I was starved for a little love in those days. I
had just had a snubbing that very morning, and
I was particularly lonely and sad. I believed it
was in all sincerity that he led me to believe that
he still had the hope to win me for his wife. I
gave him a note to you, saying I should come,
and I came."

"Which note he never delivered," I thought,
remembering her unexpected arrival; but I let
that pass.

"You may have mistaken his manner, Sylvia,"
I said.

"Mistaken!" she said. " Oh, you meek
Mattie, how quietly you take all this! You are
not a bit jealous, not a bit indignant. For
shame, Mattie, to give your promise to a man
you care nothing for! But it is a wise age.
I should have thriven on my own wisdom before
now, if Providence had not ordered things
otherwise. If Luke were not rich, richer than that
dashing soldier who was here this evening,
looking as if he thought you an angel, instead of a
mercenary little piece of clay, you would have
nothing to do with him, not you. Gracious
Heavens! what a pair of icicles you will be!
But, Mattie, we will go to Eldergowan."

I was lying on a couch, and I had turned my
face away from her. I could not bear to see her
flashing eyes. The bitter gaiety of her voice
was cruel enough. " Poor Sylvia," I thought,
and " poor Mattie!" and " oh, why would not
Luke return to his old love?" I had nothing to
say aloud on the instant, and when I thought of
something, and turned my head, Sylvia was gone.

I got up-stairs. Passing Sylvia's door, I
listened, and fancied I heard a sob. But it was
not likely. I could better imagine her with still
that angry flush on her face, and that dry light
in her eyes, sitting proud and straight, with
her head high, than broken down and weeping.
I thought it sore and hard that she might not be
Mattie, and I might not be Sylvia, and free.

My room was full of silence and the cool green
twilight, the stars twinkling serenely above the
dim trees without, the window open, and all the
out-door perfumes coming in. I hid my eyes in
my arm on the window-sill, and felt my mother
mourning over me. " Kind mother," I sighed,
"you get little rest, for every day I am in sadder
straits!"

I heard heavy feet coming along the gravel.
My father, Mark, and Luke all came up the
walk together. They were giving good night,
before the door, when a light foot went down the
stairs, and I saw Sylvia appear on the steps.

"A note for your mother, Major Hatteraick,"
said her clear voice, and a little white waif
went fluttering down into his hand.

"Mattie and I shall be delighted to go to
Eldergowan."

I saw Mark's swift bright glance upward;
but I retreated from the window, and laid
myself trembling on my bed.

CHAPTER IX.

I SLEPT little that night. During the first hour
after I laid my head upon my pillow I assured
myself that I could not go to Eldergowan. But
as the night advanced, my ideas changed. For
Sylvia's sake, I must dare to go. Did I not owe
her something for the wrong that my silence
had done her? I knew her secret now, and,
knowing it, could I selfishly shut the door of
her escape from the Mill-house? Having given
up her situation to come to me, she had no
home ready to receive her upon a day's notice.
I could not send her to Eldergowan alone, and
did I refuse to accompany her thither, how
cruel and capricious would not my conduct
appear? Oh yes, for Sylvia's sake I must go, and
while there I would be honest and brave.
Suffering lay before me, whichever way I turned;
and if in it I could include a benefit to another,
would it not be well? With the stars shining
in at one's window, and dim boughs sleeping
solemnly against the sky, it is easy to be heroic
between the hours of dawn and midnight. And
then, having made up my mind, I thought I
should sleep, but the glamour of a brighter sun
than ever shone over the Mill-house crept under
my eyelids. The thought of no after-sorrow
could keep down a thrill of joy at the surety
that to-morrow I should see Eldergowan. But
it was a feverish joy, struggling with fear and
anguish. The lonely wheel of the beetling-house
purred dolefully all the night, and the cocks
crowed sad and shrill in the dawn.

I went down to breakfast in the morning, the
first time for many weeks. Luke was sitting in
the window, with a flushed angry face, screened
from the room by a newspaper. I heard Sylvia's
laugh before I opened the door. She was
already in her place at the head of the table, in
her white wrapper and nosegay. She was paler
than usual; and when she stopped laughing for
a minute, I saw a darkness round her eyes, which
was something new in her face. But she went
on laughing again, and when she laughed there
was nothing to be observed about Silvia but
glow, and glitter, and enchantment. She was
chatting to my father and putting him in a good
humour, as she could do better than any one else,
although when away from the charm of her
presence he always spoke of her with a grudge.
I could not clearly see a cause for her excessive
mirth, though the subject of their talk was a
pleasant one. Sylvia was extolling Major
Hatteraick, and expressing her delight at the
prospect of going to Eldergowan.

"He is a very fine fellow," growled my father,
in his blunt way, " and he is old enough to be
thinking of taking a wife. He seemed very
anxious to get you to his mother's house. When
you go to Eldergowan, Miss Sylvia, I think you
ought to stay there."

Sylvia laughed another gay peal, and clapped
her hands softly together in a rapture of fun.

"Would you give the bride away, Mr.
Gordon?" she said. " And oh! what a pretty place
Streamstown church would be for a wedding on
a summer morning, with the sun coming down
through all the little coloured windows on our
heads!"

"I tell you what it is," said my father, with
sudden warmth, "you and Mattie get married
on the same day, and we'll have such doings as