So it went on until, in an evil hour for poor Elsie, young Henderson saw Margaret Churchill's (the Mayflower's) fairer face, and his first love-dream was over. Over for him but not for Elsie Wray, with all its bitter fruits. She could not believe at first that he had changed; it seemed impossible, and she so fond. Then his father died, and her hopes of speedy marriage revived. But there was always some excuse from the once ardent lover. It was too soon after his father's death, his affairs were not settled, and so on. And now for the first time she had heard from some friend that he went to Woodside Farm, and, naturally, as Miss Churchill was considered the prettiest girl in all the country round, her jealousy was aroused. She, however, little guessed how far her false lover had committed himself with his new love. He had, in fact, asked Margaret Churchill to be his wife, and though she had said him nay, he still held determinately to his purpose. "No one and nothing shall come between us," he muttered, with gloomy emphasis, with his teeth set hard, as he walked on homeward after his stormy interview with Elsie. And there was a look on his face, a dark, savage look, that boded ill for the poor girl who had loved him too well. CHAPTER V. MRS. TEMPLE. "I can not get that girl's face out of my head," John Temple thought more than once, as he walked back to the Hall. Her beauty had indeed a wonderful charm for him. He had seen and known many pretty women, but to his mind none so fair and sweet as the Mayflower. And he liked to think of her by this name. "She is just like a flower," he told himself. "Ah! that such a face should ever fade!" This idea made him more thoughtful. He began to muse on the brief tenure of earthly things. And as he approached the stately house that in all probability would one day be his, he was thinking thus still. "I may never come here," he thought, looking at the old Hall, with the summer sunshine falling on its gray walls; "never, nor child of mine." A shadow passed over his face; he struck impatiently with his walking stick at a tall thistle growing by the wayside, and there was a cloud still on his brow as he entered the hall, and went up the broad staircase that led to the bedroom appropriated to his use. As he passed down one of the corridors, a tall lady in black suddenly opened one of the doors and appeared before him. She was very pale, and her dark eyes were gleaming as though she were laboring under strong mental excitement. She looked at John Temple, and then came out on the corridor and confronted him. "So," she said, "you have come to take my boy's place?" Then John knew at once who she was. This was his uncle's wife, the bereaved mother, who had lost her only child. He bowed low, and a look of pity came into his gray eyes. "I have felt very much," he said, "for your great grief." "It has benefited you, at any rate," she answered, bitterly. "I can not feel it a benefit at such a cost."