The Rev. Mr. Cunningham’s illness lasted longer than had been expected; the weeks were prolonged into months. During this period Harold’s clerical duties brought him into close and friendly intercourse with those over whose spiritual interests he had temporary charge. The young missionary was welcomed almost everywhere, but specially in the house of Colonel Graham, an officer on the point of retiring from the Indian service. The colonel had a fair daughter, and Harold, at first almost unconsciously, found that his visits to Graham Lodge were rendering his residence in the city to him very delightful. There is no need to describe how these visits became more frequent, and how Harold increasingly felt that life would be a blank without Alicia. The young maiden, on her part, thought that she saw in Harold Hartley everything required to make her future life perfectly happy. Alicia, under a playful manner, had deep religious convictions. She loved Harold chiefly because she thought him the highest type of a Christian whom she ever had met with. His sermons refreshed her soul, and seemed to lift her into a higher, purer atmosphere than that which she had hitherto breathed. Alicia was not a worldly girl. She felt that she would rather share the humblest lot with Harold than rank and wealth with any one else. Mr. Hartley and Robin were not a little startled one day by a letter from Harold asking his fathers consent to his suing for the hand of Alicia Graham. He had, as he wrote, already made the lady fully aware that his means were slender. Her father knew his position; there had been no concealment of his circumstances, no attempt to hide the fact that not only toil but something of hardship might be a part of missionary life. Miss Graham had said that she feared neither toil nor hardship. “I think that Harold must have done the wooing already,” observed Robin, “before asking your consent to the suing.” There was something like a smile on the lad’s lips as he spoke, but nothing of the usual mirth in his eyes. Robin was taken by surprise. He had never contemplated Harold’s seeking a wife. Perhaps there was a touch of pain in the idea of any one standing in a closer, dearer relationship to his almost worshipped brother than he did himself. But Robin’s frank, generous nature was not one to harbour mean jealousy. “Because I was satisfied with his companionship, there was no reason to suppose that Harold would be satisfied with mine,” thought Robin. “I ought to rejoice that a true-hearted girl values my brother as he ought to be valued.” Mr. Hartley did not speak for several minutes. As was usual with him, any emotion that stirred him deeply took the form of silent prayer. He then slowly reread Harold’s letter, pausing at every sentence as if to weigh its meaning. The old missionary then folded his thin hands, and said, rather as if speaking to himself than addressing Robin,—