sister for so many years. And I loved
her—I have always loved her. Let me
go!"

They debated when and how this was
to be.

"I hate the idea of your going to see her
unknown to Mr. Levincourt," said Hugh.
"I believe he will be justly hurt and angered
when he hears of it. If you have any
influence with her, you must try to induce
her to make some advances to her father.
It is her barest duty. And—listen, my
dearest," as he spoke he drew her fondly
to his side as though to encourage her
against the gravity of his words, and the
serious resolution in his face. "Listen to
me, Maud. You must make this lady
understand that your path in life and hers
will henceforward be widely different. It
must be so. Were we to plan the contrary,
circumstances would still be too strong for
us. She will be rich. We, my Maudie,
shall be only just not very poor. She will
live in gay cities; we in an obscure
provincial nook. The social atmosphere that
will in all probability surround Lady Gale,
would not suit my lily. And our climate
would be too bleak for her."

"I will do what you tell me, Hugh.
When may I go? To-night?"

"She says in her note that she will be
at home all to-morrow."

"Yes; but she also says 'this evening.'
And besides, to-morrow will be my last day
with you!"

"Thanks, darling. Well, Maud, if you
are prepared—if you are strong enough—
we will go to-night."

Hugh went downstairs, and informed his
mother that he and Maud were going out
for awhile, but would return to supper.

It was not unusual for them to take an
evening walk together, after the business
of the day was over for Hugh.

"Are you going to the park, Hugh?"
asked Mrs. Lockwood.

"No, mother."

At another time she would have
questioned him further. But now there was
a sore feeling at her heart which made her
refrain. Was he growing less kind, less
confiding already? Were these the first fruits
of her miserable weakness in confessing
what she might still have hidden? She
was too proud, or too prudent—perhaps
at the bottom of her heart too just—to
show any temper or suspicion. She merely
bade him see that Maud was well wrapped
up, as the evenings were still chilly.

And then when the street door had closed
upon them, she sat and watched their
progress down the long dreary street from
behind the concealment of the wire blind
in her little parlour, with a yearning sense
of unhappiness.

Arrived at the bottom of the street,
Hugh called a cab. "You must drive to
the place, my pet," he said, putting Maud
into the vehicle. " It is a long way; and
you must not be tired or harassed when
you reach the hotel."

"Oh, where is it, Hugh? How odd
that I never thought of asking! But I
put my hand into yours and come with
you, much as a little child follows its
nurse. Sometimes I feel—you won't laugh,
Hugh?"

"I shall not laugh, Maudie. I am in no
laughing mood. I may smile, perhaps.
But smiles and tears are sometimes near
akin, you know."

"Well, then, I feel very often when l am
with you, as I have never felt with any one
except my mother. I can remember the
perfect security, the sense of repose and
trust I had in her presence. I was so sure
of her love. It came down like the dew
from heaven. I needed to make no effort,
to say no word. I was a tiny child when I
lost her, but I have never forgotten that
feeling. And since, since I have loved you,
Hugh, it seems to me as though it had
come back to me in all its peace and sweetness."

"My own treasure!"

They sat silent with their hands locked
in each other's until they had nearly
reached the place they were bound for.
Then Hugh said: "We are nearly at
our destination, Maud. I shall leave you
after I have seen you safely in the hotel.
It is now half-past seven. At nine o'clock
I will come back for you. You will be
ready?"

"Yes, Hugh."

"God bless you, my dearest. I shall be
glad when this interview is over. My
precious white lily, these sudden gusts
and storms shake you too much!"

"Oh," she answered, smiling into his
face, though with a trembling lip, "there
are lilies of a tougher fibre than you think
for! And they are elastic, the poor slight
things. It is the strong stiff stubborn
tree that gets broken."

"Am I stiff and stubborn, Maudie?"

"No; you are strong and good, and I
am so grateful to you!"

He inquired in the hall of the hotel for
Lady Gale, and found that directions had