very affection for Harley, childlike and reverent, made her tremble lest
she should deceive him--she drew a little aside, and spoke thus,

"Oh, my dear guardian, noblest of all human beings, at least in my eyes,
forgive, forgive me, if I seem ungrateful, hesitating; but I cannot,
cannot think of myself as worthy of you. I never so lifted my eyes.
Your rank, your position--"

"Why should they be eternally my curse? Forget them, and go on."

"It is not only they," said Helen, almost sobbing, "though they are much;
but I your type, your ideal!--I?--impossible! Oh, how can I ever be
anything even of use, of aid, of comfort to one like you!"

"You can, Helen--you can," cried Harley, charmed by such ingenuous
modesty. "May I not keep this hand?" And Helen left her hand in
Harley's, and turned away her face, fairly weeping.

A stately step passed under the wintry trees.

"My mother," said Harley L'Estrange, looking up, "I present to you my
future wife."




CHAPTER IX.

With a slow step and an abstracted air, Harley L'Estrange bent his way
towards Egerton's house, after his eventful interview with Helen. He had