CHAPTER II.

"This thorn

Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong."

All's Well that Ends Well.

WHEN Roland had gone, Evelyn still sat in the garden in the darkening twilight, wondering if what had passed between them were real.

It had never occurred to her that Roland Trench could love her, except as he always had done. Mrs. Trench and Mrs. Goring had been cousins, distant ones, but very fond of each other, and when Roland's family had lived in London, Evelyn had been constantly with him and his sister

Dora.

Three years before this, the Trenches had left London for good, having taken a place in Warwickshire; but Roland had stayed in London as a student at the Academy, and had been in the habit of dropping in at Fainton Cottage whenever he chose, which was frequently.

This year young Trench had had his first picture hung at Burlington House, and his father, pleased at the lad's success, had offered to send him to Rome for two years' study. Evelyn had sympathized with Roland's pleasure at the idea, though she had felt she should miss him much.

She had never felt how much she should feel his loss, never realized to herself how dull life would be without his presence, as she did this evening, when at the same time her wish was never to see him again.

She was a motherless girl, and had lived much by herself to herself. Till now, she

had never cared to question the nature of her fondness for Roland. It had seemed a natural thing that she should care for him, that he should make her the confidante of his hopes and dreams, as he might have. made his sister Dora, had she still been in London, and had cared for the things he cared for.

And now

Oh! she wished she had not spoken so; things could never be again as they were before. Till now she had never felt that she had quite left her childhood behind her, but to-night she had learnt suddenly that she was now a woman, holding the happiness not only of her own, but of another's life in her hand.

It was quite dark before she left the garden and went into the quiet drawingroom, where the only light was a shaded reading lamp. She felt restless, nervous,

wretched; she tried to read, but Roland's words seemed now and again to be spoken in her ear; she tried to work, but that was worse, for she could not drive away the doubtful miserable feeling which lay like a weight on her heart; so she went to the piano and played fitfully to herself in the dim light, and slowly the music quieted her.

She was playing a nocturne of Chopin's, when the door opened and her father entered.

"You are back early, papa," she said, as he came and stood behind her.

"Yes; don't leave off my child. What is that? I like it."

Evelyn finished Chopin's dreamy thought, then came and sat by Mr. Goring by the window, from where they could see the young May moon rising behind the

trees.

"The new moon," said Mr. Goring. What are your three wishes, Eve?"

"I mustn't tell them, else they won't come to pass."

"You told me one last month, and I suppose that has destroyed its virtue.".

He could not see the girl's cheek flush in the faint light, and her voice was quiet enough as she answered—

"You mean that Roland's picture might sell; well, that is fulfilled."

"Is it? How do you know?"

"He came round to-night to tell us." “I wish I had seen him. I'm very glad of his luck."

"And you liked the picture, didn't you, papa?"

"Yes; it was crude, faulty, but there was a great deal in it. It showed that the boy is aiming at the highest he knows of, though he can't reach it—yet.