when in the low condition following this, seized with pneumonia, to which in a few days he succumbed. Harold was heart-broken.

nd till he had wept his heart out. By this time the two were old friends, and the boy was not afraid or too shy

past and Harold had become h

have been for the future of his boy. And I know, too, that it was a comfort to him to feel that you and I are such friends, and that the son of my dearest old friend would be as a son to me. We have been friends, you and I, a long time, Harold; and we have learned to trust, and I

delight at his coming was of course largely qualified by her sympathy with his grief; but it would have been hard to give him more comfort than

have both lost our mother. And now you have lost your

ad devoted much care to him, so that he was well grounded in all the Academic branches of learning. He was also, for his years, an ex

ommand her childish obedience; and there were certain qualities in his nature which were eminently calculated to win and keep the respect of women as well as of men. He was the very incarnation of sincerity, and had now and again, in certain ways, a sublime self-negation which, at times, seemed in startling contrast to a manifestly militant nature. When at school he had often been involved in fights which we

y. To obey is in itself a relief; and as it is an actual consolation to weak natures, so it is only a retarding of the strong. Now he had anothe

of a man's weakness is not always coquetry; but it is something very like it. Many a time the little girl, who looked up to and admired the big boy who cou

In either case her confidence in him grew, so that before long he became an established fact in her life, a being in whose power and discretion and loyalty she

ce the first Sir Stephen, who had his place in the Domesday Book. Without, in the churchyard close to the church, were buried all such of the collaterals as had died within hail of Norcester. Some there were of course who, having achieved distinction in various walks of life, were further honoured by a resting-place within the chancel. The whole interior was full of records

ver fear to ask God for help at the grave of your mother!' The child had been impressed, as had been many and many another of her race. For seven hundred years each child of the house of Norm

ive of their excursions. He was always delighted to go. His love for his own ancestry made him admire and

t they arranged that on the morrow they would bring candles with them and explore the place thoroughly. The afternoon of the next day saw them at the door of the cryp

t afraid of

lack shadows were not; to hear again the stamp and hurried shuffle of the many feet, as the great oak coffin was borne by the struggling mass of men down the steep stairway and in through the narrow door . . . And then the hush when voices faded away; and the silence

d and dr

go on?' she a

hat Stephen's mother had been buried, and had they two gone in, as they had intended, the girl might have seen her mother's coffin as he had seen his father's, but under circumstances which made him shiver. He had been, as he said, often in the crypt at Carstone; and well he knew the sordidness of the chamber of death. His imagination was alive as well as his memory; he shuddered, not for himself, but for Stephen. How could he allow the girl to suffer in such a way as she might, as she infallibly woul

ned the key in the lock, took i

us go somewhere else. We will

ht she had, whilst waking, thought of the coming adventure; the thrill of it was not now to be turned to cold disappointment without even an explanation. She did not think that Harold was

repeated more i

said

ust take it from me that I am right. You know, dear, that I wouldn't willingly disappoint y

ome one else's reason blindfold was repugnant to her nature, even at her then age. She was about to speak angrily, but looking

ight!

was a distinct intention to visit the vault w