s
dreams! It was love at first sight. He knew that now. His man's heart
had been set on the hope of winning her, and now she was lost to him.

Never for one moment had she belonged to him, or could belong to him.
"He and Nan have cared for each other all their lives,"--that was what
her sister had told him; and what remained but for him to stamp out
this craze and fever before it mastered him and robbed him of his
peace?

"I am not the only man who has had to suffer," thought Archie, as
hours after he stumbled up to bed in the darkness. "At least, it makes
it easier to know that no one shares my pain. These things are better
battled out alone. I could not bear even Grace's sympathy in this."
And yet as Archie said this to himself, he recalled without any
bitterness the half-tender, half pitying look in Phillis's eyes. "She
was sorry for me. She saw it all; and it was kind of her to tell me,"
thought the young man.

He had no idea that Phillis was at that moment whispering little
wistful prayers in the darkness that he might soon be comforted.

Who knows how many such prayers are flung out into the deep of God's
mercy,--comfort for such a one whom we would fain comfort ourselves;
feeble utterances and cries of pity; the stretching out of helpless
hands, which nevertheless may bring down blessings? But so it shall be
while men and women struggle and fall, and weep the tears common to
humanity, "until all eyes are dried in the clear light of eternity,
and the sorest heart shall then own the wisdom of the cross that had
been laid upon them."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"THIS IS LIFE AND DEATH TO ME."

Phillis found it difficult during the next few days to reconcile
divided sympathies; a nice adjustment of conflicting feelings seemed
almost impossible. Nan was so simply, so transparently happy, that no
sister worthy of the name could refuse to rejoice with her: a creature
so brimming over with gladness, with contented love, was certain to
reflect heart-sunshine. On the other hand, there was Mr. Drummond! To
be glad and sorry in a breath was as provoking to a feeling woman as
the traveller's blowing hot and cold was to the satyr in the fable.

In trying to preserve an even balance Phillis became decidedly cross.
She was one who liked a clear temperature,--neither torrid nor frigid.
Too much susceptibility gave her an east-windy feeling; to be always
at the fever-point of sympathy with one's fellow-creatures would not