le should be on friendly terms, at
all events; she wanted the family feud to die with the generation it
had afflicted. She promised, therefore, to speak to Sir Charles; and so
great was her influence that she actually obtained terms for Compton:
he might speak to Miss Bassett, if he would realize the whole
situation, and be very discreet, and not revive that absurd familiarity
into which, their childhood had been betrayed.

She communicated this to him, and warned him at the same time that even
this concession had been granted somewhat reluctantly, and in
consideration of his invariable good conduct; it would be immediately
withdrawn upon the slightest indiscretion.

"Oh, I will be discretion itself," said Compton; but the warmth with
which he kissed his mother gave her some doubts. However, she was
prepared to risk something. She had her own views in this matter.

When he had got this limited permission, Master Compton was not much
nearer the mark; for he was not to call on the young lady, and she did
not often walk in the village.

But he often thought of her, her loving, sprightly ways seven years
ago, and the blaze of beauty with which she had returned.

At last, one Sunday afternoon, she came to church alone. When the
congregation dispersed, he followed her, and came up with her, but his
heart beat violently.

"Miss Bassett!" said he, timidly.

She stopped, and turned her eyes on him; he blushed up to the temples.
She blushed too, but not quite so much.

"I am afraid you don't remember me," said the boy, sadly.

"Yes, I do, sir," said Ruperta, shyly.

"How you are grown!"

"Yes, sir."

"You are taller than I am, and more beautiful than ever."

No answer, but a blush.

"You are not angry with me for speaking to you?"

"No, sir."

"I wouldn't offend you."

"I am not offended. Only--"

"Oh, Miss Bassett, of course I know you will never be--we shall never
be--like we used."

A very deep blush, and dead silence.

"You are a grown-up young lady, and I am only a boy still, somehow. But
it _would_ have been hard if I might not even speak to you. Would it
not?"

"Yes," said the young lady, but after some hesitation, and only in a
whisper.

"I wonder where you walk to. I have never seen you out but once."

No reply to this little feeler.

Then, at last, Compton was discouraged, partly by her beauty and size,
partly by her taciturnity.

He was silent in return, and so, in a state of mutual c