Now, lass, I want that you and I should be still together, as man and wife, for ever and ever and ever, in this world and all other worlds. Will you ?"

It was a scene for pencil rather than pen-the strong stalwart son of Hephaistos trampling the flowers beneath the window-sill, with earnestness in his eyes of flame-the tall Devonshire girl poising her iron to decide what she ought to say, when she knew what she must say. It was not long before she said it, and she had looked it from the very first.

Well done, the blacksmith! Kezia will never be jealous of Ida any more. I draw a veil over the remainder of their happy afternoon, not because there was aught uncouth in their love-time, but rather because they said very little to each other, and perhaps enjoyed the time all the more. Macnamara and Kezia having understood each other at last, there was no need for further speech on the subject. To be together was enough, in the divine summer, under awning of tree and with music of bird and stream. They sat close, and enjoyed the exquisite silence. The fierce forge had taken holiday, and the blacksmith's garden was as quiet as the innocent solitude of Eden. His and Kezia's heart were quiet too.

As to Robert Fitz Roy, after a long colloquy with the nymphs of his meerschaum, during which he felicitated himself on having shown the blacksmith a short cut to happiness, he sprang suddenly to his feet.

"By Jove!" he said to himself, "this is my

birthday. My twenty-first birthday too! I ought to come of age in the style of the Olden Time— Frith's style-at once. I feel quite envious of that young idiot on the steps, with a girl-simper on his face and his legs askew. I wonder if Alice has remembered me. I'll be off to the Post Office and see."

Off he went. They don't deliver letters at New Bratton. The postmaster is nearly a hundred, half blind, and perfectly deaf. But Robert Fitz Roy was a first favourite with old Slocombe, since he could appreciate what was good in anybody, and eliminate what was bad. Now, Slocombe had been turned sour in early youth by the rascality of a "friend" who ruined him, and he had grown sourer as he grew older. The "friend" was now Governor of the State. Slocombe was village postmaster. Yet, somehow, Robert Fitz Roy got over his disappointed crustiness, and taught him the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, and brought him the news of the day on his fingers. So now, after a few pleasant words thus conveyed, the deaf postmaster brought him a letter-from Alice. Away he went to read it, promising early return. And he took the letter away into Savali woods and read it carefully. Thus it ran:

"DEAREST OLD BOY,

"Erlingham.

"Are you getting on all right? Are you steady, you dear eccentric Bob? If I had been a boy, and O how I wish I was (no, I don't, there now!), I should have done just what you

did. But I ought not to begin my letter in this wild way, for poor dear Mr. Henry Fitz Roy is dead. His horse put his foot in a hole as he was riding over High Moor, and he was thrown over its head. We are all very sorry: he was most kind to papa all through the painful affair. The he could not have lived in any case, he had lived so fast. What does fast mean,

doctors say

Bob?

"His death has not taken us back to Oak Royal. His last words were, when the very death-gasp was upon him

666

"O, my dear wife! O, my forsaken child!'

"This seems to show that he had married; and papa, having once had to give up Oak Royal, is far too proud to enter upon it again. So here we are at Erlingham, wondering what will happen."

"Now, tell me what are you doing, Robert? You haven't written much to me lately. I think an only sister ought to be your first thought till you are really truly dreadfully in love, and then you ought to tell her of it the very very first. I daresay you will declare that falling in love is woman's work, and that you find the hammer and anvil quite enough for you. Wait till you see some bewitching creature that takes the breath out of you by her beauty, and the wisdom out of you by her wit.

"Lord Rougemont has been very kind. He sent papa several dozens of splendid wine the other day; and he is always sending in superb pine-apples and peaches and hothouse flowers.

He is a delightful companion I sometimes think —but no, Bob, I won't tell you what I think till you tell me what you think.

"Mamma is content and patient, and sends you infinite love. Do write soon, you wanderer. We care just a little about you. I think I could forgive you for getting married, if your wife was exactly the sort I should have chosen for you.

"Your little sister,

"ALICE."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE DIFFICULT LOCK.

"Forti nihil difficile."

Motto of Lord Beaconsfield.

ROBERT FITZ ROY was much amused at the state of affairs. He was quite his father's opposite in most things. He could imagine how annoyed that dignified gentleman would be at having to surrender Oak Royal, after dwelling in stately fashion, with a grand idea of reform. To him, in his youth and madness, a big house seemed an incubus, a great estate too heavy a burden, save for the shoulders of Atlas. But he knew that his father looked at life in a very different way; that he thought more of what he possessed than what he was. If a man judges himself by his property, his estimate is likely to differ from the public estimate. If an ordinary fellow is a duke, with a dozen country seats, and

half-a-million a year, he is wise to allow himself to be managed by a committee. There ought to be one man to look after his bets, another after his flirtations, another after his livings, and so forth. This, I am credibly informed, has become rather an institution among our patricians and millionaires; they get abundant pocket-money, and their committee quietly manage their estates, probably without detriment to the members of the said committee.

But Eustace Fitz Roy was a man who, if he had been King of England, would have governed without a Minister, and who, if a ducal millionaire, would have kicked his committee into the middle of next week. His son conjured up a pictur、 of his father as autocrat of Oak Royal, and of the sad scene of despotism, and of this new phase, when he might return if he would to his former greatness, but had too much pride or too little courage. Of course, Robert took his sister's letter to Ida to read. He showed her everything. He hadn't a secret from her. He was perfectly simple and true, and she was the first woman who had taught him the meaning of love; the only woman he ever could love. His was a virgin heart. Your man of the world would naturally call Robert Fitz Roy a fool, and a fool he certainly was, according to the canons of modern society. He had seen Ida. He was satisfied. Ida was

his.

They had a chat together over his sister's letter. It was a delight for Ida to read with him