d and thought--true as the needle to the North Star--was he to
the lady of his love.

The weeks went swiftly and pleasantly enough; but his red-letter day
was the Saturday afternoon that brought him to his darling. And she,
buried among her dry-as-dust school-books and classic lore--how she
looked forward to the weekly day of grace no words of mine can tell.

But with the first bright days of April came a change. He was going
back to England, he told her, one Saturday afternoon, as they sat,
lover-like, side by side, in the prim salon. She gave a low cry at the
words, and looked at him with wild, wide eyes.

"Going to England! Going to leave me!"

"My dearest, it is for your sake I go, and I will be gone but a little
while. The end of next October our long year of waiting ends, and
before the Christmas snow flies, my darling must be all my own. It is
to prepare for our marriage I go."

She hid her glowing face on his shoulder.

"I would make Kingsland Court a very Paradise, if I could, for my
bright little queen. As I can not make it quite Paradise, I will do
what I can."

"Any place is my Paradise so that you are there, Everard!"

"Landscape gardeners and upholsterers shall wave their magic wands and
work their nineteenth century miracles," he said, presently, reverting
to his project. "My dear girl's future home shall be a very bower of
delights. And, besides, I want to see my mother. She feels herself a
little slighted, I am afraid, after this winter's absence."

"Ah, your mother!" with a little sigh. "Will she ever like me, do yon
think, Everard? Her letter was so cold, so formal, so chilling!"

For this high-stepping young lady who had ridden at the fox-hunt with
reckless daring, who was so regally uplifted and imperious, had grown
very humble in her new love.

Harrie had written to my lady an humble, girlish, appealing little
letter, and had received the coldest of polite replies with the "bloody
hand" and the Kingsland crest emblazoned proudly, and the motto of the
house in good old Norman French, "Strike once, and strike well."

Since then there had been no correspondence. Miss Hunsden was too
proud to sue for her favor, and Sir Everard loved her too sensitively
to expose her to a possible rebuff.

My lady was unutterably offended by her son's desertion of a whole
winter. She was nothing to him now. This bold, masculine girl with
the horrible boy's name was his all in all now.

Si