Year: 1867

uuIh eyes. oVuJ AAOiu


and said:


~ cannot leave Milly."


To our own thinking, / had pronounced
our doom now; but Mark Sutherland coul(
laugh, and said:


swell, then, you shall uot; Miss Mill.
shall 90 too"


"Ah if that could be; but Milly would
die in Inia. We came home because th'
climate was killing her."


"And you will not leave her?'


~ promised mamma, before she died
I never would, that if l married it should
never separate us; that my home should
be Millys till she did not need it." an
swered /, faltering under something in the
look in his face that was new in me. UE
to this time had been thinking Of myself
now ! was reminded that l was giving
pain to him.


He was silent two or three minutes
looking away into the distance. He had
taken his hand from my shoulder.


swell, Hester" he said presently,
gravely, not unkindly-but Ah as it
seemed to me, very kindly-''you have
simply chosen between your sister and my
self: You are best able to judge of your
sisters claims upon you of my own,
will only say that l love you. l never
thought or cared much about women till
saw you, so am not likely to change my
liking, or to forget it, and if you had
married me-but l will not try to plead
my cause against your sisters. 1t is for
you to decide, and for me to abide by your
decision


looked desperately up to the smiling
blue heavens, at the calm stream flowing
on it's tranquil path to the sea, at all the
sun-basking peace around me, and prayed,
with prayer so passionate that it seemed
like loud demand, that l might not be
forced into Staying with my own hands
the young happiness of my lite. 81 can
not and will not dc it, l said in my heart
yet knowing at the same time that l must
and could.


Then Mark spoke again.


'Would you like little time to consid-
er the matter? need not leave the Hol-
lies till tomorrow evening, or, perhaps,
tie next day.


"No,'' answered-with or without my
own will, l never knew. 81 know what
must do. cannot leave Milly."


'And Milly cannot go. That decides
it, then. Well, have nothing to say. l
am the last man in the world to try and
persuade any one against their judg-
ment.n


He rose deliberately, but did not go, for
sat still. "Are you going homer ne
asked, after a minute. 'Hester, don't
look so sad you are feeling for NEEDN'T
do that. | should like to think of you
when am over the seas, as happy as |
would have tried to have made you. Think
of me sometimes as a friend. | don't ex-
pect to fo~get you, Hester. Good bye"
: His hand. as he held out, shook ever so
lightly. but it held mine in a firm pressure
for an instant. Then he let it drop, stoop-
ed and picked up his gun, whistled his
dogs around him, and strobe away again
along the sea-wall, without once turning
to look back.


Milly and I were both orphans. Our
father and mother had both died in India
and we were sent home to the care Of our
sole relative, my fathers only sister, an
elderly maiden lady, living in a kind of
lady like poverty at dull little village at
Kent. Aunt Dolly died when was
seventeen and Milly twelve, leaving to US
the little cottage that had been her home
and ours, with everything it contained
no valuable bequest, but all the poor soul
had to leave and here Milly and mot
beiresses, no, not being destitute, neither
to live with the dear old serv-
ant who had been our aunt's faithful COM
panion and our kind, aifectionate nurse
ever since, fatherless and motherless, we
had been sent to England.


There were 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 there were Mil
ly's contemporaries, and her sworn admir-
ers and friends. first saw Mark Suther-
land at the Hollies; he was Mr.. Suther-
lands cousin, and had heard Of him Of
ten before saw him. He had led a wild,
adventurous kind of life, wandering all
over the world for his simple pleasure
eurpese, since never heard that he had
any other object in doing so. had form
ed nv idea of him; to be sure the reality
was not in the least like it. No quite 9TH
erwise; and yet, after the first five minutes
l would not have changed the real man for
the ideal, for worlds.


Do not suppose that speculated much
upon Marks character in those days; such
as he was loved him, dearly loved him
ah he would never know how dearly, for
had not given him up?


As one in a dream, went home; as one
in dream, crawled slowly up the steep
winding lawn to our cottage; saw Milly on
the garden gate watching for me; saw her
come, flying out into the lawn to meet me,
all her golden hair streaming straight ont
behind her; heard her call me, scold me
for being late; heard my own voice an
swered; saw and heard all the familiar
sights and sounds of everyday life, as we
do sometimes in dreams, all made strange
end perplexing by some dreadful sense Of
pain and trouble


"Het,' said Nlilly, as we sat at tea,
i" you're not eating anything, and look pale
and clum, you've sat out in those horrid
marshes till the sun has made you sick.
shall not allow you to go out there again,
mind that


It pleased NIilly 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 my solitary life gave
me to love till I saw Mark; had set my
idol longssago, but it cost me dear. re-
member that the child was in more than
usually high spirits on that evening that
she teased me to talk to her, sing to her,
and finally flew up to bed in childish fit
of anger, because could do neither one
nor the other. At any other time / should
have gone after her, coaxed and caressed
her into good temper; but now, with a
feeling of relief that she was gone, | sat a!
the window staring out into the dark, still
night, and counted the cost of the sac
rifce. Long, long sat there, long after
the moon had risen, had set, and the stars
began to grow dark before the streak o.
light in the east. thought of Mark; o
what had done, of what had given up
until was nearly mad for when ! stood
up and closed the window before going uT
| to my room, l had said to myself that
would write to Mark Sutherland wher
morning came. and tell him that ! hat
chosen once more between the two loved