ze fixed on her in
sweet friendliness and gladness. For an instant neither spoke.
Christine's large eyes, clear as jewels in the firelight, gazed at him
across the bank of crimson roses that seemed to send a red flush to her
face.

Noel spoke first.

"All right again, at last!" he said, with a cheering smile. "Have you
had a pleasant nap?"

And he leaned forward and held out his hand.

A rush of sad remembrance came over Christine's face. The lines of her
mouth trembled a little and she dropped her eyes as she took his hand
in both her own and pressed it silently. Noel knew the touch meant only
gratitude, and it left him miserably unsatisfied, but he felt himself
strong to wait. She dropped his hand, and for a moment covered her face
with her own, as if to collect herself thoroughly. Then she sat upright
in her seat, scattering the roses to the floor. Noel knelt to gather
them up for her, and when he had collected the great mass into a
gorgeous bunch he knelt still as he held them out to her.

She took them, hiding her face in their glowing sweetness, and Noel,
rising, walked a few steps away, feeling it impossible to speak, unless
he allowed himself the words he had forsworn.

At this instant a cheery voice was heard in the hall.

"Who in the world left the front door open?" it said, in energetic,
matter-of-fact tones, at the sound of which Noel felt suddenly
fortified.

Mrs. Murray had entered just in time, for the sight of Christine here
alone had been almost too much for the resolutions of reserve in which
he had flattered himself he was so strong.

XIII.

In a little while the lives of Mrs. Murray and Christine had settled
into a calm routine of work and talk, and the simple recreations of
reading and house-decorating which were the only ones that Christine
ever seemed to think of. She never went out, and worked with as much
application as Mrs. Murray would permit at the embroidery which, at
her earnest request, the wise old lady had got for her. She and
Christine had a frank and loving talk, in which one was as interested
as the other, in Christine's making her own living, and in which it
was settled, to the joy of each, that their home in future was to be
together. They were days of strange peace and calm for poor Christine,
and her heart would swell with gratefulness for them, as she sat over
her beautiful embroidery, which was in itself a pleasure to her.

But the evenings were the best o