Year: 1867

your decision.

 looked desperately up to the smilin. blue heavens, at the calm stream flowing o, its tranquil path to the sea, ct all the sun basking peace around me and prayed witt q prayer SO passionate that it seemed like ; loud demand, that might not be forced into staying with my own hands the youn: happiness of my life. 'sI cannot and vii not do it, I said in my heart yet knowing at the same time that must, and could Then Mark spoke again.

 "'Would you like little time to consider the matter I need not leave the Hollies till tomorrow evening, or, perhaps, the next day"

 "No," answered, with or without ,ny own will never knew. "I know what must do. cannot leave Milly"

 And Milly cannot go. That decides il then. We'll, l have nothing to say, an the last man in the world to try and per. suade any one against their judgment

 He rose deliberately but did not go, fol I sat still. "Are you going home ," he asked after minute "Hester, don't look so sad :; you are feeling for me-don't dc that. should like to think of you when over the seas as happy as I would have tried to have made you, think of me some 1 d 1 you, Hester, good bye."

 His hand as he held it out, shook ever SC lightly, but it held mine in a firm pressure ed and picked up his gun, whistled his dogs the sea wall, without once turning to look back.

 h1illy and were both orphans Oul father and mother had both died in India. and we were sent home to the care of oul sole relative. my fathers only sister, an cid erly maiden lady, living in kind of lady like poverty at dull little village at Kent ] Aunt Dolly died when was seventeen and l Milly twelve, leaving to us the little cottage 1 that had been her home and ours, with eve rything it contained /; no very valuable be- quest, but all the poor soul had to leave and here NIilly and mot heiress, no, but not destitute, neither-continued to live 1 with the dear old servant who had been ou1 aunt's faithful companion and our kind af | fectionate nurse ever since, fatherless anC notherless, we had been sent to England There are not many people to visit at Hillstead-the rector, the doctor, and the family at the Hollies comprised them. l think we were the most intimate at the Hollies; for the children at Hollies were Milly's contemporaries, and her sworn ad mirers and friends. I first saw Mark Suth erland at the Hollies; he was Mir. Suther lands cousin, and I had heard of him oft en before saw him. He had led a wild adventurous kind of life, wandering all over the world for his simple pleasure, suppose, since I never heard that he had any other object in doing so.. had form | ed my idea of him; to be sure the reality was not in the least like it. No, quite otherwise, and yet, after the first five min utes, would not have changed the req man for the ideal for worlds.

 Do-not suppose that I speculated much l upon Marks character in those days, sucE as he was I loved him. dearly loved him ah! he would never know how dearly, fo1 had not given him up?

 As one in dream, I went home; as one in 9 dream crawled slowly up the steer winding lawn to our cottage; saw Millv or the garden gate watching for me, come flv ing out into the lawn to meet me, all hel golden hair streaming straight out behind her, heard her call me, scold me for beins late, my own voice answered, saw and heard all the familiar sights and sounds of ever, day life as we do sometimes in dreams. al made strange and perplexing by some dreadful sense of pain and trouble.

 "Het, said Milly, as we sat at tea, "yo, are not eating any thing, you look pale anG glum, you've sat out in those horrid marsh estill the sun has made you sick. I shal not allow you to go out there again, minC that"

 It pleased Milly to play the elder sister and was always content that the little one should do what pleased her. She was my darling the one thing that my solitary life gave me to love till saw Mark; I had SC my idol long ago, but it cost me dear. remember that the child was in more thar usually high spirits on that evening, tha she leased me to talk to her, sing to her and finally flew up to bed in childish fl of anger, because I could neither do one or the other. At any other time I should have gone after her, coaxed and caresset her into good temper, but now, with 8 feel ing of relief that she was gone, sat at the window staring out into the dark scented night, and counted the cost of the sacri fee. Long, long sat there, long after tht moon had risen, had set, and the stars be gan to grow dark before the streak of gray lieht in the east. I thought of Mark; o1 what had done, of what had given up until was nearly mad, for when I stood I up duu clOSeU GIlo UC1o1C SOluS uk to my room, I had said to myself that would write to Mark Sutherland when morn ing came and tell him that I had choser once more between the two I loved, ant chosen differently. Therefore I hoped tha I was mad; but went up stairs quite re solved and quiet; undressed without eve1 once glancing toward the bed where my lit tie sister lay; and meant to lie down o, my pillow without doing so; but oh! could not say my prayers and leave Mill, without the kiss I always gave her before slept

 So Iwent up to the bed and drawing back the curtain, looked down upon wha |had for years been my sole earthly treasure The child looked pale in the cold gra. dawn, her golden hair was tossed wildl, back from her face, and covered the pii low; and while I stood and gazed, my mad ness dying away, my old self coming back she stirred in her sleep, two great tear welled out from her closed eyes, and with heavy sob she murmured Hester!'

 Then knelt down in the gray dawninp and thanked God that my madness wa passed, and prayed that He had given m strength to make the sacrifice, so He woul help me never to regret 1t.

 I did not see Mark Sutherland again; bu the next time that Milly went up to tn oIo 4o1