believe that one so dear and gifted would abide.

"Faith and hope come certainly to those who wish to do the right," she answered, gently. "They that do His will shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God."

He did not undeceive her, nor reveal that his difficulty lay rather in practice than in faith, and Geraldine stole her hand timidly into his.

"Will you do one thing, dear Kenelm, which I desire most earnestly? Perform the first task I set you, since you have appointed

me your monitor."

"What is it?" he asked, clasping the hand she had given him.

"It is a subject of which you have told me not to speak to you; about which, indeed, I am almost in the dark," she replied, with hesitation. "I want you to forgive your son, to let him be the first to benefit by your kinder feelings."

He turned his head away, and Geraldine felt his grasp tighten on her hand. Glancing up she caught a quiver on his lips and a dark look in his eyes, such as a fallen fallen angel might have worn. She awaited tremblingly his answer.

"You ask a hard thing," he said, with a kind of gasp. "But I have vowed to consecrate my life to you, and I must deny you nothing that it is possible for me to give. I

promise you, then, that to the utmost of my power I will do what you demand."

The tears rose fast to her eyes, and he saw them drop upon her cheek. She had done what she had long yearned, yet scarcely dared to do, and a burden was lifted from her heart.

Her agitation showed him what the effort had cost her, and stooping, he kissed her with deep tenderness.

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Geraldine," he said, "you must never fear to say to me anything that is in your mind. God forbid that I should ever vex you by one rough or selfish word; but if through want of thought, or any sudden irritability, I should so forget myself, you must trust me to repent, and not punish me by taking away one fragment of your confidence. You cannot guess how feverishly I burn to make you happy."

He put his arm round her, and she clung to him with the tremulous eagerness of a passion almost too great for the heart that holds it. They sat on in musing, too deep for words-Geraldine conscious of his presence only. The golden sun sank below the horizon, the wood-pigeons cooed in the distant glades, the divine red gold faded and died upon the trees.

A strange cold calm crept over Lord Rotherhame. He felt that his path was chosen, and though that path led downwards to the abyss, it was peace to know that the

die was cast, the conflict over.

To the links

that had already fettered his soul back from restitution and repentance, one was added stronger than all others. Heavier than fear, pride, or filial duty, the love of this generous, trusting heart weighed on him now like a millstone, which he could never more shake off to rise to God and heaven. He seemed sinking in the deep-so slowly, so gently, lulled by such soft winds and rippling waves, that it was hard to believe that he was sinking, that soon the waters would close over his head, and his lost soul whirl unrestingly in the fathomless abyss. Hopeless, yet not all unhappy-for the fatal moment might be long delayed, and the receding glories of the Better World, and the passing beauties of the present, soothed him like an opiate with their intoxicating sweetness. Hopeless! for stern, proud, and ungenerous himself, he had come to believe that his God was even such an one, and forget that of Him it is written"His ways are in the sea, His paths in the deep waters, His own will He bring again from the depths of the sea."

Lord Rotherhame looked down at the face which rested on his shoulder, the face of her for whom he had resolved to give up his hope of salvation. Strange, passionate heart! he felt that sweet and gracious as she was, she could not satisfy its need, and a kind of elation seized him at the thought that her insufficiency gave some hue of merit to the

final act of fraud, which from duty to her he had now resolved to perpetrate.

He reminded her soon that the dew was falling, and made her rise from her heathy couch. She walked on with a light heart and swinging step, her hat off, and sprays of nuts and honeysuckle twisted in her hair. Little did she think that she herself, whose highest, sweetest aim was to comfort her beloved one, and lead him on to faith and hope, was to be to him the occasion of mortal sin.

"Yes," he thought," since my heart is not mine to give her, let her freely take all else. Pride, honour, conscience, life, the hope of immortality, I give them all to her. God accept the sacrifice, and save her soul from the piercing sword!"

CHAPTER VIII.

Off with the old love, and on with the new.

"How homelike it looks!" said Geraldine, presently, as up a long arched glade she caught sight of the Castle towers. "And yet I have only known it eight months."

"It has been a home for six hundred years, and it ought by this time to know its vacation."

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'Age is the crowning beauty of architecture to my mind," said Geraldine. "With buildings, as with men, the hoary head is a crown of glory. Happily, the heavenly mansions date from before the Conquest, so there we shall not be oppressed by modern notions."

"You are a true child of the nineteenth century, Geraldine; passionate love of the past blends in you with passionate love of progress. Hark! I hear horses' hoofs. If my ears do not deceive me," he added, looking up, "your old friend Lord Fitzcharles is on that tall steed. He has been paying you a visit of congratulation, I suspect.

"Hast thou found me, O mine enemy ! she answered shuddering. "It is too sad that this lovely ramble should be spoiled by Lord Fitzcharles. If he stops to talk to