old priest and the young woman left the works of man for those
of Nature.

"Do not fear, I will take such care of your garden while you are away,"
said Evelyn; "and you must write and let us know what day you are to
come back."

"My dear Evelyn, you are born to spoil every one--from Sultan to
Aubrey."

"And to be spoilt too, don't forget that," cried Evelyn, laughingly
shaking back her ringlets. "And now, before you go, will you tell me, as
you are so wise, what I can do to make--to make--my mother love me?"

Evelyn's voice faltered as she spoke the last words, and Aubrey looked
surprised and moved.

"Your mother love you, my dear Evelyn! What do you mean,--does she not
love you?"

"Ah, not as I love her. She is kind and gentle, I know, for she is so to
all; but she does not confide in me, she does not trust me; she has some
sorrow at heart which I am never allowed to learn and soothe. Why does
she avoid all mention of her early days? She never talks to me as
if she, too, had once a mother! Why am I never to speak of her first
marriage, of my father? Why does she look reproachfully at me, and shun
me--yes, shun me, for days together--if--if I attempt to draw her to the
past? Is there a secret? If so, am I not old enough to know it?"

Evelyn spoke quickly and nervously, and with quivering lips. Aubrey took
her hand, and pressing it, said, after a little pause,--

"Evelyn, this is the first time you have ever thus spoken to me. Has
anything chanced to arouse your--shall I call it curiosity, or shall I
call it the mortified pride of affection?"

"And you, too, aye harsh; you blame me! No, it is true that I have not
thus spoken to you before; but I have long, long thought with grief that
I was insufficient to my mother's happiness,--I who love her so dearly.
And now, since Mrs. Leslie has been here, I find her conversing with
this comparative stranger so much more confidentially than with me. When
I come in unexpectedly, they cease their conference, as if I were not
worthy to share it; and--and oh, if I could but make you understand
that all I desire is that my mother should love me and know me and trust
me--"

"Evelyn," said the curate, coldly, "you love your mother, and justly;
a kinder and a gentler heart than hers does not beat in a human breast.
Her first wish in life is for your happiness and welfare. You ask for
confidence, but why not confide in her; why not believe her actuated by
the best and the tend