promised to carry my old aunt off to warmer climes. I shan't be back here till August.”

No answer.

A sudden blast of wind swept along the road, and she instinctively laid hold of the shaft of the gig for support.

Dudley held out his hand.

"It is a high step," he said, "but I think you can manage it."

Mona took his hand almost unconsciously, tried to say something flippant, failed utterly, and took her seat in the gig without a word.

"Am I drugged?" she thought, "or am I going mad?" Never in all her life had she so utterly failed in savoirfaire. She felt vaguely how indignant she would be next day at her own weakness and want of pride; but at the moment she only knew that it was good to be there with Dr Dudley.

He arranged the rug over her knees, and took the reins. "Is this better than walking?" he asked in a low voice, stooping down to catch her answer.

Only for a moment she tried to resist the influence that was creeping over her.

"Yes," she said simply.

"Are you glad you came?"

And this time she did not try at all.

"Yes."

"That's good!" The reins fell loosely on the mare's back. "Peggy's tired," he said.

your time."

Mona shivered nervously.

"Don't hurry, old girl. Take

"You are cold," he said, taking a plaid from the back of the seat. Will you put this round you?"

"No, thank you; I am not really cold, and I have no hands. I should be blown away altogether if I did not hold on to this iron bar."

"Should you?" he said, with a curious intonation in his voice. "Take the reins."

He put them in her hand, unfolded the plaid, and stooped to put it round her shoulders. In a momentary lull of the storm, he fancied he felt her warm breath on his chilled cheek; a little curl of her hair, dancing in the wind, brushed his hand lightly like a cobweb; and she sat there, unguarded as a child, one hand holding the reins, the other grasping the rail of the gig.

Then Dudley forgot himself. His good resolutions were blotted out, and he felt only a gambler's passionate desire to stake all in one mad throw. If it failed, he was a ruined man; but, if it succeeded, what treasure-house could contain his riches? He could not wait, he could not, he could not! One moment would tell him all, and he must know it. The future might have pleasures of its own in store, but would it ever bring back this very hour, of night, and storm, and solitude, and passionate desire ?

So the arm, that passed round Mona to arrange the plaid, was not withdrawn. "Give me the reins," he said firmly, with that calmness which in hours of intense excitement is Nature's most precious gift to her sons; "give me the reins and let go the rail-I will take care of you."

And with a touch that was tender, but fearless with passion, his strong arm drew her close.

And Mona? why did she not repulse him? Never, since she was a little child, had any man, save Sir Douglas and old Mr Reynolds, done more than touch her hand; and now she obeyed without a word, and sat there silent and unresisting. Why? Because she knew not what had befallen her; because, with a last instinct of self-preservation, she held her peace, lest a word should betray the frantic beating of her heart.

"This is death," she thought; but it was life, not death. Dudley's eye had gauged well the promise of that folded bud; and now, in the sunshine of his touch, on that wild and wintry night, behold a glowing crimson streak!

And so Ralph knew that this woman would be his wife. Not a word passed between them as Peggy trotted slowly

homewards. Mona could not speak, and Ralph rejoiced to think that he need not. When they reached Miss Simpson's door, he sprang down, lifted Mona to the ground, raised her hands to his lips, and stood there waiting, till the door had shut in the light.

CHAPTER XLV.

AN UNBELIEVER.

Mona did not see Dudley again before he left Borrowness Strange as it may seem, she did not even wish to do so. Nothing could have added just then to the intensity of her life. For days she walked in a golden dream, performing her daily duties perhaps even better than usual, but with a constant sense of their unreality; and when at last outward things began to reassert their importance, she had much ado to bring her life into unison again.

Hitherto her experience had ebbed and flowed between fairly fixed limits; and now, all at once, a strong spring-tide had rushed up upon the beach, carrying cherished landmarks before it, and invading every sheltered nook and cranny of her being. She had fancied that she knew life, and she had reduced many shrewd observations to broad general principles; and now, behold, the relation of all things was changed, and for the moment she scarcely knew what was eternal rock and what mere floating driftwood.

"I feel," she said, "like a man who has lived half his life in a house that amply satisfies all his requirements, till one day by chance he touches a secret spring, and discovers a staircase in the wall, leading to a suite of enchanted rooms. He goes back to his study and laboratory and dining-room, and finds them the same, yet not the same; he can never forget that the enchanted rooms are there. He must annex

them, and bring them into relation with the rest of the house, and make them a part of his domicile; and to do that he must readjust and expand his views of things, and live on a larger scale."

She looked for no letter, and none came. "When the examination is over in July, I shall be able to say and do things which I dare not say and do now." The words had conveyed no definite meaning to her mind when they were spoken; but she knew now that when August came, and not till then, she would hear from her friend again.

That his behaviour the night before had been inconsistent and unconventional in the highest degree, did not even occur to her. When one experiences an earthquake for the first time, one does not stop to inquire which of its features are peculiar to itself, and which are common to all earthquakes alike. Moreover, it was weeks and months before Mona realised that what had passed between Dr Dudley and her self was as old as the history of man. I am almost ashamed to confess it of a woman whose girlhood was past, and who made some pretension to wisdom, but it is the simple fact that her relation to Dudley seemed to her something unique and unparalleled. While most girls dream of Love, Mona had dreamt of Duty, and now Love came to her as a stranger -a stranger armed with a mysterious, divine right to open up the secret chambers of her heart. She did not analyse and ask herself what it all meant. She lived a day at a time, and was happy.

More than a week elapsed before there appeared in her sky a cloud no bigger than a man's hand, and the cloud took the form of the old inquiry, "What would Dr Dudley say when he learned that she was a medical student, that her life was entirely different from what he had supposed?" She shut her eyes at first when the question asserted itself, and turned her face the other way; but the cloud was there, and it grew. For one moment she thought of writing to him; but the thought was banished almost before it took To write to him at all, to make any explana

definite form.

tion whatever now, would be to assume- -what he must be the first to put into words.

As soon as February came in, Mona began to look out for a successor in the shop, and to prepare her cousin for her approaching departure. It was days before Rachel would. even bear to have the subject broached. Then came a period of passionate protestation and indignant complaint; but when at length the good soul understood that Mona had never really belonged to her at all, she began to lavish upon her young cousin a wealth of tearful affection that touched Mona's heart to the quick.

"It has been such a quiet, restful winter," Mona said one day, when the time of complaint was giving place to the time of affection; "and in some respects the happiest of my life."

"Then why should you go? I am sure, Mona, I am not one to speak of these things; but anybody can see how it is with Mr Brown. Every day I am expecting him to pop the question. You surely won't refuse a chance like that. You are getting on, you know, and he is so steady and so clever, and so fond of all the things you like yourself."

Mona's cheeks had regained their wonted colour before she answered, "In the first place, dear, I shall not 'get the chance,' as you call it; in the second place, I should never think of accepting it, if I did."

"Well, I'm sure, there's no getting to the bottom of you. I could understand your not thinking the shop genteelsome folks have such high and mighty notions-but it is not that with you. You know I've always said you were a born shopkeeper. I never kept any kind of accounts before you came, but I don't really think I made anything by the shop at all to speak of-I don't indeed! So many things got mislaid, and, when they cast up again, they were soiled and faded, and one thing and another. I showed Mr Brown your books, and told him what we had made last quarter, and he was perfectly astonished. I am sure he thinks you would be a treasure in a shop like his. My niece, Mary Ann, was