irth to, and cherish up a resolve, who
will not achieve a purpose, be it for good or bad, for weal or for wo.
Rose was altogether and perfectly simple and single-hearted: conscious
that she was an orphan, dependent upon her grandmother's slender
annuity for support, and that Helen's father could not provide both
for his daughter and his niece, her life was one of patient industry
and unregretted privation. Before she was fifteen, she had persuaded
her grandmother to part with her serving maiden, and with very little
assistance from Helen, she performed the labours of their cottage,
aided twice a-week by an elderly woman, who often declared that such
another girl as Rose Dillon was not to be found in the country. Both
were now verging on seventeen, and Helen received the addresses of a
young farmer in the neighbourhood--a youth of excellent yeoman family,
and of superior education and manners.

The cousins walked out one evening together, and Rose turned into the
lane where they used frequently to meet Edward Lynne.

"No, Rose," said Helen, "not there; I am not in a humour to meet
Edward to-night."

"But you said you would," said Rose.

"Well, do not look so solemn about it. I daresay I did--but lover's
promises--if indeed we are lovers. Do you know, Rose, I should be
very much obliged to you to take Edward off my hands--he is just the
husband for you, so rustic and quiet."

"Edward to be taken off your hands, Helen!--Edward Lynne!--the
protector of our childhood--the pride of the village--the very
companion of Mr. Stokes--why, he dined with him last Sunday! Edward
Lynne! You jest, cousin! and"-- Rose Dillon paused suddenly, for she
was going to add, "You ought not to jest with me." She checked herself
in time; stooped down to gather some flowers to hide her agitation;
felt her cheeks flush, her heart beat, her head swim, and then a chill
creep through her frame. Helen had unconsciously awoke the hope which
Rose had never dared to confess unto herself. The waking was ecstatic;
but she knew the depth of Edward's love for Helen. She had been
his confidant--she believed it was a jest--how could her cousin do
otherwise than love Edward Lynne? And with this belief, she recovered
the self-possession which the necessity for subduing her feelings had
taught her even at that early age.

"And Rose," said Helen, in a quiet voice, "did you really think I ever
intended to marry Edward Lynne?"

"Certainly, cousin. Why, you lo