just the weather for her, in her present
mood. After sitting down a moment, and
dashing off a business-letter—so she called
it—in less time than Millie would have taken
to write the three first words, Hildred set off
to the post, nodding gaily to Millie as she
went down the garden. This letter contained
her final command to Mr. Blankardt
to have her own little property settled on
Millie. After posting her letter, and being
clear of the village, she went on at a wild rate.
Fighting her way against the howling wind,
splashing on through the mud and marsh,
she made a circuit of some eight or ten
miles home, crossing the bleakest country in
all the neighbourhood. It was dark when
she returned. Millie had been getting
anxious, and came running into the hall to
meet and question her. But Hildred parried
her questions, and seemed in such high
spirits, that her gentle sister only wondered,
and was content.

Hildred chose to spend that evening alone;
finding one excuse or another, or proudly
withholding any. She generally did so for
that time. Erle Lyneward was there to entertain
Millie. Hildred had seen him as she
stood inside the house-door shaking the rain
from her cloak—had seen him standing looking
moodily into the fire, instead of meeting her
as her future brother might have done. Mr.
Lyneward, weary from the emotion and passion
of the morning, turned to Millie for
rest; he felt her gentle ways infinitely
soothing. He was more tender and devoted
that evening than she had ever known him. He
too told her that their marriage must be soon
—very soon. Christmas was not far off, and,
early in the next year, before the snow-drops
were out in his old gardens, he must have his
Millie home, he said, to make his desolate
house cheery. With all his tenderness, he
seemed so strangely sad, that pure, unselfish
Millie, though reluctant to assume so suddenly
this great responsibility, could not find
in her heart to say, No. So it was a settled
thing that early in the ensuing January,
Millie was to be made a wife.

CHAPTER IV.

MILLIE was not at ease in the time
that intervened ; simple, sweet Millie was
troubled and perplexed. In the world, she
loved only two persons entirely, and she
could not make them love one another.
Hildred acted well, too, all that torture
time; daring to leave nothing to the impulse
of a moment. Each morning she planned
what her conduct through all the probable
events of the day should be.

Mr. Lyneward was too proud to act,
too bitter against her to try to seem
brotherly; and loving and unconscious
Millie often made him wince by expressing
her regret that he would not be kind to
her sister. Hildred was cold, even in her
manner to Millie herself, and uncertain in
her temper. She dared not be affectionate;
if the spring of passionate tenderness in her
heart once thawed, she feared it might over-leap
all restraints. She saw that Millie was
uneasy—as unhappy as it was possible for a
young girl who loves and is loved to be; but
she stood proud and secure in the great
sacrifice she was conscious of making. She
could not stoop to care about the lesser daily
and hourly sacrifices. She said to herself,
that all would be well soon for them; they
would be married, and she would go away
and be forgotten.

At first Erle Lyneward always stopped
Millie when she began to talk of Hildred;
but that was not easy to do; and, after a
while, he rather liked to listen. In time he
came to have some glimmering suspicion of
the truth.

Hildred was to pass through the fiery
trial of another temptation before the consummation
of the sacrifice.

Only the day before Christmas Day, Hildred
sat alone and idle, musing by the drawing
room fire. Millie was gone out to distribute
some Christmas charities to poor
people to whom she had been a constant
friend.

Hildred had many associations of pain
and pleasure with that day—some two or
three of the latter calculated to soften her
heart infinitely. She felt now that the last
act of her tragedy was almost played out—
that her unnatural strength need endure
but little longer; so, as she sat alone, she
suffered her heart to soften, and let the tears
fall slowly and unheeded a-down upon her
lap.

Suddenly Erie Lyneward stood before her.
She was startled, confused, unnerved. One
glance at her softened face, her tearful eyes,
her tremulous hand, made him forget all but
his old love for her. Before she could
recover the cold composure with which she
always met him, he had taken her hand,
and was pouring out a strong passion of
burning love, and wild sorrow.

Hildred dared not hear him out. One moment's
irresolution and all would be lost.
She had not time to weigh, or choose words.
She thought only of Millie. Her answer was
fiercely indignant—full of vehement resentment.
He was humbled this time: she full
of pride and power. Once and for ever her
fate was decided.

Was it, after all, so great a sacrifice?
Loving Millie as she did, was she not conscious
that she did not voluntarily give up her own
happiness; for that happiness at Millie's
expense was simply impossible. If Hildred
had deemed Millie's nature one that could
forget and love again, after awhile, she
would long since have wavered in her purpose;
but she knew the girl's words were
true when she said she "did not forget." She
felt that she was as firm as she was gentle.
She had read a world of unchangeableness