With her heart full of conflicting feelings she tried to throw herself into her present life. Poor Nesta! It was sometimes not very clear to her what was her duty or what the state of life unto which God had called her. Then her sister's words sounded in her ears: 'You will take care of my children, and Frank will want you.' Was not that a duty apart from choice? and yet the future looked very grey and misty, and life felt monotonous and cheerless. Sometimes, thinking of the past, her mind would be full of misgivings and doubt, and even remorse. Had she done right? Had she not cast a shadow over the life of another? Where was Newton? What was he doing without her? Would he, could he, forget her? But thoughts like these were only occasional. Oftener, Duty stood before her as a white-robed deity, compelling her to follow. The small claims of everyday life drew her out of herself—the householdthe children-her brother-in-law-each in turn demanding thought and care; and in

the widowhood of her life she felt the solace

that duty brought her.

Then again something of the old love burst forth anew. True to Hugh—that should be the motto written upon everything, traceable in every line of her character and conduct. Never had she heard of him since the trysting day of her sister's marriage; still the hope never faded entirely that he was alive and would return; and she would wait.

The winter had passed slowly by with its short days, cold and dreary enough in the forest with its frost-covered trees and stagnant life. Wintry winds had howled through the bare branches, and wintry rains had deluged the mossy ravines; the tumult and moaning wail of the outer world making the void and desolation in the home life all the more apparent.

Nesta had tried to brace herself to exertion and employment. Dick and Alice were rarely now left to their own devices as they had once been; they had become her pupils

as well as her playmates, and if the task was sometimes wearisome and repugnant to her, it was oftener accomplished with a sense of satisfaction akin to enjoyment.

Thus the winter had passed, and the early spring, and the woods were once more thick with leaves, and the birds were singing, and the light and glory of summer were shed over everything. Nesta now almost lived in the woods; the lessons were done under the shadow of the great trees that overhung the Villa, and when the books were closed, she and the children rambled together, Dick and Alice gathering flowers, and she loitering near them.

One day when Nesta was strolling about the woods above the mill, Frau Mässinger caught sight of the children, and having just made some kuchens with the ripe cherries, she sent Rosa up the hill to beg Fräulein Nesta, and Dick, and Alice to come in and rest a little. Nesta was not very much inclined to accede, but Alice looked wistfully at her, and Dick was already half-way down

the hill, and so they followed. Alice ran after her brother, slipping down the mossy descent, and here and there leaping from some projecting root which had left the soil far below it, forming a tiny fissure.

Nesta walked slowly on, and Rosa, half shyly, half scornfully, kept aloof. Nesta had not seen the peasant girl since the summer before, and then she had scarcely remarked her; she was only one of the inmates of the Mill, and they had possessed but little attraction for Nesta. But as they walked down the hill to-day, it occurred to her that this was the girl of whom Newton had spoken to her, and she felt a kind of curiosity towards her in consequence. At the first glance she saw nothing of the beauty that Newton had mentioned; slight, and straight, and reedlike, she looked more like a child of the forest than a hard-working servant, and her pale face, untanned by exposure to the sun, looked very colourless against the black hair that was coiled round and round her small well-formed head. But

she felt a strange kind of fascination to her; there was something in her that made her

look again, and their eyes met. Rosa did not seem to like the scrutiny; her face darkened rather than blushed, and her large eyes dilated with an expression approaching

to scorn.

Nesta saw the look and understood the meaning.

Is there much work now?' she said, trying to draw her into conversation.

6

There is always work to be done by some,' she answered in a sad tone which harmonised strangely with her face. 'Do you like work?'

'I like free work for those I love,' said the girl; her lips looked thinner than ever, she compressed them so as she spoke. 'And you begin early, I suppose ?'

Aye, with the sun, and sometimes before him. But it isn't the work I mind;' and Nesta saw large tears standing on the long black eyelashes. 'God knows,' she said, it isn't the work; when mother was alive,