m; there was
always the apprehension in the love-sick girl's heart that such timely
attentions as the offer of proper refreshment or of the use of the
spring-cart might be lacking. The parents were never in the daughter's
confidence. She always feared their interference. There was no beginning
to the story, no crisis, no culmination.

'Now tell me when ye first saw Mr. Kinnaird?' asked the maid.

But to this there was no answer. It had not been love at first sight,
its small beginnings had left no impression; nor was there ever any
mention of a change in the relation, or of a parting, only that
suggestion of a long and weary waiting, given in the beginning of this
phase of memory, when she refused to touch her food, and said she was
'sair longing' to see him again.

The household at Kelsey Farm had flourished in the palmy days of
agriculture. Hunters had been kept and pink coats worn, and the mother,
of kin with the neighbouring gentry, had kept her carriage to ride in.
There had been many pleasures, no doubt, for the daughter of such a
house, but only one pleasure remained fixed on her memory, the pleasure
of seeing Kinnaird's eyes shining upon her. These days of the lady's
youth had happened at a time when religion, if strong, was a sombre
thing; and to those who held the pleasures of life in both hands, it was
little more than a name and a rite. So it came to pass that no religious
sentiment was stirred with the thought of this old joy and succeeding
sorrow.

The minister never failed to read some sacred texts when he sat beside
her; and when he found himself alone with the old dame, he would kneel
and pray aloud in such simple words as he thought she might understand.
He did it more to ease his own heart because of the love he bore her
than because he supposed that it made any difference in the sight of
God whether she heard him or not. He was past the prime of life, and had
fallen into pompous and ministerial habits of manner, but in his heart
he was always pondering to find what the realities of life might be; he
seldom drew false conclusions, although to many a question he was
content to find no answer. He wore a serious look--people seldom knew
what was passing in his mind; the doctor began to think that he was
anxious for the safety of the old dame's soul.

'I am not without hope of a lucid interval at the end,' he said; 'there
is wonderful vitality yet, and it's little more than the power of memory
that