an end of that subject. What a pity that it was so hard to open the door of their two hearts, which were so close together, so that each might see all the tenderness and compunction in the other; the shame and sorrow of the mother to grudge her child’s happiness, the remorse and trouble of the child to be leaving that mother out in all her calculations for the future! How were they to do it on either side? They could not talk, these poor loving women, so they were mostly silent, saying a word or two at intervals about Mrs. Dennistoun’s work (which of course, was for Elinor), or of Elinor’s village class for sewing, which was to be transferred to her mother, skirting the edges of the great separation which could neither be dismissed nor ignored. Suddenly Elinor looked up, holding up her finger. “What was that?” she said. “A step upon the gravel?” “Nonsense, child. If we were to listen to all these noises of the night there would always be a step upon---- Oh! I think I did hear something.” “It is someone coming to the door,” said Elinor, rising up with that sudden prevision of trouble which is so seldom deceived. “Don’t go, Elinor; don’t go. It might be a tramp; wait at least till they knock at the door.” “I don’t think it can be a tramp, mamma. It may be a telegram. It is coming straight up to the door.” “It will be the parcel porter from the station. He is always coming and going, though I never knew him so late. Pearson is in the house, you know. There is not any cause to be alarmed.” “Alarmed!” said Elinor, with a laugh of excitement; “but I put more confidence in myself than in Pearson, whoever it may be.” She stood listening with a face full of expectation, and Mrs. Dennistoun put down her work and listened too. The step advanced lightly, scattering the gravel, and then there was a pause as if the stranger had stopped to reconnoitre. Then came a knock at the window, which could only have been done by a tall man, and the hearts of the ladies jumped up, and then seemed to stop beating. To be sure, there were bolts and bars, but Pearson was not much good, and the house was full of valuables and very lonely. Mrs. Dennistoun rose up, trembling a little, and went forward to the window, bidding Elinor go back and keep quite quiet. But here they were interrupted by a voice which called from without, with another knock on the window, “Nell! Nell!” “It is Phil,” said Elinor, flying to the door.