crumbs of encouragement. It might be she was no coquette, but she was impressionable, imaginative: something in the glamour of the day had moved her out of herself. He realized his weakness where she was concerned. He had stripped every fiber and laid bare every nerve of his feeling, and told himself pitilessly that it was her beauty which stirred him,-her refinement and superiority to the accidents of his daily life.

He still held her hand.

"Margaret," said he, not looking at her but staring up at the roofs where the old martins were sitting in rows keeping up a shrill dialogue with their young who were

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glad of their late-found wings, "Margaret, you don't know what a longing, hungry spirit you address in me when you utter such words. If I believed you did actually love it here, that you would share my life -care about the things I care about,-do you suppose I should let Stanley North or any other man marry you? No, I assure you, no!"

She looked up at him timidly, a mist of doubt and regret on her face. She flushed suddenly. He did not look at her.

"But it would not do," said he. "I should only wreck your life and mine in a fruitless attempt to make you happy. You fancy it here to day,-in all the midsum

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'Oh, not dangerous, Robert."

"What do you suppose it is for me to have you go about with me here, putting poetry into the every-day prose of my life? Is n't it dangerous for me to have even the dimmest suggestion of the thought that this life could make you happy-that it could cure your ennui and your restlessness, answer your needs and inspire fresh and better powers than you have felt hitherto?" She looked up at him soberly.

"I do believe it might," said she. "It is all sweet, healthful, true,-I love it here."

She was his first, love and he had always loved her. He had never loved her half so well as at this moment. Still, it was not the first time she had thrown him such

endure it permanently."

He asked her no question but uttered this as if it had been a conclusive statement of a proven truth. She did not contradict him. Mrs. Kent came out the kitchen door and called that tea would soon be ready and they went in.

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Lucy Hubbard was here while you were gone," she remarked as they entered. "She invites thee both to take supper with them to-morrow night. I could not tell her yea I said thee would send word." "I will step down there after tea, mother," Robert answered. "You will accept the invitation, I suppose, Margaret."

or nay.

time and energies were claimed in a new direction, and Kent had the advantage, if advantage it was, of seeing her under the influence of the interests which had shaped her life and formed her character. He had mentally given much vivid picturing to Stanley North and was surprised to find the actual man far in advance of his imaginations of him. He had expected him to be well-starched, rather tedious, with manners formed under the wish to be both elegant and agreeable. The real Stanley North was a quiet fellow who took the world easily; was so absolutely well off that he had no unsatisfied ambitions, yet at the same time had always compelled his advantages to serve as widening rather than as narrowing resources. The new-comer took Hollywell as if it had long been included in his scheme of existence. He was quartered a mile away from the Kents and went and came regularly as clock-work, spending three morning and two evening hours with Margaret. In the afternoon he generally drove her about the country. He was willing to sacrifice the summer in this way as he had made up his mind that Margaret should marry him in the autumn. He was not in love with the girl; he was now a little past forty, and having had fewer passions than. most men in his youth, was by this time calmly rational. What he felt for her was a genuine admiration and a liking for her society. He wanted a wife and just such a wife as he felt he could mold her into.

If Kent had been calm enough to study Margaret he might have been puzzled by the change in her demeanor after North came. She seemed excessively stimulated and talked much and well; she grew witty and appeared to find diversion in her life. This was inconsistent with her confession to Robert that she was depressed and chilled by her lover, but he was not reasonable enough himself to accuse any one else of want of logic. He took pains to say to North one day,

"We were a little in despair over Miss Litchfield's state of health before you came. She was pale and spiritless: you have effected a marvelous cure."

He looked at Margaret and smiled bitterly: her great dewy eyes, her crimson lips, her

flushed cheeks roused a sort of blind anger in him.

Mr. North was pleased.

"It is a good augury," he said, also smiling at Margaret," when she is entirely under my care we may reasonably hope for a more robust condition than she has hitherto en joyed."

Kent had wondered about the marriage. "When is the wedding to be?" he asked bluntly.

North laughed and waved his hand.

"If you ask me," he returned, "I shall say early in September. I want to take my wife to Europe in October."

"A delightful idea," muttered Kent. "A delightful idea." He did not glance towards Margaret.

"You have been in Europe?" Mr. North inquired.

"Yes. I studied surgery in Vienna." "Ah? Surgery? Did you ever practice?" No, I gave it all up when I was twenty

four."

"And took to farming instead?” "Precisely."

Mr. North looked at Kent from head to foot. "A powerfully built fellow like that likes better to use his muscle than his intellect, no doubt," he said to himself. He then remarked aloud,

"You have had no regrets, I suppose? "Regrets? Regrets?" exclaimed Robert, "No, I have had no regrets."

He went out unreasonably stirred and excited. What could a man like North realize about the dull cankering regrets he had known all these years? He was humiliated to find himself the mere victim of old feelings he had believed to be outgrown. The hard conditions of his life had long ago been changed into duty which he accepted as his law and had the full rewards of, in a sort of joy unknown to people who have renounced nothing. But here had come back the hours of struggle of despondency-of weariness, -destitute of any rapturous consciousness of the hidden sweetness of an ideal life.

"I take it he is a very well-satisfied fellow," Mr. North remarked to Margaret after Kent had gone out. "He makes his farm profitable and likes the life he leads.

Yet to think of studying abroad and then settling down here!”

"I like a country life," said Margaret. "Of course," assented the admirer smiling with abundant good-nature. “You always take satisfaction in idealizing everything presented to your mind. I like it myself under the circumstances this summer. But to pass a year here, with such sights, such sounds, such neighbors!"

"I could live here with contentment," affirmed Margaret, a red spot burning on each cheek.

North looked at her and nodded approval of her beauty. It never occurred to him that certain pretty manifestations of moods and tempers in Miss Litchfield meant more than little signs of a wish to brighten her witchery and consequent power over him. She put on her whims, he supposed, as she put on differently tinted knots of flowers at her throat and in her girdle.

"Is he going to marry Miss Hubbard?" pursued North. "After all, it is by his choice of a wife a man really gives the world a chance of gauging his taste. I should have expected better of Kent, I should indeed. Her voice rasps my whole nervous system. But if she fills his requirements—" "She does not,” said Margaret promptly. "But there is no one else here." "And he knows no better. Still," his eyes rested complacently on Margaret, "he has seen you."

She smiled and shook her head. "He is a fine looking fellow," North observed, "and there is nothing actually boorish about him."

"Boorish," repeated Margaret with a curious intonation, "I should think not."

Mr. North proceeded, quite unconscious of any flatness in his conversation, and without doubt of Margaret's admiring interest in all he might have to say about Kent.

"Oh yes. The fact is, I confess to a foolish admiration for those great brutes of men. I should like Kent's muscles and his nerves."

“One might wish for his intellect and his heart," cried Margaret. "No, you don't know Robert, Stanley! You spoke of his giving up his career to be a farmer. You have no idea of what he resigned-it was more than his profession, it was his hope, his interest, his life almost. He came back here, quite as keenly alive as you could be to all the drawbacks Hollywell presents, but he bore it, and I fancy cousin Rebecca never had any idea of how much he had given up for her sake."

"For her sake?"

"Robert's father had spent all her money— he had put it all into improvements on the farm."

North smiled. "I don't see that your account shows any Quixotic disinterestedness in Kent," said he. "He expects to have his step-mother's property, no doubt."

It was Margaret's experience of North's want of sympathy and ready belief which made some of his slight cynicisms intolerable to her. Any invitation to enthusiasm threw him into an attitude of skepticism and refusal. She now shrank back with a feeling of having been physically hurt, and with a mood of vague repugnance towards her engaged husband. He looked at her as she lay back in her chair her eyes half closed. She was dressed in a plain dress of cream-color just belted at the waist. She had suddenly grown tired and pale; dark lines settled around her eyes heightening their charm and brilliancy, and her pallor seemed to increase the sweetness and purity of her expression. North was at present trying his best to win her consent to a speedy marriage and imposed no limits upon his devotion. He wanted to seem deeply in love.

He now took one of her pretty hands in his and looked admiringly at the long, taper fingers.

"Margaret," said he. weeks from to-day."

She drew her hand away.

"Marry me six

"No, no, no!" she cried her eyes flash

must not ask me."

The day was a very warm one and the light was curtained away from the room where they were sitting; outside in the garden the bees were drowsing monotonously in the flowery cups, now and then the whirr of a humming-bird's wings could be distinctly heard. All the scents and sounds told of heat and sultriness out-of-doors and increased the comfort of their shady retreat.

"I don't understand such a tone from you, Margaret," said Mr. North with excessive deliberation. "One would suppose you felt something like aversion for your prospects."

Margaret was too timid to utter what was in her mind. She felt so keenly the weakness and inconsistency of her course towards North that it seemed a revolting and ignominious confession of failure in every womanly duty to tell him she had never loved him, and that in sober truth she regarded her marriage with fear and dislike. Besides she had a new consciousness which hindered instead of helping her. She had felt an influence of late forcible, novel and strangely sweet, and it found an answer in her innermost longings.

But while she blushed and paled, wondering how she might escape the miseries of her dilemma, North watched her, admiring her pretty caprices. He liked poutings and tossings and even a little rebellion in a woman like Margaret; they would have displeased him had they been the real language of inner revolt and self-assertion, but he decided that her helpless endeavors to postpone the marriage were ineffectual and thus could afford to smile at them, kissing her by way of elaborate compensation.

The warm day was cooled at its close by a shower, and the next morning was so fresh and clear North asked Margaret to go up the mountain with him. They had planned the excursion many times, but the right day and the right mood had never before come together.

This was the morning of the ninth of August. Of late the sylvan world which should have looked green had been only brown and dusty; the rocks and stones had radiated a

ure they scarcely lost at night; the sod had grown yellow, and the clayey soil was cracked or had crumbled into fine dust. Today however all nature was awake and astir again; everything was washed clean; the turf was elastic. The sky had an occasional cloud borne up from the south-west, and the contrast of their white fleece with the deep azure, their gentle dreamy motion, gave just the charm which the late cloudless weather had lacked.

As North and Miss Litchfield went up the lane they met Kent on horseback. They had not seen him that day. He stopped and looked at the two with some surprise.

"I see," said he, "the picnic on Round Top is coming off at last.”

"Won't you go with us, Robert?" asked Margaret.

He shook his head smiling.

"I have business on hand. I think there is a change of weather, and I want things finished up before the August rains."

"It will not rain to-day," said North.

"I am not sure. The wind blows more and more every moment. Watch old Tom, and if he looks too near come home as soon as you can."

He held his horse, looking after Margaret as her lover helped her up the path which at this point began to meander up the first ledge and led to the fall. She was dressed in dark blue and wore a wide-brimmed shady hat which almost hid her face. She turned once and laughed at him, then vanished behind a clump of cedars.

"It is well Kent had other matters on hand," North remarked. "I should soon have given him his congé if he had not declined your invitation."

"It would have been pleasant to have him and he knows every foot of the mountain." "Are you afraid to trust yourself to me?"

"I expect to be lost. You are very clever in your way, Stanley, but I have always noticed that you have no idea of locality."

North had risen to-day in an antagonistic temper, and had fancied the idea of scrambling up the mountain because the difficulties of the way would give him something spe

cific to oppose. He did not like Margaret's playful remark and calculated that she had intentions of some vague resistance to his plans and wishes. Their way up Round Top however was pleasant enough; after ascending the first ledge they entered the ravine and made their way along the rocky bed to the falls, now reduced to a mere thread of water and which in the breeze to day floated about like a veil of fine gauze. They climbed the rocks which rose in natural steps at the sides and gained the second ledge, when the landscape opened before, their eyes. Above them rose Round Top, on this side densely wooded; on the left was the beginning of the long chain of Blue Hills above which towered old Tom on whom a purple cloud seemed to be resting. Behind them opened a wide view of the valley and opposite uplands, while the table-lands they were crossing were charmingly picturesque with clumps of birches, and pines, and a dashing stream which bubbled and gurgled and finally took its way down through thickets of cool greenery.

"Let us follow the brook," said North. "I brought my rod and some flies thinking there might be a chance at some trout."

Margaret assented, and wandered listlessly after her companion, who led the way until they reached a promising bit where the stream was fringed with alders and sumachs. North had spent several summers in the Tyrol and as he went on recounted some of his mountaineering exploits, which entertained himself but he found no trout.

"Aren't we going a long way out of our path?" Margaret inquired once or twice. "We are on the straight road," he replied. "We are ascending every moment." But her strength and interest began to slacken. It had become evident enough that they were not going up Round Top which began to loom up away to the right. "Let us have our lunch," North said with decision. "This is a pretty place, no matter whether it is Round Top, Blue Hill or old Tom. You are tired. Sit down, and I will wait on you."

"I am afraid," said Margaret. wish that Robert had come with us. in the least know where we are."

"How I I don't

North looked at her and laughed,—not a pleasant laugh.

'Margaret," said he, "do you know what has struck me suddenly?"

"No. How should I know?"

"I had noticed before that 'Robert,' as you call him, is always in your mind, just as his name is always on your lips. But the reason of it all never occurred to me until this moment."

"Indeed." She looked him full in the face and smiled charmingly. 'Suppose we should have our lunch," said she. "It is past one o'clock." They had gained a sort of plateau and away to the north a wide landscape had become visible which seemed new to them; in the horizon a continuous line of misty blue was distinctly seen, marking the outlines of a long mountain range.

But the question of their whereabouts was no longer discussed. North was piqued and irritated and Margaret felt a strain upon all her faculties. They ate their luncheon, discussing all sorts of matters without the least allusion to their surroundings. Finally when the meal was over, North said with an evident intention to be impressive,

Now, Maggy, I want your answer." "What answer?"

"I want your promise to marry me in six weeks."

"I think you are unkind to press that subject continually. I have tried to postpone the discussion of it,—I have constantly evaded it, but you will not understand." "I will not understand what?"

"That I am not ready--that you are too urgent-that you are making a mistake."

"I understand one thing," cried North, growing very pale, "and that is, you are changed since I left you in the spring."

"I told you you must expect me to wait a long time-that I was not ready to marry." "This is nonsense. Are you or are you not my engaged wife?"

"I suppose," faltered Margaret looking up at him and trembling like a child.

"How much has Kent to do with all this?" he asked roughly. "Has he had the presumption to make love to you?"

Margaret started up. A dull, vibrating