and a wonderful trousseau came down from
London for Rachel. The pretty things were
hardly looked at by her and packed away out of
sight. Then I saw that two warring spirits
were striving within Rachel. The colour left
her face, she grew thin, she started and trembled
at a sudden word or noise. Sometimes in the
middle of the summer nights, just as the earliest
birds were beginning to stir, she would come
into my room and throw herself weeping across
my bed. But I dared not speak to her then.
She would not tolerate a word. And so she
took her way.

One morning Arthur went off to explore some
place alone; a most unusual event. I was in
my own room when Rachel came in to me,
suddenly and quickly, and very pale.

"Come," she said, "come now, I have got
courage to go this moment, but I must not
delay. Come, come!"

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"You know well," she said, impatiently; " to
my mother. See, I am taking nothing valuable
with me."

She had on a calico morning dress, and plain
straw hat. She had taken the ear-rings out of
her ears, the rings off her fingers.

I was ready in an instant, and we went off
through the wood together. I did not attempt
to ask her what she meant to do; she was not
in a mood for answering questions. She took
my hand as we walked, and held it tightly, and
we went along as children do when they are
going through the green wood in quest of May
flowers, only our steps were more fearful, and
our faces paler than children's are wont to be.
We went on very silently and bravely, till we
were about half way, deep in the wood, when a
cheerful shout came across our ears, and a swaying
and crackling of bushes; and Arthur Noble's
handsome genial face and stalwart figure
confronted us on the path.

"Maids a Maying!" he said. " A pretty
picture, on my word. Whither be you bound,
fair ladies, and will you accept the services of a
true knight errant?"

Rachel's hand had turned cold in mine.
"We are going to the farm to visit Mrs.
Hollingford," I said stoutly, " and as you are
not acquainted with the lady you had better
go home alone, and amuse Mrs. Hill till we
come back."

"Ah! but I do not like that arrangement at
all," said Arthur. "Why should the lady at
the farm not receive me? Has any one been
giving me a bad character? Speak, Rachel,
may I not go with you?"

"I cannot go any futher," said Rachel; " I
am not well." And indeed she looked ill.

"Rest a little," I said, pitilessly, "and by-
and-by you will be able to go on."

But Arthur, all alarmed, looked at me with
surprise and reproach, drew Rachel's hand
within his own, and began walking slowly
towards the hall. I followed, with no company
but my reflections, which were odd enough;
and so ended this adventure.

And now what I think the most startling
occurrence of my story has got to be related,
and when it is told all will be pretty nearly
finished.

It was arranged that the wedding should be
very private. Sir Arthur, although he had
reluctantly withdrawn his opposition, had refused
to be present at the marriage, therefore, no
other guests were invited. The eve of the day
arrived, and I had spent the forenoon in
decorating the little church with white flowers.
Early in the morning Rachel and Arthur, with
Mr. and Mrs. Hill and myself, were to proceed
thither, and an hour later the husband and
wife were to depart on their life's adventure
together.

I remember the kind of evening it was.
There was a great flush in the sky, and a great
glow on the earth, that made the garden paths hot
to the tread, and crisped up the leaves of the
full-blown roses. There was a rare blending of
heaven and earth in lovely alluring distances,
and a luscious odour of sweet ripe things
athirst for rain. The drawing-room windows
were thrown up as high as they would go, and
it was cooler within than without. Up-stairs the
bride's trunks were packed, and the white robe
was spread out in state, waiting its moment. We
were all in the drawing-room, Mr. and Mrs. Hill
variously unoccupied, Rachel and Arthur sitting
together before a window. In another window
I was down on my knees leaning my elbows
on the open sash, and gazing out on the idealized
world of the hour in a kind of restful reverie,
which held the fears and pains and unsatisfied
hopes of my heart in a sweet thrall, even as the
deep-coloured glory that was abroad fused into
common beauty all the rough seams and barren
places of the unequal land. Suddenly out of
the drowsy luxury of stillness there came a
quick crushing sound, flying feet on the gravel,
and a dark slim figure dashed through the light.
Whose was the figure? I could not be sure
till I sprang with a shock to my feet, and
went to the window where Rachel and Arthur
were sitting. Then there was no mistake
about it. Here was Jane Hollingford, suddenly
arrived.

She stood strangely at the window, with one
foot on the low sash, so that she could look
searchingly into the room. She had on no bonnet
nor hat, and the dust of the road was in her
hair; it was also white, up to the knees, on
her black dress. She was quite breathless,
and looked sick and faint with over-running.
But there was Jane's wild spirit shining as
strong as ever out of her black eyes. She
drew breath a moment and looked eagerly
into the room with that half-blinded searching
look out of the dazzling light into the
shade. Then her eyes fell on Rachel, and she
spoke, and said a few words which electrified
us all.

"Mary Hollingford," she said; " come home.
Your father is dying, and he wants to see
you."

Mr. and Mrs. Hill came to the window to see