last they were eager and luminous.

"Perhaps," she half whispered--"perhaps there is something in it
after all!--something just a little new and out of the ordinary--
but--how shall I ever know!"

Putting the manuscript by with a lingering care, she went to the
window and looked out. The peaceful scene was dear and familiar--
and she already felt a premonition of the pain she would have to
endure in leaving so sweet and safe a home. Her thoughts gradually
recurred to the old trouble--Robin, and Robin's love for her,--
Robin, who, if she married him, would spend his life gladly in the
effort to make her happy,--where in the wide world would she find
a better, truer-hearted man? And yet--a curious reluctance had
held her back from him, even when she had believed herself to be
the actual daughter of Hugo Jocelyn,--and now--now, when she knew
she was nothing but a stray foundling, deserted by her own parents
and left to the care of strangers, she considered it would be
nothing short of shame and disgrace to him, were she to become his
wife.

"I can always be his friend," she said to herself--"And if I once
make him understand clearly how much better it is for us to be
like brother and sister, he will see things in the right way. And
when he marries I am sure to be fond of his wife and children--
and--and--it will be ever so much happier for us all! I'll go and
talk to him now."

She ran downstairs and out across the garden, and presently made a
sudden appearance in the orchard--a little vision of white among