Daisy?" and he took her face between his hands, and looked into it with an eager, wistful gaze, which she could hardly bear. "Your face says you do," he said. "Does it speak the truth, Daisy?"

"No," said Phillis, so low that he could scarcely hear, "it couldn't-not all the truth." And she hid her face away again from the eyes which looked so longingly into hers. "Are you going to call me that name?" she whispered softly, after a few minutes. "I have not heard it for so long."

I not?" he said.

"You know I must

"I may-may have a special name for you, and I don't know a prettier one than that.”

"I like you to call me that," said Phillis softly. ever has, except papa and mamma and you. me Daisy always.'

"Nobody Please call

"Did I hurt your hand?" he said tenderly, taking it in his, and kissing away the red mark his fingers had left on her wrist. "Forgive me, Daisy; I could not help it. you happy, darling?”

Are

"So happy," said Phillis, with a little sigh of delight, "that I should like to stay here always!"

He laughed a low pleased laugh, which told his own happiness better than any words could have done; that deep, still happiness, only felt by those hearts which have known sharp struggles before finding their rest. He had found it now, and he felt almost delirious in his joy; he could not trust himself to speak, and they sat very still for a long time.

It felt so new and strange to Phillis, to be sitting there with that strong arm round her, and to feel those passionate kisses on her forehead every now and then-such kisses as nobody had ever given her before. She could not think about it; she only knew that it was wonderfully pleasant,

and that she felt happier than she had ever done before in her life.

"Now you know what my pleasant thoughts were,” he said at last, with a smile. "And you thought I was going away to sea? Foolish little child! as if it had not been quite hard enough for me these three years-as if I could possibly run away from you of my own accord! If you had not been so good to me just now, Daisy, if you had sent me away, I should not have cared where I went, or what became of me. Did you never think how I loved you, darling?" "No," said Phillis softly. "I didn't think you couldso much. It is very good of you."

"Good?" he said, smiling. "I could not help it if I tried, Daisy. I am glad you did not know how much I wanted you. Daisy, I am glad those three years are over!" "Did you want me so much?" asked Phillis wistfully. "Oh, I am so glad, and so sorry too! But I can't understand it a bit! Dr. Trevor, we ought to be going home. Mrs. Overton will think I am lost."

"I am not 'Dr. Trevor' any longer to you, Daisy," he said. "You must forget that name altogether!"

"But we must go home, really?" said Phillis, who was held so fast that she could not move until he chose to let her.

"Whom are you speaking to?" asked the doctor, mischievously.

"There are only two people here," answered Phillis, shaking her head gravely, "and of course I shouldn't talk to myself."

"I did not know that you might not be talking to the brook," he said, "you do sometimes, I know. Daisy, I should like to hear you say my name so much!"

ແ Eddie," whispered Phillis, breathlessly, "I am so glad that is your name. Is that what you would like me to call you?"

He did not answer, except by a long pressure of his lips on her forehead; he was thinking of the last time he had heard that name spoken-by his mother's dying lips.

"Daisy," he said, as they rose to go home, "my mother gave me a message for you, just before she died—a message which I was to give you if you ever made me happy, as you have done to-day. She told me to tell you how much she would have loved her daughter, Daisy-how much she always wished you might be that some day. I wish she might have lived to see how happy I am; but I must not wish that I suppose; perhaps she does know it."

"Perhaps so," said Phillis; "we can think she does, if we like. I always like to think that mother knows all about me, and is glad when I am happy. Are we going home over the moor?"

"Yes, if you like," he answered; "it is shorter, if you are anxious to get home. Ah, Daisy, how happy I shall be when you have to call my house your home! It can't be just yet," he added, as Phillis stole her hand in his, without speaking. "I must wait--several months yet before that can be. You know that, Daisy?"

"Yes," said Phillis softly. "I think it is rather a good thing," she added frankly, "because, you know, there are many things I have to learn before I can do what Mrs. Trevor said."

"What did she say?" he asked, smiling.

But Phillis had forgotten, and coloured crimson.

"Oh no! I can't tell you!" she said imploringly. "Indeed I can't; it was only something about your house. I forgot I was not thinking to myself!"

"Never

"And you can't think to me?" he said, laughing. mind, Daisy: I think I can guess pretty well what it was without your telling me. Now, how are you going to cross

the brook?"

But Phillis was over before he had done speaking.

"Those are my private stepping-stones," she said, pointing to some very small ones, just reaching above the water. "I will give you leave to use them whenever you like."

"Rather unsteady ones," said the doctor, as he followed her, “but I suppose you can pass over all sorts of impossible places little mountain-sprite as you are?"

Phillis laughed, and coming to his side again, put her hand in his, and they walked on fast, till suddenly Phillis came to a dead stop, and flushed quite crimson.

“What is the matter?" asked the doctor, laughing. “Only,” said Phillis, "I was wondering what Mr. and Mrs. Overton will say. I had quite forgotten them."

"What is there in that to frighten you?" he asked. "If they are very angry, Daisy, I will protect you, but I don't think they will be—at any rate, it will be only with me.”

But Phillis's cheeks were alarmingly bright by the time they reached the farmhouse, and she was obliged to summon up all her courage before she could make up her mind to go in.

66

CHAPTER XXXIV.

"Oft will he stoop, inquisitive, to trace
The opening beauties of a daisy's face."

-WORDSWORTH.

we

HY, Phillis, dear," said Mrs. Overton, opening the parlour door as she heard their footsteps, wondered what had become of you. Mr. Overton

said you had stayed to tea with your cousin, but I thought not, so we waited. Doctor, how do you do? Why, to be sure!"—and she looked from one to the other inquiringly "what's the matter with you both?"

But Phillis had rushed off into the sitting-room without vouchsafing any account of herself, and astonished Mr. Overton by hastily seating herself on a low stool at his feet, and hiding her face on his knee.

The doctor coloured a little, and laughed.

"There isn't much the matter," he said; "only Miss Phillis and I have a little story to tell you. She has left me to tell it alone though, I see.”

"You don't mean it!" cried the old lady, with a delighted face. "Ah, you need not tell your story, doctor! Don't I know it already? I am so glad—so very, very glad!" And she took both his hands in hers, and grasped them warmly. "I felt sure it would be some day, and indeed I