MY DEAR MAIMIE: It is impossible for me to go to you tonight. Your father and I have had a difference so serious that I can never enter his house again, but I am writing now to tell you what I meant to tell you to-night. I love you, Maimie. I love you with all my heart and soul. I have loved you since the night I pulled you from the fire. “Maimie,” said Mrs. Murray, handing her back the note, “I do not think you ought to give me this. That is too sacred for any eyes but your own.” “Oh, I know, auntie, but what can I do? I am so sorry for Ranald! What shall I do, auntie?” “My dear child, in this neither I nor any one can advise you. You must be true to yourself.” “Oh, I wish I knew what to do!” cried Maimie. “He wants me to tell him--” Maimie paused, her face once more covered with blushes, “and I do not know what to say!” “What does your heart say, Maimie?” said Mrs. Murray, quietly. “Oh, auntie, I am so miserable!” “But, Maimie,” continued her aunt, “in this matter, as I said before, you must be true to yourself. Do you love Ranald?” “Oh, auntie, I cannot tell,” cried Maimie, putting her face in her hands. “If Ranald were De Lacy would you love him?” “Oh yes, yes, how happy I would be!” Then Mrs. Murray rose. “Maimie, dear,” she said, and her voice was very gentle but very firm, “let me speak to you for your dear mother's sake. Do not deceive yourself. Do not give your life for anything but love. Ranald is a noble man and he will be a great man some day, and I love him as my own son, but I would not have you give yourself to him unless you truly loved him.” She did not mention De Lacy's name nor utter a word in comparison of the two, but listening to her voice, Maimie knew only too well whither her love had gone. “Oh, auntie,” she cried, “I cannot bear it!” “Yes, Maimie dear, you can bear to do the right, for there is One in whose strength we can do all things.” Before Maimie could reply her Aunt Frances came in. “It is dinner-time,” she announced, “and your father has just come in, Maimie, and we must have dinner over at once.” Maimie rose, and going to the glass, smoothed back her hair. Her Aunt Frances glanced at her face and then at Mrs. Murray, and as if fearing Maimie's reply, went on hurriedly, “You must look your very best to-night, and even better to-morrow,” she said, smiling, significantly. She came and put her hands on Maimie's shoulders, and kissing her, said: “Have you told your Aunt Murray who is coming to-morrow? I am sure I'm very thankful, my dear, you will be very happy. It is an excellent match. Half the girls in town will be wild with envy. He has written a very manly letter to your father, and I am sure he is a noble fellow, and he has excellent prospects. But we must hurry down to dinner,” she said, turning to Mrs. Murray, who with a look of sadness on her pale face, left the room without a word. “Ranald is not coming,” said Maimie, when her Aunt Murray had gone.