rt your
heart," she said; and suddenly turned her back on Magdalen as she spoke
the words.

There was a momentary pause. Norah kept her position. Magdalen looked
at her perplexedly--hesitated--then walked away by herself toward the
house.

At the turn in the shrubbery path she stopped and looked back uneasily.
"Oh, dear, dear!" she thought to herself, "why didn't Frank go when
I told him?" She hesitated, and went back a few steps. "There's Norah
standing on her dignity, as obstinate as ever." She stopped again. "What
had I better do? I hate quarreling: I think I'll make up." She ventured
close to her sister and touched her on the shoulder. Norah never moved.
"It's not often she flies into a passion," thought Magdalen, touching
her again; "but when she does, what a time it lasts her!--Come!" she
said, "give me a kiss, Norah, and make it up. Won't you let me get at
any part of you, my dear, but the back of your neck? Well, it's a very
nice neck--it's better worth kissing than mine--and there the kiss is,
in spite of you!"

She caught fast hold of Norah from behind, and suited the action to
the word, with a total disregard of all that had just passed, which her
sister was far from emulating. Hardly a minute since the warm outpouring
of Norah's heart had burst through all obstacles. Had the icy reserve
frozen her up again already! It was hard to say. She never spoke;
she never changed her position--she only searched hurriedly for her
handkerchief. As she drew it out, there was a sound of approaching
footsteps in the inner recesses of the shrubbery. A Scotch terrier
scampered into view; and a cheerful voice sang the first lines of
the glee in "As You Like It." "It's papa!" cried Magdalen. "Come,
Norah--come and meet him."

Instead of following her sister, Norah pulled down the veil of her
garden hat, turned in the opposite direction, and hurried back to the
house. She ran up to her own room and locked herself in. She was crying
bitterly.

CHAPTER VIII.

WHEN Magdalen and her father met in the shrubbery Mr. Vanstone's face
showed plainly that something had happened to please him since he had
left home in the morning. He answered the question which his daughter's
curiosity at once addressed to him by informing her that he had just
come from Mr. Clare's cottage; and that he had picked up, in that
unpromising locality, a startling piece of news for the family at
Combe-Raven.

On entering the philosopher's study th