about Lancelot and offered to write to the mines and see if he was there. He promised to inclose a letter which Francesca would write. He assured her that, if Lancelot had reached the mines, General Blas, who was now the superintendent, would find him out and deliver her letter. He told her that it was utterly impossible for Lancelot to forget her; he knew, he said, by his own experience. Lancelot would be compelled to return and see her or die.

And love believes whatever love wants to believe. Dick was so sympathetic, so hopeful, so sorry for Francesca, that she found herself talking freely before him. He entered into her grief; he put it into such expressive words; he saw so many ways out of it. No one had ever comforted her as Dick did. For this was the man's nature, his gift, his power, the attribute which had made him prosperous. He was a son of consolation.

"And he is really quite handsome, Loida," said Francesca, as they sat alone, talking, that night. "He has a fine figure, too, and such gentle ways. But what a pity you did not know he was coming. You have not been so unbecomingly dressed for a long time as you were this morning, Loida. And then, to think he was a man to build an orchid-house! When one waits ten years for a lover, it would be nice to have a more romantic meeting."

All this was very true, and Loida could not avoid a sigh at the contradiction of small events. Every other morning, for a long time, she had put on some pretty chintz or muslin gown. That morning it had been so dark and wet, and she had felt so despairing, "what was the good of it?" And though she had imagined Dick's

return in many a different way, it had never entered her mind to suppose he might come to the house as some person on business, and she go to meet him, feeling a little cross at the obligation, and consciously assuming the manner which, least of all, she would knowingly have met her long-absent lover with. All her ideal plans and expectations had been made vain by blunt reality. She had looked entirely different to what she had intended to look. She had worn the least pretty of all her dresses; she had been almost embarrassed in her welcome; indeed, she had repeated over and over the same words. Fate is full of such contradictions. One would think she loved to dash the cup of joy she could not longer delay. So Loida sighed and was a little sorry for her own disappointment, though she said:

"If the heart be true and good, does the body matter?"

"Yes, I think it does, aunt. I remember the moment I first saw Lancelot coming up the terrace-steps, singing, in the sunshine. His bare head and handsome face, his fine figure, his air of happiness, and his voice, like a voice out of heaven, took all my senses captive. If he had been little and ugly and badly dressed, and had had a disagreeable voice, do you think I should have fallen in love with his good heart? I am afraid not. And do you think my father would have cared for Mrs. Mott's cleverness and good temper, if she had not been, in his opinion, 'the prettiest, brightest little woman in the whole world'?"

"And do you not think, Francesca, that it will be a great thing to have 'the prettiest, brightest woman in the whole world' at Atherton Court?"

"It is so easy for you to ask that question now, Loida. You are not going to live at Atherton Court."

"That is true. When your father comes home, I shall go to Alderson Bars to live."

"So 'the prettiest and brightest' will not put you in the shade. You will not have a stepmother at Alderson Bars."

"Francesca, I shall have a mother-in-law."

"But suppose"

"My darling, we will 'suppose' no more to-night. We ought to be asleep."

"I cannot sleep. I shall go on 'supposing.''

"Then," said Loida, as she stood, smiling, at Francesca's door, "here is a problem for your suppositions:

THE

CHAPTER XI.

FORTUNATE GOLD AND SORROWFUL LOVE.

"Clear shining after rain."

"Love that left me with a wound."

HE north of England was at this time like the prophet's roll-written within and without with desolations and mourning and woe. The total dearth of cotton, the closing of the great Lancashire and Yorkshire factories, the consequent idleness of an immense population fit for no other kind of work, the famine and nakedness and pestilence which no private nor yet national charity could far assuage, made a terrible total of sectional misery.

But there was, at least, a speedy hope of peace. Dick was sure that a few months-a year at the utmostmust finally cripple the Rebellion. There would be a superabundance of cotton; then the great chimneys would smoke once more, and the noise of the spinninglooms make again that giant "hum" of labor, which would be a song of rejoicing to the thousands ready to perish.

The squire was not at this time seriously troubled about these matters. He was traveling on the continent with his bride, and the bright, bewitching Mrs. Atherton made items for the newspapers in whatever capital they happened to be visiting. In the meantime

changes were in progress at Atherton Court, which would bring still greater changes. The most evident was, of course, Dick's return. This return implied many things, the first of which was the settlement with his creditors.

The day before the one appointed for this purpose, Loida and Francesca went to Alderson Bars-Francesca a little reluctantly. She could not feel the interest she wished to feel, and would have been glad to remain at Atherton alone, to brood over her sorrow. But Loida was anxious to show her both Alderson Bars and Vyner Hall. It was not yet certain which place was to be the future home of Dick and herself. Loida, with a beautiful generosity, insisted on their living with Dick's mother. She told Dick it would be cruel to go away from her. No other woman had so much deserved the joy of his constant presence.

But Mrs. Alderson had an equal generosity. She insisted on the young people going to Vyner Hall. She pointed out the fact that the two places were only a short distance from each other. She

was sure they She was good

would be happier in their own home. enough to pretend that she also would be happier to be alone in her home. It was a contest of generous feeling, and it was at least likely that age would be the most persistent in its self-denial.

Francesca was charmed with both places. Vyner was a much smaller place than Alderson, but its grounds had been made very beautiful by Loida's father, its possibilities were great, and it would not require many servants to keep it in order. It was a happy day at Alderson Bars when Dick once more crossed its threshold,