be wondered that the young man's heart beat high within him as he turned under the cedars into the vaulted passage, and he felt as if there was very little wanting to make him the happiest man on the face of the earth.

רי

CHAPTER XIV.

"It was a lover and his lass,

With a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino !
That o'er the green corn field did pass

In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding :

Sweet lovers love the spring.

This carol they began that hour,
How that life was but a flower

And therefore take the present time

With a hey and a ho and a hey-nonino !

SHAKSPEARE.

HE spring of that year was long rcmembered as one of the finest which had ever been known. A succession

of heavy rains during the early part of April had brought on the grass, and now under the genial warmth of the sun, flowers and fruits gave signs of rich promise. It was only the second week in May, and already the hawthorn was in bloom along the hedges, and the wool on the sheep's backs began to look heavy and dirty

as if shearing-time was near, while the clover and golden knobs and large ox-eye daisies sprang up in profusion in the meadows that were shut up for hay.

They were bright days for Margie, days full of a happiness unlike anything which she had ever known before, gladdened by the beauty of unfolding nature and the thousand delights of spring. Contrary to all expectation, Miss Fairbairn had survived her last attack. which she had shown, had baffled all Dr. Hockin's calculations, and made him declare that he believed that the old lady would live for ever now.

The power of vitality

Still her recovery proved a slow one, and since her temper was more irritable than ever during the long period of her convalescence, Molly had a hard time of it, and Cornelius Maynard not an altogether easy one.

Each afternoon, about five o'clock, he had to give her a minute account of everything that was happening on the farm, and take her orders, or at least listen to her wishes with regard to a hundred details. After that he was free, and excepting on market-days and Saturdays, he generally managed to snatch a half-hour with Margie.

Their favourite meeting-place was at the bottom of the little paddock which belonged to Luke Chaplin, for latterly Cornelius had become very

shy of passing the house, and in his dread of attracting public attention would never show himself in the village in company with Margie. The meadows on the slope of the Manor-house hill, the lonely fields below, above all the ash-spinny of the Lady-ground, and the hollow where their first vows had been whispered, were their usual haunts, the scenes of their walks and talks, where they recalled the days of their first acquaintance or planned the future which lay before them.

And during these May days, Margie was singularly happy. She had put away doubt and misgiving, and trusted entirely to Cornelius, when once the right time should come, to smooth away whatever obstacles his friends might put in the way of their marriage.

"At least, whatever troubles come, we shall meet them together," she said to her lover. And the courage of her love, the completeness of her trust in him, silenced even Cornelius's fears, and made him content to live on from day to day, basking in the delicious sunshine of the present, and shutting his eyes to all that lay without the enchanted paradise in which he moved.

But golden dreams of this kind seldom last long in this world of ours. Sooner or later the angel with the drawn sword in his hand points sternly to a rougher path; we wake out of our blissful trance,

and become aware that the gates of Eden have closed behind us.

When the lovers were indulging in this idyllic state of things, and Miss Fairbairn in the confinement of her sick-room knew nothing of Cornelius's evening rambles through the fields, the little world of King's Marden began to make itself busier with his affairs than he might have imagined.

Although they had so carefully avoided the immediate neighbourhood of the village, and were rarely or ever seen together now, their movements had not escaped some vigilant eyes, and it soon began to be whispered in Marden that Cornelius Maynard was courting pretty Margery Chaplin.

Old Martin Turvey came across them more than once in their strolls through the meadows, but took no notice of these meetings beyond making an occasional remark on the weather, and whatever his thoughts were, kept them to himself.

There were others who proved less discreet than the old shepherd and Rover. Ned Trudgeon for one surprised the lovers sitting together under a hedge one day, and was not slow to publish the news abroad. Naturally, the story did not lose by telling. 'Melia tossed her head scornfully, and made the following spiteful remark:

"That girl will be a flirt to the end. I'm only