matical honors. I needed that discipline to steady me. I have never valued you as you deserve; only now and again it flashes upon me that what I take for granted is of superior worth. How selfish I was about letting Marion join you in the Mediterranean! You little dream how I suffered for that. Well, without you, Marion and I would have been parted for ever."

"Without Lilian."

"You and Lilian together. How selfish and weak I was! and the harm that came from it!"

Oh, come! It's all right now; a forgotten story."

"There are things that can never be forgotten," sighed Cyril, with the pathetic intonation that had broken people's hearts in the evening. "To give way to a sin, only one sin, is like letting a little water through a dike. A child may begin it, but, once begun, the terrible consequences sweep endlessly on, a very flood of iniquity. I suppose there is nothing which has the power of multiplying itself like sin. One hideous consequence begets a hundred more hideous," continued Cyril, staring moodily at the fire, while his pipe lay extinct and neglected by his side.

"I see no pulpit, your reverence," said Everard, who was puffing away with quiet enjoyment.

Cyril turned with one of his sudden changes, and flashed a mirthful glance of his strange blue eyes on his friend, and, replenisbing his ́pipe from the tobacco which Keppel had brought for Everard on his return from his last voyage, broke into a strain of gay affectionate chat, full of a thousand reminiscences of the schooldays they passed together under Mr. Marvyn's care in the quiet village.

"What a fellow you were!" exclaimed Cyril, with enthusiasm, after recalling a certain story of a Sèvres vase; and, though Everard only grunted, he looked at the graceful, animated figure before him with an affectionate adoration that made him feel it would be a pleasure to die for such a man. "I was afraid when I smashed the vase," continued Cyril, "and but for you should have hidden it. I never shall forget seeing you walk up to Lady Swaynestone and tell her that we had run up against the vase and broken it. I felt such a sneak; I had done it, and you took the blame on yourself, and got the punishment. She said no word, but delivered you such a box on the ear as made mine tingle, and sent you staggering across the Then her anger found words, and you bore it all."

room.

"I never knew a ruder or more ill-bred woman," said Everard. "I suppose you got over the box on the ear in an hour or two," continued Cyril; "but I did not. I was miserable for days, hating myself, and yet too frightened to tell the truth."

Everard here produced a yawn of cavernous intensity, and dropped his pipe in sheer drowsiness; but Maitland seemed more alert than ever, and rose in his restlessness and looked out of the window on the dark vault of shimmering stars.

"The night wanes," he said; "one day more, and the weary old year will be done-only one day."

"Ungrateful fellow!" said Everard, stretching himself till he seemed gigantic ; "such a good old year. I shall be sorry to say good-by to him, for my part."

Cyril dropped the curtain and turned to the fire, his features all alight. "Let us look forward,” he said, “to the rosy future. Welcome to sixty-three, Harry; it is full of promise for us both! Good night, dear lad, and God bless you!"

And with a warm hand-clasp he took his leave, but turned again, lingering, irresolute; and then, with another warm handclasp and blessing, left his drowsy friend to his slumbers, just as the church clock was striking three.

CHAPTER IX.

THE last day of the year dawned bright and cloudless, a very prince and pearl of winter days, and Everard's heart bounded within him as he looked out on the ruddy morning, and felt it a joy merely to live.

"I shall long remember sixty-two," he thought; "it has been a good year, and to-day will crown and complete the whole. To-day I will make sure of my fate."

The wine of life never before had the sparkle and effervescence of that morning; it was almost too much for a sober mind. Had Everard been superstitious, or even introspective, he would have presaged disaster at hand. Instead of which, he rejoiced in his youth, and felt as if his body were turned to air, as he sprang down the staircase and into the sunny breakfast-room.

Mr. Maitland was late that morning, and Cyril read the simple household prayers. Everard loved this sweet custom of family prayer, remiss as he often was in assisting personally at it; it seemed so fit and harmonious for that holy incense to ascend from the altar of the innocent country home, and to-day it acquired a sort of pathos from the youth and grace of the reader. The scene lived long in his mind, irradiated by a sweet light of peace and holiness: the kneeling children and Lilian, the sunshine touching their hair; the bowed heads of the maids; the dignified bearing of the reader; the music of his voice-a voice soft now, and soothing as the murmur of the brook beneath the trees, with none of the tragic tones they knew so well. Just as Cyril was about to pronounce the closing benediction, Mr. Maitland, thinking the prayers done, entered, and seeing how they were employed, dropped on his knees in time to receive the lad's blessing. The sight of that gray head, bent thus before the young priest's benison, touched Everard profoundly, and he felt humbled to think of his own world-stained soul by the side of these spotless creatures-priests and women and children.

"Lead us not into temptation," said Cyril's pure rich voice, chorused by the innocent trebles and Everard's own faltering bass.

What temptation could possibly befall those guileless beings that day? What harsh dissonance could ever mar the music of those tuneful lives? he wondered. And he was glad that his own faltering petition had gone up to Heaven with those of hearts so pure, though even he could scarcely fall into temptation in that sweet spot, he thought.

Cyril announced his intention of walking into Oldport that bright morning, and Lilian, of course, was to go part of the way with him. Everard had been asked to shoot over some of the Swaynestone covers, and rather surprised Cyril, who knew that his friend liked sport, by saying that he had declined the shooting party, and wanted to join the pedestrians.

"You had far better shoot, Henry," he said; 66 a mere walk is a stupid thing for you. You have had no amusement whatever since you have been here."

"To-morrow we plunge into a vortex of dissipation," said Everard. "Will you give me the first dance, Lilian? By the way, I suppose his reverence has given up these frivolities."

"Oh, I shall dance at Woodlands to-morrow," replied Cyril.

"Just two square dances with Marion, and then, I suppose, farewell to such delights."

66 I can not say that I like to see a clergyman dancing," observed his father, "though I danced myself till I was forty, and should enjoy a turn with the young people even now."

66

Then, let us have a quiet carpet-dance while the boys are here," said Lilian; "just the Swaynestones and Garretts and Marion, and father shall dance with each of us in turn."

"Oh yes!" cried Everard; and Cyril chimed in with great animation, "Just one more fling for me"; and Mr. Maitland went off laughing and saying he had nothing to do with it-they must ask their mother, and Lennie and Winnie jumped for joy, and announced that they should not go to bed before their elders, and the little fête was regarded as a pleasant certainty.

Cyril kept them waiting some minutes after the appointed time for starting. He had important letters to write, he said; and when at last he appeared, his face was full of care and perplexity. In the mean time, Lilian and Everard were very happy on the sunny lawn together, visiting the invalid donkey and other animals, and wandering about their old playground, past the spot where the twins used to play at Robinson Crusoe, and where Everard helped them build a hut, and recalling a thousand pleasant memories of their childish labors and sports. There was hoar-frost on the delicate branches of the leafless trees, and the sunshine was broken into a thousand jewel-like radiances by the little sharp facets of the icecrystals. There was an unwonted sparkle also in Lilian's eyes, and a deeper glow on her cheeks than usual. The air was like wine.

The blacksmith was clinking merrily at his glowing forge as they passed along the road, and his blithe music carried far in the still air. Granfer was sunning himself outside, according to custom, ready for a chat with anybody, and commanding from his position a view of all the approaches to the village. Hale, the wheelwright, was there, getting some ironwork done, and turned with Granfer to look after the trio.

“Ay,” observed the latter, shaking his head wisely, “ a viner pair than they twins o' ourn you never see, John Hale, so well matched they be as Sir Lionel's bays."

"A pretty pair," replied the wheelwright; "but give me the doctor. There's muscle and build!"

"Ay," echoed Straun, between the rhythmic hammer-strokes; แ a man like he's a credit to his vittles."

The young doctor's appearance certainly justified this observation, and his walk and bearing fully set off the robust manliness of his athletic frame, which was further enhanced by contrast with Cyril's slender grace. The friends were of similar height, but Henry's shoulders were higher, and made him look taller; his chest and back were far broader than Cyril's, and his well-balanced limbs were hard with muscle. The suit of gray which he wore gave him breadth, and displayed his form more fully than did Cyril's black broadcloth of severe clerical cut, which had, moreover, the wellknown effect of lessening the outlines of the figure. The delicate glow which the sparkling air had called into Cyril's worn cheek was very different from the firm hue of health in Henry's honest face; and the fearless, frank gaze of his bright brown eyes, and the light brown mustache, looking golden in the sunshine, gave himan older look than Cyril's clean-shaven features wore.

Hale observed to Granfer that whoever attacked the doctor on a dark night would find him an ugly customer, which Granfer admitted, adding that Cyril's strength all went to brain power, in which he was supreme. Lilian also observed Henry's athletic appearance in contrast with her brother's slight build, and then she remembered how the friends but the day before had been playing with the children in the hall, and the fragile-looking Cyril had given his muscular friend a blow so clean and straight and well planted that the doctor had gone down like a ninepin before it, to the great amusement of the children and satisfaction of Everard.

Farmer Long was driving into Oldport in his gig, and there beside him sat Mr. Marvyn, charmed to see his three pupils together. "I shall not see you again, Henry," he said regretfully, "unless you stay over Sunday. I only came back for the entertainment yesterday. I have a parson's week to finish. Cyril I shall see again." And so they parted with regret, since Everard was greatly attached to his old tutor, who had encouraged and developed his taste for natural science, and upheld him in his choice of a profession.

"And I wanted to tell old Marvyn about my germ theory," Everard said, as the gig disappeared.

"You will be able to tell the whole world soon," replied Lilian, to whom the theory had been confided and explained that very morning.