l passionate outbursts of the
child Celia, usually so gentle, so timidly reserved.

That strange letter of hers had puzzled while it hurt. Far away from the
scene of the trouble, he could not understand the bitterness of the
strife. That for a village quarrel--some unkind words, perhaps--she could
break the bond between them--was this the Celia he thought he knew so
well?

The wound had rankled, but after a time he told himself it was for the
best. Travel and study had broadened and matured him, and he could smile
now as he recognized, what was unsuspected at the time, that his mother
had planned these years of absence in the determination to cure him of a
boyish fancy which her eyes had been keen enough to detect.

And yet--his thought would dwell upon her as she stood on the step, her
arm around Belle, the laughter fading from her face. Not the little
schoolgirl, but a woman, gracious and tender.

Rosalind danced away to join Maurice and Katherine, whose humble penitence
had restored her to favor; and over the hedge came the sound of their
voices singing an old tune. On the still night air, in their clear treble,
the words carried distinctly:--

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot?"--

CHAPTER TWENTIETH.

THE SPINET.

"Thou art not for the fashion of these times."

"Where are you going to put it, Celia?" asked Mrs. Fair.

"In Saint Cecilia's room, I suppose," her daughter replied. Her father had
given this name to the sitting room which was her own special property,
and in which she would have nothing that was not associated in some way
with her great-grandmother.

"I don't believe you ever enter it now," Mrs. Fair continued
discontentedly.

"The spinet won't mind that; it is used to being alone," Celia answered
cheerfully, standing before the mirror, fastening an oak leaf on her
dress. It reminded her that even if her heart was heavy and her life full
of difficulties, she could still be courageous.

"Things are sure to come right in the Forest," she had said to herself
again and again. Not because she believed it, but because she longed to,
and sometimes she did believe it,--just for a little while,--as she looked
from Patricia's Arbor across to that bit of sunny road.

Since the adventure of the Arden Foresters the cellar windows of the
Gilpin house had been securely fastened, and its bolts and bars made proof
against more experienced house breakers than they. And now preparations
for t