springtide of her youth, given up to happiness and
love. Laurence loved her; she knew it now;
and what else was needed to make earth bright
as heaven? But Laurence, though he loved
and was happy in his love, yet had changed to
something less tranquil than his former self—
less tranquil than he used to be even during the
period of his greatest depression while Annie
lived. In outward manner he was the same as
ever, suave, frank, popular; but a close
observer would have seen how the lines about his
face were set and hardened, how his eyes had a
searching watchful look as if he were looking and
listening for something, how the hair was rapidly
changing from rich chesnut brown to dull
grey, and how the hands had an ugly habit of
clenching themselves, as if clutching at an
enemy's throat. Bat who read signs like these?
Medical men and artists, none else; and as the
only doctor in the neighbourhood was not
extraordinarily observant, and as artists were as
much unknown in those parts as birds of Paradise
or long-legged flamingoes, all these signs passed
unmarked and unnoticed.

That May and Laurence were lovers was
known solely to themselves. The only person
who might suspect it was Mrs. Grantley; but
Mrs. Grantley was discreet, and now that the
property was redeemed and it was not incumbent
on Laurence to marry a second time for
money, she had no objection to his marrying
for love. Excepting Mrs. Grantley, then, no
one could penetrate the love between them;
for Laurence, in society, was cold and reserved,
and of all the unmarried women in the place
May Sefton was the woman who apparently had
least of his regard. If he were cold, Clarke
Jones was warm enough; and if he sought
diligently to conceal his love, the forward lawyer
made no secret of his admiration. Laurence bore
this, as he bore everything now, with unflinching
self-possession: never showing jealousy or
annoyance: showing nothing at all, in fact, but
what a thin line of compressed lip, and a burning
flush on the pale hard cheek might express.

Yet it was not one of his lightest pains to
know, that, but for the extraordinary intimacy
between himself and the lawyer, the help he had
given towards the consolidation of those low
plebeian fortunes, and the social countenance
received from the highest family in the neighbourhood,
Clarke Jones would not have presumed to
raise his eyes to May's with anything like the
admiration of an equal. Yet now, to what
might he not pretend? And Laurence dared
not rise up against him as he longed and
burned to do; for were there not chains on
his wrists and fetters on his hands, and did
not that fearful secret stand between them,
like a spectre, paralysing his every limb?
Mental pains are oftentimes worse to bear than
physical suffering; and Laurence woluld have
gladly exchanged those which beset him now,
for any anguish of the flesh which man or demon
could have devised. As for May, she was too
happy on the one side, and too indifferent on the
other, to be very demonstrative, even of her
disgust; so Clarke Jones went blundering on
in his rude, bear-like attempts, which amused
no one but himself; and if he saw the effect they
produced—which he did not always—he did
not let his knowledge interfere with his design,
but made sure that he would carry all before
him, as usual. Clarke Jones had grown
dangerously accustomed to success. In this manner
above a year passed after Annie's death, when
the slow course of time brought round the bright
spring, and Life woke up anew.

CHAPTER IX.

THE death and gloom of winter, and all the
terrible associations connected with it, melted
away, like the snow oil the mountain-tops; and
in their stead came spring flowers and sunny
skies, and the blessed renewal of all life. And
now, was not Laurence happy? With May's
dear hand in his, and her loving face pressed
against his breast, could he not forget? Could
he not bury his dead, once for all, and live in
the joy and glory of the hour? For moments,
yes; but they were only moments, snatched
like golden drops from the rainbow spanning
the dark bank of clouds. Yet if not happier,
he was more tranquil, for he was planning
a future that should withdraw him from the
terrible influence over him. Grantley Hall was
to be sold, and Laurence and his wife would
leave England for ever. It would be no grievous
exile in a sunny Italian villa, sitting under the
myrtles and the vines, with beautiful May Sefton
for his wife. And she would think a desert,
paradise enough if it brought them nearer heart
to heart, and left them suffering together.
Though, indeed, May thought that could be no
suffering which gave them to each other.

The birds were singing blithely in the trees,
and the skylarks made the fields and meadows
loud with song; the wandering airs came laden
with odours fresh and pure from the grass and
flowers just wet with the soft Spring rain that
had been falling in the sunshine; and all nature
looked as bright and joyous as if sin had never
been born of man, and death and sorrow had
never entered the world. They were engaged
lovers now, and were soon to be married;
but the secret was still to be kept from all
the world save the two mothers, and the
marriage was to be as private as a stolen one.
What cared May? Her life was in his love; her
pride, her joy, her happiness, all centred in him,
and the outside world was nothing to her.

Yes, that morning Laurence was happy. He
forgot the shadow beside him, and lived only in
the sunshine: there was no blood in the waters
of Black Tarn; no secret chain that bound him
as the slave of another; there were no sorrow and
no crime in the past, no doubt and no dread in
the future. All earth was bright, all life a joy.

Laurence, make the best of this little hour of
springtide passed with May under the ancestral
lime-trees! It is all that God and Justice can
give. Years hence, long blank years hence, you
will remember this sunny spring morning, and
the scent of the lime blossoms will haunt you for