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"It is early yet,” Olive returns. placid- ly threading her needle. "Not so very early"â€"Iooking at my watch. “I wonder what: sport Ronald has had? I haven’t heard any shots late- ly;Ahave you?" "I am sure 1;; ‘ought to hag; had enough of it by this time," I say, not 7"One cafmot hear much when you and Eng“; are romping with each other." “You did not think so always, Olive. I remember when you ridiculed the idea of matrimony and were going in for wo- mgg’s rights and all thatikind of thing.” “Butfi you don’t think it wil! ever come to pass?” "I hope it, will never come to pass.” “You hope your son won’t- have Wood- hag, _Olive?” 7 z “My dear Allie, I should be sorry to think of your living the cheerless life you have mapped out for yourself. It. seems all very well now, while you are young and have plenty of friends. But think how lonely you would feel by-and- by when you begin to grow old, Without husband or children to care for youâ€" with nobody in the world who really loved you, perhaps, as a wife and mother is sure to be loved!” . If I sigh, Olive does not hear me. thq‘qghfier 11in_k car}; are sharp ionough. “My dear. I have been resigned to my fate this long time back,” I say care- lessly, pulling one of Scott’s elastic curls straight, and then letting it run into glossy flaxen spirals again; "and, after all, it is not such a very terrible thing to be an old maid.” "I think it _is 9, terrible thing,” 01930 "I think it is a, terr answers seriouslyâ€"“a Ithing." “’1' hope your own son will hay. Allie. You have done Bc‘ojt already.” "By presen-ting him with an 11eg silver mpg the day he was christened !” Olive shakes her head. denuded of its golden fringe now, with sleek golden braids drawn back plainly from her fore- head instead, and plaited neatly at the back of her neck. -nvv, ~__.,.. ..-____. -._, . 1 film great delight in spbiling my lit- tle godson, partly because he is such a. splendid little fellow. but principally be- cause it. is so amusing to hear Olive pro- testing against i-t. She has grown so de- liciously matter-of-l'act since she married Mr. Lockhm‘t! Three years have trans- formed her from a scatter-brained girl into the most, amusingly demure matron who ever pretended not to adore her hus- band, or to think her children the most perfect children that ever were born. "I wonder how you will bring up your own children one of these days." Olive observes in her precise voice. glancing at {no over the pinafore she is embroider- ng. "I shall never have any children to bring up. I shall be a. rich old spinster, and Scott shall be my adopted son. and I will leave Woodhay to him when I die, and he shall take the name of Scottâ€"- Scott Lockhart, Scott. Doesn’t. it sound well, Olive?" “It sounds well enough,” Olive says, smiling, "You delicious little mite!” I laugh en- oouragingly, kissing his rosebud mouth. his bloomy cheeks, his dimpled elbows. whilst. he makes vain snatches at. my hair, at my ear-rings. at my nose even. with his chubby dimpled flats; ,“Why, Olive. if I’ were‘you I ahbuld do nothing but kiss him all flay iong!” “I wonder what would become of Hya- cinth and the Vicarage, and the parish generally, if I made a. goose of myself?" Ol_ivp!_says dempxjgly. "Isn’t he a. jolly little"fellow. Olive?" Olive glances at ghe“'cherub~faced boy on my lap, whom I have been smothering with kisses. "He isra fine child, certainly." "A fine child!” I exclnim with laughing indignation. "You speak of him as if he were some young creature whom you were faggning for a. prize.” "You will spoil h'im, Ame," Olive says; but. at. the same time she smiles indul- 391135131. Olive glances at us from her low chair inside the window. I am sitting on the steps just outside, holding the sturdy. two-year-old boy in my arms. Septem- ber sunshine makes glorious the ruddy gables of my old house, rising sharply defined againet the serene blue sky; Sep- tember sunshine dreams on the smooth terrace. on the trim walks and careful flower-beds of my sheltered garden, just. as it dreamed upon them three years ago. when my sick eyes saw no beauty in them, nor in the sunshine, nor in any other rain or lovely thing. "Spoil him! You are not capable of being spoiled, Scott; are you? You take after your godmother. my fair child! As if anybody could spoil such a. darling. Oli‘ve! Why, the nicest thing I could say ofmyim‘ w‘ould‘n’t‘be {m}! _nice enough!" "Not half nice ’nough!" Scortrt, corrobor- atgg. in >ahpgrfecigrof» tempest pf‘chuckles. i eid A SEVERE TRIAL; BUILDS SOUND MUSéLE OR. THE MEMORY OF A BOY WITH DARK EYES. CHAPTER XIV. 3 thing,” Olive very terrible 0-842 have Wood- enough for "Why did you not come to meet me, :13 you promised you would?" “I don’t know." "I was looking out for you in the larch wood." "Were you?” “Is that the way in which you keep your promises. Rosalie?" "I scarcely ever make any promises." "So much the better, since you can break them so easily." “I intended to 30. Ronald." “Then why did you not come?" If I had any reason at all, it was such a silly one that I do not care to tell it to himâ€"indeed nothing would induce me to tell it to him. of all people in the aworld. I have gone to meet him on his Eway back from shooting probably a hun- gdred times: but of late I have shrunk ,from treating him with the sisterly fa- (miliarity which has rendered our inter- icourse with each other so pleasanteto me, at leastâ€"for the last three years. :When or how this new feeling of shyness sprung up it would puzzle me to tell. Ronald has always treated me like a. younger sister, withga gentle protecting kindness which has gothing of the lover 'about it. I believe his last attempt at love making was in the train that. ev- ening, three years ago, when he brought me down to Woodhay. I do not remem- ber a single word, a single look since then which could be construed into the most distant approach to anything be- yond cousinly or brotherly affection. And I have ignored the past just as entirely â€"perhaps it was easier for me to do it than for himâ€"and found it very plea- sant to have Ronald to go to in all my difficulties, to ease me in a great mea- sure of all my cares of state, for, though we do not live in the same county. or in the same country cven~Ronald's place, Balquharrie, is in Scotlandâ€"he comes to Woodhay often. and we write to each other constantlyâ€"long letters. chiefly on business, but letters which I think are a pleasure to us both. I know they are a pleasure to me. says she thinks he is getting rather fond of his colonel’s daughter, a nice girl whom we used to know in London; and I hope it is the case. Ellinor Deane is married to Jack Rollestou; I have had them down here at Woodhay on a. visit. Poppy and her husband are in Ceylon. Ronald Scott had never gone back to India. A distant relative~a third or fourth cousin of his mother’s, I believe, and a. very old manâ€"had died before his year’s holiday was over, leaving him Balquharrie, a fine wild place in the north of Scotland, which it seems he al- ways knew would one day be his. I have never been there; but I have seen photo- graphs of the old castle. with its keep and drawbridge, and the great wild mountains towering up behind it. Some times a disagreeable thought obtrudes it- self into my mind that Ronald will be marrying somebody some of these days, and that I shall lose my friend. But I put the idea away from me persistent- ly; when the misfortune happens it will be time enough to lament over it. Mean- while anald helongs to 71116. I have had a great many offers of mar- riage during the last three years. more than I care to remember. I dismisned my suitors one after the other with no qualms of conscience. for even the vain- ost of them could not say that I had bestowed any favors upon him, or given him any reason to believe that I would lend a favorable ear to his suit. The only one for whom I felt, any sympathy was poor Gussie Deane. It did grieve meâ€"for the space of a day and a half ~to send him away sorrowing; but then neither had I ever given him any encour- agementâ€"my greatest enemy could not call me a. flirt. Gus had gone out to the Cape, he went more than a year ago; Olive hears from him sometimes. She Dear old Uncle Tod died two years ago, and since his death Aunt. Rosa. has lived with me. At his death the Lockharts moved into the vicrage. It is pleasant to have Olive so nearâ€"scarcely a day passes that we do not. see each otherâ€"her nur- sery is oneofr myffavorite haunts._.Whéi‘I" I am enjoying myself there, nobodw would suppose that I was the unapproachable Miss Somers of Woodha â€"so, at, leags, 01in tells me when she 1nterrimts’some glorious romp. And I am happy enouzh, with a kind of negative happinessâ€"I man- age to live, and take some pleasure out of lifeâ€"without the heart which I buried, the day I came of age, far down in the depths of my shadowy combs; I have never attempted to raise it up againâ€"I do not suppose I would, if I would. I have loved and done with love-4 gave QUICKLY STOPS COUGHS. CURES COLDS. HEALS THE THROAT AND LUNGS. 25 CENTS "Gardening 9, little, and driving with Aunt, Rosa." alluding to the romping. "He started off the moment after breakfastâ€"seven good hqprs ago, _at the very lqaat.” _» Digges 'has brought up a gypsy-table in front of me, and laid the tea-things upon itâ€"my dainty Sevres cups and sau- cers. my gilded spoons, my favorite plum. oake. piled high on a Sevres dish. Olive's favorite home-made biscuits. a. basket, of ripenblack plums. "What hamâ€"e you been doing with your- self all day, Rosalie?" Ronald asks. with apparent irrelevancy. fillilaiié QM” "Not. the slightest. Only it is astonish- ing how the thing never seems to pull 11an them!" blive looks at me, and the exp1 of her face annoyye. "May I yak wh is amusing?" “Olive, the end of it. will be that I shall qugrrgl with you,” I had seen him before she spoke, cross- ing the grass leisurely. his gun under his arm. and his dogs at his heels. He wears knickerbockers and coarse ribbed shooting-stockings. and he looks very well ~or I like his looks very wellâ€"as he comes up to the window. "Just in time for tea, Ronald." "I_ don't carerfor tea. Rosalie." he laughs, leaning his gun against the wall and sitting down on the steps at a. little distance from me. "But I don’t mind assisting at the ceremony once in a. way." “Had you 7any sport. Ronald?” "She hopes you had not," Olive inter- polites mischievqusly. 7 ' “Why does she hopé that?" Ronald asks, logging atrme. fl “Donfi't mind Olive: she is intensely dis- agreeable to-day,” I laugh, shrugging my shoulders. "Are yBu' in a. hurry'to have him back, Allie?” ‘ quire Vcrosaly. “0. nothing! Only, for such a confirmed apipgsterâ€"f "'I hope nBt,” Olive says equably. i'Eere is Sir Ronald coming up the awn." at me, and the expression A litle wayward she is still, a little willful even: but to me she is always obedience itself. I think. she always would be My apy 9116 she lovgqp And she loves me with a. perfect pas- sion of devotion. Whether she would love me so much if she knew how Gerard once loved me I know not-I have taken She dries her eyes obediently; she is just as much of a. child still as she was three years ago. In other things she is improved out of all resemblance to her former self. In appearance she has, if anything, gained in attractiveness, while in manner she‘ is as different, from the girl I brought. down to Woodhay three years ago as she is in education and refinement of speech. I have taken pains to make Gerard's wife as beautiful men- tally as she is outwardly, for his sake. and I have been rewarded .by a most un- expected measure of success. Lily is as fair as the flower she is called afterâ€"the wretched surroundings of her neglected childhood have not smirched the white- ness of her soul. “My dear Lily, What are you crying for. on this day, of all days in the year!” Only Bobs answer me. I touch her hair tenderly. the soft hair'that gleams like gold as it ri'pples away from 'her white forehead. "You are a. very foolish child, Lily; do yoq know that?” “He has not cared for anybody else since he left you. darling? "But how do you know?” "I know. And I have come to take you down to tea. Dry your eyes and come with me.” ‘ ~ my heart to Gerard Baxter three years and a half ago. and. if I have any ’heart left, it is his'still. Deep down, far away from the disturbing pleasures and cares of every day. 'lies the memory of a boy with dark eyesâ€"the memory of a tall handsome lad whom I loved long ago, whom I knowâ€"if I dared to disturb the moss and long grasses about that buried heartâ€"I love still_as I shall never love any one else in the world. "I thought you were in a hurry for tea, Allie?” Qlive’s voice wakeslme out of 3. rev- ene. "I wonder where Lily is?” I remark, as I arrange my cups and saucers. "In her room. I think." “Poor child!" 1 say softly. “She seems very nervous and excited, Allie. doesn’t she?" ' “Is it any wonder?" “I suppose not." " I feel very nervous and excited myself. though I try not to think of to-morrow. I have been learning a lesson for the last three‘years, and I an} afraid, now that “i'cannét help it, Rosalie, oh, Rosalie, what if he should not care for me~what if he should have cared for somebody elseâ€"" I shall so soon be called upon to repeat it. my courage may fail at the last. mo- ment. If I could have saved myself so severe a trial, I would have done it; but I could not very well. And after all, it is better to have it. over. The test must come sooner or later, .and sometimes I almost long for it with a fever of impati- ence, for, till I have tried my own en- durance, how can I know that. it. will stand? I find her in the pretty south room, which I have had fitted up for her. She is standing before the glass, a slender figure in a. long white gown. "Lily!" _ She turns round at the sound of my voiée. "Admiring yourself. you vain child?" She runs to me. throws her arms round me, and bursts into a. sudden passion of tears. “Scott. will you run in and pull the bell, darlingâ€"or stay, I wiH go for her myself. Here is your tea, Olive, and ex- cuse me for a momentâ€"I want to see Wyat Lily is about.” The creamy ingredients sooth and soften the outer skin, while the Witch Hazel penetrates and heals the deeper tissues. Delightful after shaving or washing. NA-DRU-CO 25c. a bottle, at your druggist’s. NATIONAL DRUG AND CHEMICAL CO. OF CANADA. LIMITED. 185 F Winter weather roughcns and reddens your skin, causing chaps, chilblalns and general discomfort, try Witch Hazel Cream wShe sighs,7§smif‘the picture oppressed her with its weight pf felipitfy. "Just the difference that he would wish to see. Lily. You were a child then. dar- ling; now you are a woman. ready to lend a Woman’s earnest. helpful life.” "If I may only help him, Rosaliel”. "You shall help him. See how he has got on~what a name he has made for himself! And if he has done so much alone, what will he not do with you to cheer and encourggq himf'f kngvjv. Rhsfilieâ€"‘j .t‘LI do know. darlingâ€"I know all about 1 . “What have you been doing up here all the afternoon, Lily?" ' "Looking ‘at myself in the glass,” she answers at once. T'Wfiht a child you are!" I ingr. "::Al{1â€"vi wa?) "diffiei-e’nt fi'om what I was then P” ' ‘ m’ffié 'deep velvety eyes search my face wistfully, the color burns deeper and deeyer i1} t11_5_3_roundeq‘ cheeks. .‘ uu, I am holding one of the small tremb- ling hands. smoothing back the tendrila of red gold hair out. of the velvety Bap- phire blue eyes.‘ The beauty of the wist- ful face sends a. strange pang to my heart. “Hate you, darling! As if he could!” "He never loved me as I loved him, Rosalie.” "Then he will fall in love with you to- morrow,” I assure her, smiling. She smiles, too, at that, a very childlike smile. “If I could only think itâ€"-” "My darling. ypu maybe sure of it. He will not be rablg to help himsglf!’ _ ;:‘Yyh;{si1_ali»i~aowflv hé hates 1118. Ram- 19 ” care that she shall never hear that story from me orifrgm‘ any 0119 else. Ceylon Tea when you ask for it, but there are others who would rather, make a blg profit than serve you well. Ask for “Salada” and see that you get it. BLAGK, mxsn or GREEN. on “it was childish, wasn’t it? Most Grocers Will Give You Gold Only In Land Packets. is the genuine“-MontrcalGranulated”â€"absolutely pure, sparkling crystals of the ‘m'ost inviting appearance. Ask yopr gioceg for a 20 lb. It Pays ThecHousewfle . GKANULATED â€"â€" also sold by the barrel and in 100 lb. bags. The St. lawrence Sugar Refining Co. Limited 133g 'of s”T_._1_.AwRENcg to use the best sugarâ€"because poor sugar means poor cooking. But, if you say. laughw MONTREAL I love the child, for Gerard’a saks; but, it has cost me many a pang to watch her growing loveliness and think whose arms will clasp her, whose lips will kiss her by and by when I am forgotten! The pain is very vague 'now,'a dimness has come over it of late. But I know that. it is only in abeyanceâ€"that the very sound. of Gerard Batter-’5 voice will bring it all to life again, to haunt me with its old tormenting anguish of 111111951;1 "I shall _knov'v toâ€"morrow, dreamily, as we cross the "I shall know to-morrovy.” It is I who sigh this time. remembering a. girl in a. blue dress, with a. bunch of violets nestling over her heartâ€"a girl who had looked up into Genvd Baxter's dark eyes and “loved him with that love which was her doom.” - “Comé (i666 and have some tea.” I say, drawing her out of_ the: roorg witp m_e. _ (To be continued.) By all Grocers. n the girl says hall together.