“What you want doesn’t matter,” said she decidedly. “You can’t help yourself. I’ve heard something about you to-night. Oh, don’t look like that; it was nothing to your discredit, nothing at all. But you’ve got to give up your carpentering and wood chopping for us, Bram, and you’re not to come here again.” She spoke with much decision, but her sensitive face showed some strange conflict going on within her, in which some of the softer emotions were evidently engaged. Whatever it was that made her turn her humble and useful old friend away, the cause was not ingratitude. Before he could put another question, being indeed too much moved to be able to frame one speedily, Bram was startled by a tapping at the door. Miss Biron started; Bram almost thought he saw her shiver. She pointed quickly to the inner door. “Go at once,” said she in an imperious whisper, “and remember you are not to come back; you are never to come back.” Bram took up his coat, slipped his arms into it, and obeyed without a word. But the look on his face, as Claire caught a glimpse of it, was one which cut her to the quick. She drew a deep breath, and threw out her hands towards him with a piteous cry. Bram stopped, shivered, made one step towards her, when the tap at the door was repeated more sharply. Claire recovered herself at once, made a gesture to him to go, and opened the one door as he let himself out by the other. Bram heard the voice of the newcomer. It was Christian Cornthwaite. CHAPTER VIII. ANOTHER STEP UPWARD. Bram left the farmhouse in a tumult of feeling. Why had he been dismissed so abruptly? Why had he been dismissed at all? It was on Christian’s account apparently. But what objection could Christian have to his visits to the farm? On the many occasions when the two young men had met there Bram had always been shunted into the background for Christian, and had been left at his modest occupations unheeded, while Claire gave all her attention to her cousin. Bram had looked upon this arrangement as quite natural, and had never so much as winced at it. The idea that Christian Cornthwaite might look upon him as a possible rival being out of the question, again Bram asked himself--What could be the reason of his dismissal? He did not mean to take it quietly; he had conceit enough to think that Claire would be sorry if he did. He could flatter himself honestly that during the past six months he had become the young lady’s trusted friend, never obtrusive, never demonstrative, but trusted, perhaps appreciated, none the less on that account. Bram had the excuse of Theodore’s invitation for hanging about the neighborhood until that gentleman’s return. But at the very moment when Mr. Biron’s gay voice, humming to himself as he came up the hill, struck upon Bram’s ear, Christian Cornthwaite came out through the farmyard gate.