else. Another messenger hurried off. Latimer stood as if rooted to the ground, gazing after him. All at once he noticed the rose which he still held, and jerked it away with a movement as of horror.

The last runner returned. "Anderson and Hardwicke will be here directly; I saw them coming up the path from the fish-ponds. Here is Mrs. Latimer."

"Here

Edith ran through the archway first, eager and breathless. is mamma!" she said, going straight to Raymond Fothergill with her tidings, and speaking softly as if Sissy were asleep. A little nod was his only answer, and the girl stood gazing with frightened eyes at the drooping head which he supported. Mrs. Latimer, Hardwicke, and Anderson all arrived together, and the group divided to make way for them. The first thing to be done was to carry Sissy to the farmhouse, and while they were arranging this, Edith felt two hands pressed lightly on her shoulders. She turned, and confronted Harry Hardwicke.

"Hush!" he said, "do not disturb them now; but when they have taken her to the house, if you hear anything said, tell them that I have gone for Dr. Grey, and as soon as I have sent him here, I shall go on for Mrs. Middleton. You understand?" he added, for the child was looking at him with her scared eyes, and had not spoken.

"Yes," she said, "I will tell them. Oh, Harry! will she die?"

"Not if anything you and I can do will save her-will she, Edith?" and Hardwicke ran off to the stables for his horse. A man was there who saddled it for him, and a rough farm-boy stood by, and saw how the gentleman, while he waited, stroked the next one-a lady's horse, a chestnut-and how presently he turned his face away, and laid his cheek for a moment against the chestnut's neck. The boy thought it was a rum go, and stood staring vacantly while Hardwicke galloped off on his terrible errand.

Meanwhile, they were carrying Sissy to the house. Fothergill was helping, of course. Latimer had stood by irresolutely, half afraid, yet secretly hoping for a word which would call him. But no one heeded him. Evelyn and Edith had hurried on to see that there was a bed on which she could be laid, and the sad little procession followed them at a short distance. The lookers-on straggled after it, an anxiously-whispering group; and, as the last passed through the ruined doorway, Archie Carroll lifted his head and glanced round. The wall, with its mosses and ivy, rose darkly above him-too terrible a presence to be faced alone. He sprang up, hurried out of the black belt of shadow, and fled across the turf. He never looked back till he stood under the arch, but halting there, within sight of his companions, he clasped a projection with one hand as if he were giddy, and, turning his head, gazed intently at the crest of the wall. Every broken edge, every tuft of feathery grass, every aspiring ivy spray, stood sharply out against the sunny blue. The breeze had gone down, and neither blade nor leaf stirred in the hot stillness of the air. There was the way by which they had gone up, there was the ruinous gap which Sissy had said was like a giant's bite. Archie's grasp tightened on the stone as he looked. He might well feel stunned and dizzy, gazing thus across the hideous gulf which parted him from the moment when he stood upon the wall, with Sissy Langton laughing by his side. Not till every detail was cruelly stamped upon his brain did he leave the spot.

VOL. XXXVIII.-NO. 227.

26.