depths he did not fathom, heights he did not scale, she would have replied to such an observation-had any one made it to her —that human nature cannot always live on the heights or in the depths; and on his own plane Val was beyond criticism; he was unsurpassed in his own department; and no one man could be equally great in all.

The view which she took of Val's diffusion of his energies was also, of course, a view eminently satisfactory to him—and shared by all his circle of friends and admirers-that the spirit of pure genius is a force which can be turned to any purpose and triumph along any line. Val's abilities were acknowledged by all who were capable of appreciating him. The success he deserved the attainment of the position to which he aspired— the universal acknowledgment of his high place amongst the men of the day—already so fully admitted by his own "set"all this was only a matter of time.

As regarded her own prospects, her personal part in his success, Clemaine was neither impatient nor discontented. She knew lovers had waited seven years; and to her hopeful, trustful, healthy nature, it did not seem that the period of Jacob's probation was long enough to be a matter of much complaint— if only he got his own Rachael at the end of it! The time of betrothal was too sweet for her to murmur at its length.

"A little while for golden dreams"

is all that Fate, as a rule, vouchsafes to even the happiest lovers. It was not in Clemaine's nature to fret because in her case that "little while" was prolonged-that happy time with all its sweet privileges, its admitted claims, the acknowledged oneness of interest between the lovers around whose love and whose hope the halo of romance still clings like the crystal dews of morning. The time of betrothal between true lovers is as the very cream and flower of life and love. The folded bud of undeclared passion, the dream of dawning love is fair; the ripened fruit of reality, the every-day union of home life is sweet; but there is nothing so exquisite as the fresh and fragrant blossom-time— when the bud has opened its glowing heart to the sun, and before the petals have begun to fall!

Clemaine looked forward happily to the time when she and Val should be all in all to each other-when she should share

his daily life, enjoy the privilege of the care of his comfort, the management of his home; but she was too happy in her betrothal to fret or repine at its length.

Val, as was only natural, was less contented than Clemaine. Often he thought how different things would have been had his uncle either never married, or, having married, made a juster will. There had been plenty to leave for all! His uncle might have left Una handsomely provided for, without ruining Val's prospects and wrecking his life's hopes. He need not have shut his nephew out of the family estate.

Then the handsome provision made for Bruce Wardlaw in the event of Una's death or marriage always nettled Val. He could not see why Bruce, who was only a cousin, should come in for almost as large a share of the personal property as he, the only nephew and always-supposed heir. Una was a sweet woman enough a gentle, inoffensive soul. But she stood in his place. Any other house would have suited her just as well as Grays Court -nay, better; it was too large an establishment for her alone; a smaller, cosier place would be more comfortable for her, with her quiet, retired way of life. Sometimes when he was at Grays. Court the mood of discontent and rebellion came bitterly on him. In his mind's eye he saw his own fair Clemaine, in the full flower of her queenly beauty, moving about the stately rooms as mistress, instead of that pale, frail shadow of a woman who now glided through them like a silent ghost, with her white face and her mourning dress.

He saw the rooms full of a brilliant crowd-the cream of the country's intellect, art, science, and literature, gathered there; he saw himself as host and master, successful, triumphant, freed from all difficulties, his beautiful wife by his side-no spiritless shadow, but lovely in her perfect humanity, full life and love pulsing in her healthful veins, throbbing at her warm heart! He wondered if Una Charteris would ever marry? For all this fair dream might be reality if only the widow became a wife! He feared that her spiritual, fragile style of beauty was not likely to be generally attractive to his sex. She was so pale, so frail, so delicate! And then he remembered that her constitution was not very strong-that every winter, if she insisted on remaining at Grays Court, the state of her health would probably be more and more precarious!

One day, when he and Clemaine were at Grays Court, they were looking about the great drawing-room for a volume of engravings to which Val wanted to refer, and which he thought he remembered seeing in a certain cheffonier there.

The drawing-rooms at Grays Court were seldom or never used now. They had a dreary and deserted look; all the chairs swathed in white covers like shrouds. Val glanced round with a sigh of melancholy and discontent.

"How I should like to see the old place what it might be! what it used to be-with one difference, just the difference that would make night day to me!" he said, with a tender, half-sad, half-smiling glance at Clemaine. "These rooms used to be thrown open, brilliantly lighted up. My poor uncle was a splendid host; half the county used to gather here! But the finishing touch, to make the thing perfection, would be you as hostess!"

"I can be hostess somewhere else," she said softly and cheerfully. "Yes, but " his brow clouded a little as he paused, then added, "you do not feel with me, Clemaine! You do not understand my love of the old home!"

"Indeed-indeed I do, Val!" she protested gently, with a pained look, her colour rising with distress that she should have even seemed to fail in sympathy. "Only I can't bear you to— to be--"

"To be coveting dead men's-or women's-shoes ?" he said, as she hesitated.

"It was not that I meant," she rejoined quickly, and wincing a little, for something in Val's tone jarred upon her as never word or glance or tone of his had jarred upon her yet. "It was only that it grieves me that you should have any desire ungratified!"

He fancied that he read a touch of reproach blended with the tenderness of her soft, clear gaze. He loved the limpid purity of those deep amber eyes that dwelt so restfully on his. After all, he felt that he should not grumble while he had Clemaine! The other good things of life might come in time; and Clemaine's love and faith should be his comfort and his strength during the waiting, which, with her, could not be altogether

weary.

"My darling!" he said softly, drawing her to his heart. "Desires ungratified cannot trouble me over much when you are with me! It is only when I am away from you that trouble takes hold of me. Look up at me, my beautiful!" He smoothed the golden shining ripples of hair back from her brow. "The Greeks adored beauty in and for itself-we adore it as the outward expression of symmetry and harmony of soul! It is not for form and colour and feature I love you, my Clemaine, but for the lovely spirit that informs the whole!"

He really thought that he understood and knew Clemaine thoroughly, and it never occurred to either of them that what he loved best in her now was her love for him. But even love did not entirely blind Clemaine. The clearness of her sight was a moral, not an intellectual, quality, and was thus the less easily obscured, so that she had already begun to perceive that Val always acted on impulses, not on principles. She could not help seeing that he followed his inclinations instead of mastering them; but then all his inclinations, she fondly trusted, were towards good. His impulses led him in the right way; they were kind and pure, humane and generous-at least, she had never known. them anything else; and what did it matter whether impulse or principle were the motive-power, so long as the force worked for good? Her Val would always do the right thing. Did it matter whether he acted simply upon the instincts of a good heart, or in obedience to the reasonable dictates of a just conscience?

Up to a certain limit Clemaine read Val truly enough. His impulses always leant to the side of kindness, good nature, and graciousness; he was little capable of malevolence, and incapable of motiveless cruelty. Above all, she was right in believing that he loved her. He did love her-only second to himself; he gave her of his best; and her influence over him was for good— so far as it went.

CHAPTER XII.

THE FRATERNITY OF THE SILVER CROSS.

"MR. CHARTERIS!" announced the parlourmaid, showing that gentleman into the drawing-room at Lyndore House.

"Why, Val, how are you? Glad to see you! Didn't expect you just yet," said Mrs. Everard, rising up to greet him with her accustomed mingling of cordiality and outspokenness. "Have you come from Grays Court?"

"No, I sent my portmanteau on there, and thought I would drop in here first, for a few minutes, to see how you all are,” he replied, pressing the lady's hand tenderly, and casting a glance over his shoulder at Clemaine.

"We are all very well, I am glad to say," Mrs. Everard assured him smilingly, letting go of his hand and moving a little aside with an air of giving him up and handing him over to the legitimate object of his affections. Edith, looking on sympathetically, thought how nice it was to have a lover! Val greeted Clemaine with lover-like, and Edith with brotherly, tenderness; he had not forgotten Flossie, who had by this time forgiven him for his prospective robbing them of Clemaine, and for whom he had brought a box of chocolate-creams. patted the child's fair curls as she stood beside his chair; and having gratefully declined his hostess's offer to "hurry up" the tea, he made enquiry about Mr. Everard and the boys.

He

"Oh, Mr. Everard's very well-he's always very well," replied that gentleman's wife. "He's in his study gloating over a new scarabæus. And Tommy and Fred are at a boarding-schooldoesn't the house seem quiet without them? They are delighted with themselves-that little rascal Tommy has been fighting a boy twice his own size. And Flossie goes to school-or rather not exactly a school, it's an Educational Home-to-morrowand Edith

"

Not going to an Educational Home too, I suppose?"

Oh, no, Edith is going to stay with some friends in France."