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"I am very weary of the subject of marriage, Mr. Bruce. The one now in consideration-I mean the marriage of my daughter Bertha and Mr. Blair Rodney-has brought me only annoyance and disappointment. Let me ask a favor of you. Say no more at present about your love for my daughter Scotia. Ask her to be equally considerate for me. I should like, when she returns, to have her a little while, without any sense of change. If it is to come, let me not feel it yet. If you show her love, if you speak words of love to her, let me not see it; or hear them. So far, I give you what you ask. It is all that at present is possible to me, without suffering."

"It is enough, sir. I thank you for so much."

"Then good-afternoon, Mr. Bruce. To-morrow, when you come, I will take up any other question you like. This conversation is complete at present, and "offering his hand-" it is to make no difference between you and me-unless, it bring us more kindly together."

With these hopeful words Bruce willingly accepted his dismissal. The power of intervals is great. Tomorrow it would be possible to let life go on, as if words so full of fate had never been spoken.

The ladies saw Bruce walking through the wet, desolate park, and they returned to the Colonel. They were feeling sore and offended, both with the minister and with Lady Yarrow; and Mrs. Rodney said decidedly :

"I will tell you how it is, Kinross. Jemima got that man placed at Rodney Law. He was sent here as a spy. I have no doubt he has reported regularly to Jemima everything that went on in our house."

"I am sure you are as far wrong as a woman can

possibly be. Angus Bruce a spy! It is an impossible idea!"

"What did he go to London for, if not that ?—unless he is in love with Scotia !"

"Dorinda! For pity's sake, put away any thought that implies another marriage. I have enough of that subject at present with Blair and Bertha," and he left the room angrily muttering:

"Marriage, and death, and division, make barren our lives."

XIII.

RECOVERED.

"God unexpected, evil unforeseen,

Appear by turns, as Fortune shifts the scene."

"Then will I own I ought not to complain,

Since that sweet hour, is worth whole years of pain"

"What then remains, but after past away

YES

To take the good Vicissitude of Joy?

To thank the gracious gods for what they give,
Possess our souls, and while we live, to live."

-Dryden.

ES; great is the power of intervals. Without ex. planation, without any attempt to come to an understanding, or to re-establish a confidential and sympathetic relation, the mere passage of time accomplished all. In a couple of weeks the Colonel and the minister had fallen back naturally into their old amicable conditions; and Mrs. Rodney and Bertha had wisdom enough to accept graciously the inevitable fact of Bruce's connection with Lady Yarrow. It was a never-ending source of speculation with them, but in the main, Bruce received the additional consideration which was socially its due.

With a not unpleasant monotony the weeks passed quietly onward. Bruce was writing constant letters to Scotia, and receiving constant letters from her; he did not, therefore, feel any interest in the Court Journal.

But he went frequently to Rodney House, and as the spring advanced, his walks with the Colonel assumed a very constant character. In this respect he slipped without intention into Scotia's place, and a feeling of confidence grew steadily between the two men.

Through the broad fields, and under the wide gray skies they walked together; sometimes in eager discussion, sometimes almost silent; the rich brown earth, and the quick life of the young plantations giving an aerial tone to their intercourse not readily expressed. Both men loved nature and the scenes of a country life in a genuine way. They could stand and watch with pleasure the short-horned red and white cattle ruminating in the warm farm-yards; or the sheep chewing and coughing among the turnips, while the shepherds and the collies were counting them. The fleecy bits of wool fluttering on the bare hedges caused an intelligent glance between them. Without words they read each other's thoughts about themthe coming spring, the building birds, and the cozy nests they would furnish.

As the weather grew warmer there was constant delight for them in the plowing. "Look at Jack Lowther," the Colonel would say proudly. "Jack has an eye keen as a sportsman, and a hand as sensitive as a fly fisher; he could not make such gore-furrows and gathered-ridges, and cleaved-down ridges, and headridges, and ribbing, if he had not. It is an art to plow straight and deep, as Jack does. And listen how he talks to his horses! Jack told me that they sulk at their plowing unless they hear his voice at the plow-shafts."

"If I were an artist," said Bruce admiringly, "I should come to such plowmen and such horses for a

picture. It is a study in anatomy to watch the head and forequarters of that furrow horse. Look how proudly and gladly he bends his knees, and grasps the soil with his hoofs! And see how gracefully his glossy neck is curved! I think a fine horse, plowing, has the most noble action in the animal world."

"You have not seen a war horse scenting the battle afar off."

Bruce would not relinquish his point, and they discussed it with a pleasant warmth all the way to the Stone Pillar. As they returned, they met the men going home after their day's work, and the Colonel said, "What individualities nature makes! Compare these Scotch hinds with the low caste Hindoos, or even with the English farm hand or the Irish peasant." "These Scotch hinds and shepherds have strong faces."

"You may see in them the damp, rainy weatherthe gray cold mornings and evenings-the strong equal force of seasons which take root in their hearts. They are sons of the soil. Lowther, who comes from the Border, has much of its breezy atmosphere and its singing 'waters' in his nature. Look at him now! He has left his plow at the furrow end. With what an easy, lolling movement he is riding his barebacked horse to stable! How his big-booted feet dangle at the sides of the animal! And hear how he is whistling, and how the plow-chains clank merrily to the melody!"

Sometimes they rode as far as the sea coast, and then, leaving the carriages, walked an hour or more on the high crags which battlemented the North Sea; and not unfrequently to the low estuary where the river found its way back to the ocean-a very desolate

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