in the same direction were the other animals slowly proceeding, to satisfy their thirst. "Now," continued Mr. Mills, "is not that a convincing proof of the superiority of Devon, where our very horses show such sagacity?"

"I for one shall not dispute its charms," answered Greta, merrily; "I have found Devonshire all and more than you say of it."

"Then I am satisfied," Mr. Mills said quaintly, adding, "and you Mr. Heriot?"

"I," repeated Hugh, dreamily, with his eyes fixed on Greta, "I agree with all you have been saying, Mr. Mills."

"Then we are all agreed," returned Mr. Mills, "for Rose thinks like Eva, Eva like Rose, and Rose and Eva like I do." Everybody laughed, the twins most of all, and then the luncheon was produced out of a fishing basket, which Mr. Mills in some wonderful way had slung on to his saddle, disregarding Hugh's suggestion that he should carry it for him.

Very simple was the repast, yet I think all present enjoyed it. Many were the merry speeches made on the occasion, Mr. Mills being in outrageously high spirits about something or other.

"Uncle," said Rose," I think you must have had very good news to-day, you are so merry."

"Rose," returned her uncle, "I think you are a very pert girl; why should I not be in good spirits? If you and Eva are not on your best behaviour, I shall insist on your remaining for the whole of the afternoon perched on that rock," pointing to a rather lonely granite peak, "whilst I fish, and "—very slowly— "Greta and Heriot sketch."

The twins at this threat rose simultaneously, and almost overthrew their uncle's balance by the way they embraced him.

"There, there, my dear girls, that's enough on a grilling day in August. I forgive you this once, and I think," looking at his watch, "we may as well be off, for I have to carry home a dish worthy of such a pair of fisherwomen, and unless our friends here look sharp they'll lose some of the best effects. So, Greta, I'll just arrange you a seat, and then we'll be off."

Accordingly the rector found his favourite a seat, soft as eider down, on a stone covered with the softest, greenest turf, gave her some water in the cup out of which they had all drank in turns, led the ponies near them, and promising not to be very long, rode off with his nieces, turning back at intervals to wave his hand, and then fading out of sight as he and the girls

descended the steep side of the Tor. Greta and Hugh were thus left in this vast solitude, with nothing to disturb them; no sound save the browsing of the ponies near by, and the humming of the bees as they sipped the heather which gives so fragrant a taste to moor honey.

Greta sat where Mr. Mills had placed her, and with a hand which spite of all her efforts would tremble, she made the first strokes on her paper; but the pencil was taken gently from her hand, and the hand itself was detained in Hugh's grasp whilst his dark eyes looked straight into hers.

"You know what I have come down to ask," he said. "I have been patient so long; will you not give me my answer now? now that you know-you must know-that you are all the world to me? What! still no answer, my darling? For God's sake, tell me! I have not been mistaken? You do love me? You will be my wife?"

Greta's lips trembled, but she raised her glorious truthful eyes to Hugh's, and as he bent lower and lower she whispered, "Yes."

A few moments of blissful silence passed, on which the general public have no right to intrude, and about which, therefore, they will have no curiosity, having either gone through the same phase of existence themselves, or hoping to do so at some future time. But since, in the inevitable course of events, everything must come to an end, the brightest, the best,-so did those happy moments at last cease for our hero and heroine. Each knew the certainty of the other's love, and knowing this, was well content; but even as Hugh held Greta to his heart, came the thought of his secret, and for the last time he faltered in his determination to carry out his plot. Greta had given him her heart: what need of more? He had won the priceless treasure of her love. Now tell all. The words, "Greta, can you forgive me? I have deceived you, I am not the poor Hugh Heriot you take me for; but Hugh Merrivale, with a large estate," were on his lips, when Greta spoke.

"Hugh," she began, "I have promised to be your wife, but I must not deceive you." Hugh started. Greta deceive! Impossible! He clasped her close to him, and kissed away the words she would have spoken.

Another delicious silence, and then Greta gently withdrew herself from her lover's arms. "Let us sit down, Hugh," she said gently. "I want you to listen to my story. I ought

to have told it to you before. I said 'yes,' but," blushing exquisitely, "I-you--.

"Would not have listened to anything," interrupted Hugh, seating himself on the soft turf at her feet. "Nothing you can tell me can alter our lives, my own; you have promised to be my wife, and I will not let you retract."

Greta smiled. "It is not for me to retract," she said, "it is you who may think you have made a mistake, and wish to recall what you have said; if so, Hugh, I will give you back your freedom."

For all answer Hugh took her left hand, and drawing off a ring fastened to his watch-chain he placed it on her third finger. "You have promised to be my wife," he said, “and no power on earth shall take you from me. Greta, do you already repent?" And Greta reading the love in his eyes, hearing it in every tone of his voice, gave him the answer he asked.

"But you will hear my story?" she said, when they were both a little calmer.

"Yes, darling, I will hear anything you like to tell me," he answered. And there, sitting at her feet with the granite rocks for their sole audience (for the ponies, unseen by the lovers, had quietly followed the track of their friends, and were far out of sight), Greta told, and Hugh heard, not for the first time remember, all that we have before told you of her sister's early and imprudent marriage, her father's wealth, the vow she had refused to take, the will, and lastly, her father's letter, which, surmising what would probably take place on the ride, she had brought with her. With his eyes fixed on her, with her hands clasped in his, Hugh listened, and Greta had no cause to doubt his love or interest. He drank in every syllable that fell from her lips, as she ended with the words, "Though in the letter I seem to be disobeying my dear father in accepting you, Hugh, yet I know he would have given us his blessing; and if you are willing to take a poor girl instead of a rich one, I am content, nay more, glad that Minnie should have all the money."

And Hugh's answer to this story, what was it? Hard was the struggle to keep himself from telling her that he was a rich man, but that, were he ten times as rich, he was poor till he knew her. He forced himself to be calm. He even turned his face from her, that she might not see the agitation

he felt must be traced on it, and when, wondering at his silence, she spoke his name half-timidly, and he turned to her at last with the light of happiness shining from his eyes, "My own," he said, "I thank you for your faith in me. I ask only for your love, nay, from my heart I am glad that in marrying you I marry no heiress. Together we will meet life's joys;-life's hardships, God helping me, you shall never know."

After these words neither spoke for some time. Together they watched the chequered light and shifting shades; every now and then on their ear fell the tinkling cadence of the mountain stream, half hid beneath ferns from curious eye. As pictures pass before us in our dreams, so did the everchanging moors appear to the lovers. In the midst of a vast solitude what cared they for other company? As a writer has expressed it, they were " alone together."

The sun abated somewhat of his fiery rays, the breeze which, one always meets with on the Tors grew a thought more lively, the bees laden with their spoils began to fly homewards, soft white clouds flecked the blue sky, and the heather, with its sister flower, golden gorse, scented the summer air; whilst below in the far, far distance shone the harvest fields, where the reapers cut the yellow corn, and the women gathered it into sheaves. Through all their after-life Hugh and Greta never forgot that afternoon.

Suddenly, with a little laugh, Hugh jumped up. "What is it?" Greta asked.

"My darling, those ponies of ours, where in the name of wonder have they gone?" Where indeed!

"What shall we do? Mr. Her-Hugh?" as she met his appealing eyes.

"I am sure I have not the slightest idea," Hugh answered. Stay, I have it, Greta: I believe they have followed the others. Well, this is rather more than a joke. How Mr. Mills will chaff us!" Then sweeping the horizon with a pocket telescope, "I see nothing of any of the party; what had we better do, I wonder?"

"Follow them," suggested Greta.

"No, indeed," answered Hugh merrily; "we will give Mr. Mills and his nieces all the honours of war, and as they are sure to laugh at us for our carelessness, we will not stir a step, but make up for lost time by sketching part of this marvellous view. Will

you try, too, Greta?" But Greta could not, she said; and so Hugh seated himself on the mossy stool, and with masterly hand, but much-divided attention, sketched rapidly on Greta's block, whilst Greta stood watching him. "Will you have it in memory of to-day?" Hugh asked, as he drew, and Greta's happy face answered for her.

"There they come," she exclaimed, as with a view halloo ! Mr. Mills, his nieces, and oh! lucky chance! the missing steeds, came over the crest of the hill.

"Stand to your colours, Greta mine," Hugh said hastily, “I will bring you through, and I won't spare any of your blushes for other people. We will keep our secret till we get home."

And when Mr. Mills, with mischief gleaming in his kindly eyes, and merry jokes on his lips, was beginning to attack Greta, Hugh coolly interposed by an attack on the supposed sagacity of Devonshire ponies, and succeeded so well in turning off Mr. Mills' attention from Greta, that when he did notice her, it was a matter of silent satisfaction to Hugh that her face was quite calm.

"Now for your pictures," Mr. Mills asked, somewhat maliciously," have you as much to show as we have?" opening his basket and displaying some very fine trout. "Miss Greta, where is my sketch? "

"Excuse me, sir," again interrupted Hugh, who had pocketed the only sketch made," we will show you ours to-morrow; they require a little touching up."

Mr. Mills looked from him to Greta. Vain were their efforts to return his searching glance with unconsciousness; but having satisfied himself, Mr. Mills teased no more, only took possession of Greta for the ride home, leaving Hugh to escort the twins, who were not at all grateful for the exchange, as they confided to each other afterwards.

About half-way home, in a shady lane where two could just ride abreast, and where the tall foxgloves lined the hedges with their rich colour, where the honeysuckle twined and clung to the gnarled old trees, whilst ferns grew in rich profusion everywhere, Mr. Mills, who had been making up his mind for some few moments, said, "So we have lost you, Greta ? Well, it might have been worse," gently laying his hand on hers, which rested on her pommel; and Greta, turning her beautiful eyes on him, said, “You planned it all, and you must help us to tell our story, dear Mr. Mills, for my Prince has come at last.”