for simple decoration. There are
bright-coloured texts on the walls, and an old Family Bible under a
glass case.

"My mother will be back from the market directly," says Eleanor; "would
you do us the honour of stopping to dinner?"

The tone became a supplication, mingled with smiles.

"You are too kind," declares Philip, touched by the unostentatious
hospitality of his newly found friend. "I shall be most delighted."

"Come and let us watch for the return of Black Bess," she cries,
leading the way out into the garden again. Philip thinks he has never
spent a more delightful morning.

To have missed it would have been to lose one of the sweetest episodes
of his life. The intense restfulness of Copthorne Farm, the fragrance
of the air, the softness of the carpet beneath his feet, the cattle
browsing in verdant pastures, and the murmur of those winged and drowsy
honey-laden workers from the meadows, make a picture which will never
pass from his mind. For the moment, while basking in the harvest sun,
a scene which must some day be only a faded pleasure left to
recollection, is Paradise!

Then the Grebbys' return from their marketing, to welcome the stranger
whom Eleanor proudly introduces. Hospitality is a creed with them, and
renewing their daughter's invitation, they place the choicest their
home affords before the unexpected guest. Thus it is that Philip Roche
finds himself in Eleanor's family circle, discussing the crops and
weather with her father, a rubicund, hale old man, whose life is
centred in bucolic pursuits.

* * * * *

The harvest is over, the wheat and barley are garnered, but still
Philip lingers, chained by that mysterious agent the world calls--Love!

He sees the embodiment of all he most admires in Eleanor, the sweet
domesticated country maiden, pure as the health-laden breezes sighing
through the trees. His love ennobles his being, he is surprised at
this inexplicable and unfathomable passion.

"Eleanor," he says, "I am going away--I want to take you with me. Will
you be my wife?"

It is more a command than a question. He cannot do without her. She
_must_ consent.

The girl's breath comes and goes swiftly; for a moment he fears she
will faint.

The future dances before her swimming brain, the alluring prospect of
money, position, pleasure, whisper like fiends in Eleanor's ears. Love
is forgotten; she only remembers the vague unsatisfied ambitions of