usic."

Had Lily not turned quickly away just then, she would have noticed the
uneasy, startled look which crossed Reginald Gower's face at her words.
Was this woodland child, he asked himself, to be always crossing his
path?

He had hoped he had heard the last of her long ago, and some years had
elapsed since he had seen her. The circumstance of the likeness to the
picture in Harcourt Manor, and the coincidence of the necklace, had
_almost_ (but as he had not yet quite killed his conscience), not
_altogether_, escaped his memory; and still, as at times he marked the
increasing sadness on Mrs. Willoughby's countenance, he felt a sharp
pang of remorse; and since he had known and begun to care for Gertie
Warden, her devoted Christian life and clear, truthful spirit were
making him more conscious than ever of his own selfishness and sin.

True, he had no reason to suppose that she cared for him in any way
except as the son of his mother, whom she dearly loved, but his vanity
whispered that perhaps in time she might do so; and if that came to
pass, and he found that his love was returned, _then_ he would tell her
all, and consult with her as to what course he should follow.

Lately, however, he had become uneasy at the many references which Lily
Warden made to a Dr. Heinz, who seemed to be often about the house, and
of whom both sisters spoke in high terms as a Christian man and pleasant
friend. What if he should gain the affection of Gertie? Heinz! something
in the name haunted him. Surely he had heard it before, and in
connection with the young violinist. And now was it possible that that
beautiful girl was really coming amongst them, and that his own mother
might meet her any day? for she was often at the house, not only of the
Wardens, but also of their aunt Mary, with whom the girl was coming to
stay.

No wonder that during the ride Lily Warden thought Mr. Gower strangely
preoccupied and silent. She attributed it all to his disappointment at
her sister's absence, and felt vexed that such should be the case, as
well she knew that in the way he wished Gertie would never think of
Reginald Gower; but she felt sorry for him, and tried to cheer him up.

Through that long ride, with summer sunshine and summer beauties around
him, Reginald saw only one face, and it was not that of Gertie Warden,
but that of the young girl whom he had heard play on the violin at the
house of the Stanfords at Baden-Baden.

Oh, if he had