And then when all was over, and Mr Maxwell, in a voice that was not quite firm, had, in the name of the mourners, thanked the assembled friends for their presence and sympathy on the solemn occasion, Elizabeth and Clifton and Jacob went home with the feeling strong upon them that the old life was at an end forever, and it was truer for them all than either of them knew.



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

BUSINESS.

It would have been no longer possible for Clifton Holt to refuse all active interest in the business that had hitherto been carried on by Jacob in the name of himself and father. The brothers had long known the arrangements made by their father with regard to the division of his property among his children after his death, and this division made it necessary that Clifton should give both time and pains to a right understanding of how affairs stood.

Elizabeth was to have the house in the village and the home farm, together with a certain sum of money, part of which was invested in the business. She was not to be a partner in the business. It would be wrong, her father said, at least it would be uncomfortable for her to be made in that way responsible for risks of which she knew nothing. If all should agree that her money should be retained in the business, then of course her brothers would give her the same security that they would give to any one else who intrusted property to them. The sum was a large one, but, had all things been going well with them during the last few years, not larger than was right as her share of her father's wealth.

For the rest, the business was to be equally in the hands of the two brothers, and the real estate equally divided between them. All this had been arranged at the time when Jacob was formally received as his father's partner. It was a just arrangement, giving the younger brother no undue advantage, though it might seem to do so, for Jacob had before that time spent a large part of the share of the property to which, according to Canadian law, he had a claim at his father's second marriage. He had acknowledged the arrangement to be just at the time it was made, and still acknowledged it, although the fact that his brother had not, as was expected, come to take his share of the work and risks of the business when he came of age might have given him some cause to complain.

He might have complained if all this time he had been prospering in his management of their affairs; but as it was, he said little, and allowed Clifton to come gradually to a knowledge of how it was with them.

Up to a late date Clifton's plan had been, either to remain as a sort of sleeping partner in the business, thus securing a certain income to himself without trouble; or to claim a division of the property, and take his share, leaving Jacob to carry on the business in his own name. This was the course which his sister foresaw and feared, knowing that such a course must bring trouble and loss to them all.

But within the last few months Clifton's idea and plans had undergone a change. By the way in which he set himself to work, intent on mastering the details of the business in all its branches, it became evident that before many years were over he would stand fair to take his father's place as the first man in that part of the country.

The more Clifton looked into the state of their affairs, the less satisfaction he felt with regard to them. When, in the course of his investigation, he discovered the extent of the sacrifice of real estate which had attended the settling up of the mining operations, it is scarcely too much to say that he was for the moment utterly appalled. He was, upon the whole, moderate in his expression of surprise and vexation at the state of things, and whatever he said which went beyond moderation, his brother did not often resent, at least he rarely answered otherwise than mildly. But Jacob's cool way of answering questions and suggesting expedients that might serve for a time, as though he had been freed by his brother's presence from any special responsibility with regard to their present straits, amazed and provoked Clifton. Of course he could not now abandon the concern without dishonour to the name, and without the sacrifice of plans and projects to which he had of late been giving many of his thoughts.

No, there was nothing to be done but to make the best of matters as they stood.

"If you had come into the firm two years ago, as you should have done," said Jacob one day, returning, as his manner was, to matters discussed and dismissed too often already, in his brother's opinion; "if you had thrown yourself right into it, you might have made the Gershom Manufacturing Company go. I hadn't the time to give to it. And I haven't the power of talking folks over to see a thing, as you have. It was all square with us then, as far as folks generally knew, and if the company had been formed, and the mills put right up and set a-going, it would have made all the difference in the world to us."

"It's too late to talk now," said Clifton, shortly, and he rose and left the room.

But he recognised the fact. If he had been in the business for the last two years, he knew that he would now have been in a far better position for carrying out the plans, which more than anything else had brought him back to Gershom; and it was toward the forming of such a company— or, rather, it was toward the commencing and carrying on of the work which such a company might be expected to do, that all his plans now pointed.

Business had not been a secondary consideration with Mr Langden when he paid his visit to Gershom. The success which had been almost the uniform result of his undertakings during the last ten years had been very pleasant to him, and had made it difficult for him to resist the temptation to engage in still other enterprises which offered fairly for the making of money. It was not that he loved money for its own sake, or for the sake of what it might bring. He parted with it readily enough, and held himself responsible for more liberal giving in proportion as his means increased.

There was nothing added to the enjoyment of his life by the luxurious appliances which wealth can command. He took a certain pride in being regarded as a man who had built up his own fortune, and who had benefited his native place and the community generally, by his increasing wealth. But the highest enjoyment he had was in the actual doing of work—in the beginning and carrying on to a successful end any enterprise which it required skill and will and a strong hand to guide.

It was not the passion for speculation—the passion of the gambler— which may take possession of the man of business as of the man of pleasure. He made no daring ventures and took no special risks. He investigated patiently and saw clearly, and then he acted. His weakness, if it could be called weakness, lay in this, that he found it difficult to refrain from entering into new schemes when opportunity occurred.

A less clear-sighted man than he might during a ten days' visit to Gershom have seen enough of the state of affairs there, and enough of Jacob Holt himself, to prevent him from entering into any serious business relations with him. He had disappointed Jacob by his apparent indifference to the evident advantages offered for the establishment of new industries, and the opening of new sources of wealth to himself, and of prosperity to Gershom. But he was not indifferent in the matter. He saw the opportunity clearly enough, but he did not see in Jacob Holt, or in any other man he met in Gershom, the right sort of agent by whom to make the opportunity available.

He changed his opinion as to this, however, when he came to know more of Clifton. Their long sail together, down the Saint Lawrence, and up the Saguenay, gave time for much talk between them. Jacob was right when he said that Clifton had his father's head for business, and the shrewd and observing Mr Langden was not long in discovering his powers. Squire Holt had been engrossed with business during the boyhood of his younger son, and Clifton had been on too familiar terms with him, not to have acquired much knowledge with regard to the details of business matters without any effort on his part. His views and opinions, modified and enlarged by contact with others during the two years' residence in the city of Montreal, commended themselves to the judgment of his new friend, and Mr Langden expressed surprise that he should not have preferred entering on such a business as that left by his father, rather than to take a new and untried path.

From one thing they went to another, till the capabilities of the Beaver River as a water-power, and the chances of Gershom as a manufacturing town, were fully discussed between them. The result was that Clifton almost decided to give up for the present his legal studies, and take up his abode in Gershom as Mr Langden's partner in such a business as it had been Jacob's hope that the Gershom Manufacturing Company might establish. Such an enterprise need not prevent him from going on as Jacob's partner. On the contrary, his position in such a case would be an advantage to him, and from his share of his father's wealth he expected to obtain the means necessary as his part in the investment of which Mr Langden was to supply the larger part. And so, to the surprise and joy of Elizabeth, and of Jacob as well, Clifton came home for good. Mr Langden did not see, or did not seem to see, one of the chief motives that had influenced the young man in considering this step. Clifton at first did not acknowledge to himself that his interest in Mr Langden's daughter had much to do with the decision. There were good reasons enough for it to fall back upon without this, and these were so clearly and earnestly dwelt on in his talks with his sister, that he went far toward convincing himself that to settle in Gershom and do as his father had done before him was the most reasonable course to take.

He had greatly admired Miss Langden everybody saw, and a good many people had seemed to see that the admiration was mutual. But if their intercourse had ended when they left Gershom, it would hardly have gone further than admiration between them. Up to that time Clifton had shared the general opinion that Miss Essie would at some future day probably become a resident of the parsonage, and he had his doubts, as some others in Gershom had, whether that might prove the most suitable place for the dainty little lady.

But the sail together down the Saint Lawrence changed his opinion, and set his doubts at rest. Mr Maxwell was almost her dearest friend, as his mother had been the dearest friend of her Aunt Martha. He was like a cousin or an elder brother, she said, admiring and praising him quite openly, as no young lady would be likely to speak of her lover. And as for the parsonage, well, the intimations, quite frankly given, as to what she meant to see and to do in the future, did not point that way. And Clifton told himself, as he listened to her, that having seen them so much together, he might have known from the nature of their intercourse that there was nothing but friendship between them.

In the comparative isolation of the sail on the two great rivers, these young people became more intimate than they could have become in so short a time in almost any other circumstances, and Miss Essie was a pretty and winning little creature. She was very frank and friendly with him, and an occasional touch of shyness and reserve made her frankness and friendliness all the more charming. What with the one way and the other, she bewitched the happy young fellow, and she had bewitched several others since the Thanksgiving visit of Mr Maxwell.

Clifton scarcely knew what had happened to him till he stood in the desolate station in Montreal, watching the train that carried her and her friends to meet the upward-bound boat at Lachine. After that there came with the thought of the pretty, bright little girl, the thought of her father, who was a rich man, and who would not, he feared, be easily approached in any matter that had reference to his daughter. Clifton forth with came to what was probably the wisest resolution that he could have taken in the circumstances, to keep silence at present, and to do what might be done, at least to put himself in the way of becoming a rich man also.

A good deal had passed between the gentlemen as to possible future business relations, but nothing had been definitely settled while Mr Langden was in Canada. That is, Clifton had not fully decided whether he should change his plans and settle in Gershom. But there had been a full discussion of all that was to follow should he do so.

The unsatisfactory state into which their own affairs had fallen under his brother's management was doubly vexing to him, because of the difficulties which were thus thrown in the way of the new enterprise. Not only must there be delay, there must be a new plan of operations.

There was far more than enough of property of one kind or another in their possession still to cover all the liabilities of the firm, but money was needed and the banks were pressing. An honourable settlement might be made, and their good name preserved, and even their fortunes retrieved to some extent—provided that time should be given them, and provided also the settlement of their affairs should be left in their own hands. An extensive and varied country business like theirs might be carried on through years of ill-success without an utter breakdown, and years of care and labour would be required, if the sacrifice of much valuable property was to be avoided, and this care and labour he saw must fall on him. He could no longer hope for a partnership with Mr Langden in the new enterprise. It seemed even doubtful whether, occupied as he must be with their own affairs for the next year or two, Mr Langden would consider the question of making him his agent in carrying out his plans.

"You can but lay the matter before him," said his sister Elizabeth.

To her alone had Clifton permitted himself to speak of Mr Langden's plans, and of the disappointment that threatened his own hopes because of the losses that had come upon them.

"That is easily said," said he, impatiently. "A statement of our affairs; such as it would be necessary to put before him, would be almost impossible at the present moment, at least in writing."

"Why don't you go and see him, then?"

Clifton looked at her a moment in silence.

"The matter ought to be settled in one way or another, at once," said his sister. "You would feel quite differently about Jacob's troubles and your own if you were not in suspense."

And so it came about that Clifton found his opportunity, and went.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

CHANGES.

A surprise awaited the people of Gershom—indeed a series of surprises. But the greatest of all was this, David Fleming not only sold that part of his farm which bordered on the Black Pool and lay beyond it, higher up the river, but he sold it to the Holts. He sold it on such terms that the longstanding debt to them was more than cancelled, and in so doing did well for himself and for the Holts also.

When the winter had fairly set in, and there was snow enough for good winter roads, the stones and timber which Jacob Holt had accumulated on the Varney place last year were all removed higher up the river, and preparations on a larger scale than ever Jacob had attempted, commenced for the making of the new dam, at the point long ago decided upon as the best on the river for such a purpose. And the building of the dam was to be but the beginning of what was to be done.

Clifton Holt did not say much to any one, except his sister Elizabeth, of all that was to be undertaken soon in Gershom. But the good people took too much interest in him and his undertakings not to give much time and talk to them. Clifton Holt's undertakings, they were always called, though he was but the agent of Mr Langden, the complications in the old business with which he had still to do making it wiser for him to occupy that position for the present. But that he was to be at the head of all that was to be done, as far as buildings were concerned, was easily seen.

And Mark Varney was to be one of his right hands. It was Mark who had the immediate oversight of the numerous workmen who were employed during the winter collecting the materials required. It was he who, when the spring opened, superintended the digging and levelling, the cutting and carting that were being carried on, on a scale and with a rapidity that surprised even Jacob Holt, who in imagination had seen something like it done a hundred times over. It was in Mark's pastures, once again his own, that the horses and oxen used in the work found rest when it was needed, and it was he who had all to say that was to be said of them, and of much besides. And the surprise, as far as he was concerned, was that he should be capable of taking all this in hand, and that being trusted with it he should so quickly and clearly show that he was capable of doing it all well.

No one was surprised at Clifton. He had the old squire's head for business, they said, as Jacob had said before, and he had such an education as the squire had never had, which must tell in the long run. Then he had so good an opinion of his own powers, that he would never think any work too great to undertake, and being "backed" by Mr Langden, and by several other rich men, both at home and at a distance, to whom Mr Langden's movement in the matter of the new mills had given confidence, the chances were, everybody said, that he would do what he had set out to do.

And so he did, as far as the new dam on the Beaver River, and the mills and workshops, and many other works besides, which he put his hand to for the benefit of Gershom and his own benefit, were concerned. And so he did in the course of years in his own business—that is, he and Jacob together did much to recover that which had been lost, and to make once more the name of the firm a power in Gershom, and in all the countryside. But a good many years passed before all that was brought about.

Mr Fleming parted with a portion of his farm, not without regret, indeed; but with none of the bitterness of feeling which in former days had always risen within him at the thought of possibly having to do so; and Davie was triumphant. Katie grieved over the prospect of having the "bonny quiet place" spoiled with mills and shops and other folks' houses, and the clatter of looms and factory-bells. Grannie thought as Katie did, and would have grieved over this also if anything except a fear of the wrong-doing of any of the bairns could have moved her from the sweet content which, since the joyful ending of her long illness, had rested in her heart, and made itself evident in every word and deed.

But still grannie found much that was to be rejoiced over in that which made Katie grieve. It was a fine thing to be free of debt, and it was well that since they must part with the land it was to be put to a good use.

As for grandfather there was no sign of grumbling in him. Indeed, when the spring opened, and the work at the Pool made progress, he began to take much interest in all that was going on there, and his evening walk often took him in that direction. It was a silent, and not always an approving interest. But there was neither bitterness nor anger in his thoughts now. He was content, like his dear old wife, to let the world move on and take its way, since he had so nearly done with it all.

There was for Davie a constant fascination in the skill and power displayed by those employed in directing the work that was going on. He haunted the place at every spare moment, and even did a day's work there, at leisure times, for the sake of getting an insight into the principles of things of which he had read, but which he had never had an opportunity of seeing applied. The engineer employed about the dam, a scientific man, capable of doing far higher work than fell to him in Gershom, well pleased with the lad's eager interest, gave him many a hint that went beyond the work in hand, and lent him books, and encouraged him in various other ways to educate himself in the direction toward which his tastes and inclinations seemed to lead. He claimed his help on occasions when intelligence and skill rather than strength were needed, and Davie, well pleased, did his best. The end of it all was, that the lad's vulgar wishes for other work and another kind of life than that which had fallen to him on the farm, took a definite form, and as usual his confidence was given to his sister, and as usual, also, Katie's first thought was:

"But, Davie, think of grandfather."

"Oh, there is no special hurry about it, and we'll break it to him easily. And you must mind that there is less land now, and Sandy and Jamie are coming on. There is not room for so many of us here, Katie. And I'll be first to slip out of the nest, that is all."

"But that you should be so glad to think about it, Davie," said Katie mournfully.

"Oh, as to that, I'm no' awa' yet. You needna fear that I'll do anything that grandfather will take to heart. And besides, Katie, grandfather is different now."

Davie said these last words with a little hesitation, because he had been taken up rather sharply on a former occasion when he had said something of the same kind. Katie seemed to have forgotten her old unhappy thoughts about her grandfather and Jacob Holt, and how hard it had been for her grandfather to forgive his enemy, and it almost seemed like reflection on his past life when it was said how greatly he was changed.

"It is not so much that he is changed," said Katie; "it is just the 'shining more and more unto the perfect day.' It is that he is becoming more like the 'little child' our Lord speaks about, and so more fit for the kingdom of heaven as the time draws nearer. For grandfather is growing an old man now, Davie," said Katie, not without tears.

"Yes, that's so. Well, I'll never grieve him, Katie, you needna fear. There is no hurry, and I am not losing time while Mr Davenport is here. And I don't despair of being a civil engineer, as good as the best of them yet."

"Shining more and more unto the perfect day." Yes, that was so. Mr Fleming was almost as silent in these days as had been his way all his life, but it was a different silence—a silence serene and peaceful, that told better than words could have done, of the joy and confidence with which he was waiting for all that life had to bring him, and for all that lay beyond.

One Sabbath-day in the beginning of the winter, when Mrs Fleming had gathered a little strength after her illness, grandfather and she, with Davie and Katie and their mother, went to the village church and sat down together at the table of our Lord. Jacob Holt was there too, and a good many more who had sympathised with one or the other of them when trouble was between them, and every one who saw the old man's bowed head, and the childlike look on his face as he sat there among them all, knew that all hard feelings had passed out of his heart forever.

Jacob Holt's head was bowed also, but his face did not tell of peace as yet. That might come later, but Jacob was now in the midst of his troubles, and was having a hard time. But there was peace between him and Mr Fleming. In former days the old man's eyes had never lighted on his enemy, either in church or market, as all the world knew. But to-day it was Jacob who tied old Kelso in the shed, Davie not being at hand. He helped Mrs Fleming up the steps too, Cousin Betsey and a good many other people being there to see, and then the two men walked up the church aisle together.

"It was as good to Jacob as Mr Fleming's name to a note for a thousand dollars," Mr Green said afterward. And that was quite true. For a thousand dollars, more or less, would have made little difference to him in the present state of affairs, and the open friendliness of the man who had so long shunned and slighted him, was good and pleasant to him to-day.

"And it was done on purpose," Betsey told her mother afterward, for Mr Fleming was not accustomed to say much to any one by salutation on Sunday, and had passed several of his friends, Betsey herself among the number, without a word or even a nod of recognition. But he seemed glad of the chance to say a word to Jacob before them all.

"And it was a good day for Gershom," people said. There was no longer any question as to union now in church matters, and in other matters as well. No one had said less about union and brotherly love and a Christian spirit among brethren than Mr Fleming; but his silent influence had always been stronger than most men's loudly-spoken reasons, either for or against the union so much desired, and now his open adherence to the church in the village did much to decide those who had long hung back, and it was acknowledged to be a good day by them all.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

CLIFTON'S SUCCESS.

Jacob Holt was having a hard time, and it did not for the moment make his troubles any lighter that his younger brother seemed likely, by and by, to show him a way out of them all. Indeed, it was rather an aggravation to his troubles to see Clifton's success. He was carrying out with apparent ease an enterprise on which he had spent time and strength in vain, and with fewer drawbacks than would have been likely to come to him had the Gershom Manufacturing Company been formed when he moved in the matter years ago.

Of course success was for Jacob's benefit, and by and by he would be able to appreciate and take advantage of it. But in the meantime it was not a pleasant thing to find himself superseded—left on one side—as he said to himself often. It was not pleasant to be second where he had so long been first.

On the whole, Clifton carried himself with as much moderation as could have been expected toward his elder brother, and he made him useful in various ways that told for the good of both.

Elizabeth rejoiced greatly, as each month passed over, that her brother not only showed himself equal to the duties of the position in which he was placed, but that he seemed to enjoy them, and would, therefore, not be likely to be tempted to seek other work elsewhere.

Of his work and his plans, and all he meant to do and be in the future, Clifton said more to his sister than to all the rest of Gershom put together. He was as frank and free in his talk, and as eagerly claimed her sympathy and approval as ever he had done in his boyish days about less important matters, and the chief interest of her life now, as then, was in throwing herself heartily into all his plans and prospects.

But on one subject he was for the most part silent, and his sister could only guess at the motives that had chiefly decided him in returning to Gershom, and at the hopes he might be cherishing with regard to Miss Langden, and of both motives and hopes she was afraid. She was afraid that disappointment awaited him, and that the end of it would be to unsettle him again, and to disgust him with the life he had chosen.

Elizabeth's knowledge of the tacit engagement existing between Miss Essie and Mr Maxwell made her anxious and unhappy about her brother, and at the same time it made it difficult for her to say anything that might incline him to speak more freely to her. For Clifton's first successful visit to Mr Langden had by no means been his last. Business took him southward several times during the year, and more than one visit united business with pleasure. Once he had seen Miss Langden in her aunt's house in New York, and once he had turned aside to one of the fashionable summer resorts in the mountains where she was staying with her aunt's family. He enjoyed both visits, as may be supposed. Miss Essie was as bright and sweet as ever, and doubtless enjoyed them also.

Even Mrs Weston, who had seen a good deal more of society, and of the world in general, than her niece, acknowledged that the young Canadian carried himself well, and held his place among the idle gentlemen who were helping them and their friends to spend their summer days agreeably. Mrs Weston would have been as well pleased if he had not carried himself so well, or made himself so agreeable, as far as her niece was concerned, though she did not allow him to suspect any such feelings, and had self-respect enough to say nothing to her niece till after their visitors had departed.

She did not say much to her even then. She laughed a little at her and the conquest she had made, declaring that if she were determined to spend her life in the far North, it would be wise to give up all thoughts of the parsonage, and make good her claim to be the great lady of Gershom. Mrs Weston had always laughed at the idea of the parsonage, and had no thought of allowing her pretty niece to betake herself to the far North in any circumstances. But she did not express herself very openly with regard to this. For, with all Miss Essie's gentleness and sweetness, and her willingness to submit to guidance when nothing of particular importance to herself was depending upon it, she had a mind and will of her own, and did not hesitate to assert herself on occasion, and her aunt had seen enough of this to make her cautious in dealing with her when their opinions differed. Upon the whole, however, she thought she had reason to congratulate herself on the success that had hitherto attended her efforts on her niece's behalf.

Miss Langden, who could "hold her own" among the scores of fine people— the fashionable and elegant ladies and gentlemen who formed the circle in which they moved at present—was a very different creature from the quaint and prudish little school-girl whom her father had brought to New York a year and a half ago.

"Improved! Yes, indeed," she said to herself, and Mr Langden agreed with his sister in the main, but on all points was not so sure. However, he doubted nothing less than that in all essential respects his good and pretty daughter would come out right in the end. Whether that might mean the parsonage and the far North, either or both, he did not say to himself or any one else. He had exchanged no words with his daughter on the subject, though they had been at Gershom together.

Mrs Weston was not afraid of Mr Maxwell and the parsonage, but, after his summer visit, she was a little afraid of Clifton Holt. She knew how high he stood both as to character and capabilities in the opinion of Essie's father, and though he had not liked the idea of his daughter's marriage with the minister, she thought it possible that he might not object seriously a second time, should Essie indeed prefer the new aspirant to her favour.

But all the same her aunt did not intend that either of them should have her pretty niece if she could manage matters so as to prevent it.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

CONCLUSION.

Clifton went southward again not long after his summer visit to the mountains, and on his return he had more to say about what he had seen and done and enjoyed than was usual with him. Whether he was led into doing so by the fact that Mr Maxwell had come in for the evening, and took pleasure in hearing about old friends and familiar scenes, or whether he spoke with intention, Elizabeth could not afterward decide.

He had not seen Miss Langden at this time. She was paying a visit to friends at a distance. If she had been visiting her Aunt Maltha, he would have gone there to see her, he said, as though it were quite his right to do so, and a matter of course. Elizabeth listened to all this with much discomfort, and glanced at Mr Maxwell now and then to see how it was taken. The minister met her glance frankly and smilingly, and certainly did not seem to have any thought of resenting the young man's tone and manner.

"He is sure of his ground," thought Elizabeth; "and he can wait; but, my poor Clifton, I fear he has disappointment before him."

She knew that such a disappointment might be got over, and he be none the worse, but rather the better, for what he might have to pass through. But it hurt her beforehand to think of his suffering, and to think that it must come to him through his friend. Even as the talk went on between them, she was trying to bring her courage to the point of asking Mr Maxwell to tell her brother how matters stood between him and Miss Langden. It was only that they were waiting for the end of the two years of probation, she supposed, and they were nearly over now. She came out of her own thoughts in time to hear Mr Maxwell say:

"Yes, I mean to get away for a week or two by and by, and I mean to pass Thanksgiving either there or with Miss Martha at New B—. If I cannot get away at that time I shall certainly go later, but I should like to be there on Thanksgiving Day for various reasons."

Elizabeth looked from one to the other with some surprise. Mr Maxwell spoke, and Clifton listened, with faces that were grave enough, but the eyes of both were smiling as they met hers.

"Mr Maxwell ought to tell him," thought she, with a touch of anger at her heart.

But he did not need to be told. When Mr Maxwell was gone, and Clifton had returned from seeing him to the gate, he said to his sister:

"Did you know, Lizzie, that Mr Maxwell had once asked Miss Langden to marry him?"

Elizabeth was moving about the room, putting things in order, as was her way before going up-stairs for the night. She removed the lamp to the side-table, and sat down before she answered him.

"Yes, I have long known it. I have often, often wished to tell you, but I did not feel at liberty to do so."

"And why not, pray? One may surely repeat a rumour of that kind without a breach of confidence."

"But I did not hear it as a rumour, and I had no permission to repeat it. And besides, it was Mr Maxwell who told me."

"Rather queer—his telling you, wasn't it?"

"No. In the circumstances it was natural enough. I knew it, or I had guessed it before he told me."

And then she went on to tell of the first note that Miss Essie had sent her, because she was one of the Gershom friends of her friend "Will Maxwell," as she called him. "But it is a long time now since one of her pretty notes has come to me. But they correspond, and have always done so, since he came to Gershom."

Clifton said nothing, and his sister was silent for a time. Then she asked:

"Who told you of their engagement?"

"Engagement! There is no engagement," said Clifton shortly.

"No formal engagement, but that was only because her father thought Miss Essie too young; but the time of waiting is nearly over now."

"Lizzie, if I had been asked who had been most in Mr Maxwell's thoughts for the last year I should not certainly have said it was Miss Langden."

"Well, your penetration would have been at fault, that is all."

"And I should not have said that Miss Langden had been giving many of her thoughts to him, for the last year at least."

"Of that I can say nothing. But who told you of the proposal? Not Mr Maxwell?"

"No. Mr Langden told me."

"Mr Langden!" exclaimed Elizabeth, and by and by she added: "Is that all I am to hear, brother?"

"It is all I have to tell at present. Perhaps I may have more by and by."

"Or perhaps it may be Mr Maxwell who may have something to tell," said Elizabeth gravely, "when he comes home from Thanksgiving."

Clifton laughed.

"Possibly he may—but—"

"Clifton, I cannot bear to think that Mr Maxwell and you may not always be friends."

"Well, you needn't fret about it beforehand, need you?" and then he rose and went away.

They both had something to tell before Thanksgiving Day, but it was not just what Elizabeth had expected to hear. Clifton did not tell his part before Thanksgiving, however. Indeed, he never told it. He was away a good deal about that time; and was so much occupied when he was at home, that Elizabeth saw less of him, and heard less from him than had ever been the case before during the same length of time, and she could only wait till it should be his pleasure to speak. But Mr Maxwell lost no time in saying to his friend what he had to say.

One fair September morning, about a year after her father's death, Elizabeth saw the minister coming in at the gate with an open letter in his hand, and though she could give no reason for the thought, she told herself at once to prepare for tidings. Her first impulse was to go away, so as to gain time, for a sharp and sudden pain, which she could not but fear was not all for her brother, smote her heart as she caught sight of Mr Maxwell's moved and smiling face. But she felt that it was better not to go, so she rose and met him at the door.

"Well," she said, smiling and preparing to be glad for him, at least.

Her face was moved out of its usual quiet too, as Mr Maxwell could not but see, and he said:

"Have you heard anything? Has your brother anything to tell?"

"Clifton is not at home; I have heard nothing."

"Ah, well! All in good time, I suppose."

Mr Maxwell did not sit down, though Elizabeth did, but walked about the room, looking out first at one window and then at the other in a way that startled her.

"Well," she said after a little, "I am waiting for your news."

"News? I have no news—yes, I have something to say. I have been waiting these two years to say it—may I speak, Elizabeth?"

And then he sat down on the sofa beside her. To that which he had to say Elizabeth listened with a surprise which would have been painful to her friend if something more than surprise had not soon appeared.

In a few words he told her of the discovery he had made soon after his return home two years ago, and how he had thought nothing else right or possible but to wait patiently till the two years of probation were over to see what might befall. He had not always waited patiently, he acknowledged. He had had little hope that Miss Holt had more than friendship to give him, and believed himself to be content with that for the present, till he had known how, after her father's death, some one else was asking for the hand for which he had no right to ask, and then it had gone hard with him.

He had not been blind to Clifton's hopes and pretensions, and he had been for some time quite aware that whatever Miss Langden might have to give to Clifton, she had only friendship to give to him. But he had remained silent because he believed himself bound not to speak to Elizabeth till the two years were over. And now they were over.

Mr Langden, knowing that his plan was to visit them soon, considered that he ought to know how he was to be received, and had insisted that his daughter should tell him her mind distinctly as to her future. It is not be supposed that she did that altogether, but she acknowledged that her views of life and duty had somewhat changed, and she feared it would not be for their mutual happiness to renew her engagement with Mr Maxwell. A little note to that effect was inclosed in her father's letter which had reached him this morning, and certainly the minister had lost no time.

If Elizabeth hesitated to answer the question which came next, it was not for a reason that seemed to trouble the questioner much. She was not sure that she would make a good minister's wife—and especially she was not sure that she would make a good minister's wife for Gershom. But all that was put aside for the present. She was not afraid to trust her happiness in the hands of her friend. She was willing to share his life and his labours, and to do what she could to aid him in his work. And with that her friend was well content.

When he said something of the inequality of their relations to each other, because of that which she possessed, she declared herself willing to let all that pass into the hands of her brothers, and to share the parsonage and comparative poverty with him. Whether she was showing her usual wisdom and prudence in making such a declaration, there was no one there to decide, and when the right time came for the decision it was not left in her hands.

Clifton did not return home triumphant, as Elizabeth had never doubted that he would. He was well pleased to hear all she had to tell him of the new happiness that had come into her life; but he had nothing to tell her in return. By and by she heard, through Mr Maxwell, that Miss Langden had gone with her aunt to pass at least a year in Europe, and then Clifton told her that he had known her plans all along. He said little about his disappointment, indeed he did not acknowledge himself disappointed. But he did not succeed in concealing it from Elizabeth. He went on as usual with all that he had to do, with no less interest and energy, and with no less success than before.

Mr Langden paid a visit to Gershom in the following spring, and there was perfect confidence and satisfaction between him and Clifton as far as business relations were concerned. And hearing his daughter's name frequently mentioned by him, and taking some other things into consideration, Elizabeth could not but hope that in good time all things would end as her brother desired, and since he was silent, she did not think it would be right for her to speak.

But it did not all end as Clifton wished it to end. Miss Langden returned with her aunt at the close of the year, as had been expected, but she returned engaged to marry a New York gentleman whom they had met abroad. She and Clifton had never been engaged. Her father had forbidden the young man to speak to her till the two years of Mr Maxwell's waiting were over, and before that time the European trip was decided on and close at hand.

This meeting and parting at that time had been all that Clifton could desire, except that she had refused to bind herself by a promise to him, and her aunt had sustained her in this, as was perhaps right, knowing all that she knew. Without her promise Clifton had trusted her entirely, and doubtless she meant to be true to him.

But temptation came in the form of wealth and family and fashion, and her aunt was at hand to show her the advantages of these things. Indeed, it must be said the young lady saw them for herself only too clearly, and was glad that she had no promise to break to secure them.

If there was any comfort in the knowledge that her father was disappointed and indignant at what she had done without his knowledge or consent, Clifton had that comfort, but it possibly did not go far to help him. He said little about it, but it went hard with him for a while.

However, he did not make his misery an excuse for neglecting his duty. He was past the age for such folly now and besides, he was too really interested in his work not to find it a resource in the time of his trouble, and the changes which his sister had feared might follow such disappointment, did not come.

"And after all," she said, comforting herself, "he will get over it in time." Which was perfectly true.

The new dam and the new establishments of various sorts, which followed its completion, did much for Gershom. That is to say, they increased the population and the wealth of the place, and made it more than ever the centre of the surrounding country as to all business transactions. But it is a question whether it made it a pleasanter place of residence for any of our friends there. A state of transition from a country village to a country town of some importance is never pleasant for the old residents for a time. But progress is to be desired for all that, and Gershom is now an incorporated town with a mayor and council-men of its own, and on the whole it may be considered that its prosperity is established on a good foundation.

Changes came to the people also, some of them to be rejoiced over, and some of them not. The High-School lost Mr Burnet as a teacher, which, considering his utter inability to fall in with certain new-fangled notions as to schools and schoolmasters, which the influx of new-comers brought with it, was not a bad thing for him, whatever it might be for the school. He went home to Scotland to take possession of some money left to him by an elder brother, who had been a rich man. He came back, however, to make his home in Canada, as people who have lived in it for any length of time are almost sure to do.

He brought back with him his two daughters, bonnie lassies of fifteen and sixteen, and took up his abode with them in the house that had been the parsonage. The big house on the hill answered the purpose of a parsonage now. His daughters were nice, merry girls, but they were quite ignorant of housekeeping matters, and they did not get on very well with the new ways of the place for a while. They had, perhaps, been too much restrained by the friends who had brought them up, for some of the staid people of Gershom thought that they did not know how to use their liberty wisely.

Perhaps their father thought so too, and that he needed help to guide them; at any rate, to the surprise of most people, he asked Miss Betsey Holt to come and take care of them, and of himself also, and after some hesitation, caused by doubt as to how "mother and Cynthy and Ben would get along without her," she consented.

All eyes were on the household for a time, for dutiful submission on the part of the young step-daughters was considered doubtful by a good many of their friends. It is likely that Betsey had her own troubles with them till they knew her better, but no one in Gershom was the wiser for anything that she told them, and things righted themselves in time, as they always do where good and sensible people are concerned.

Mark Varney redeemed his farm and moor, and carried his mother and his little daughter home again when Mr Maxwell was married. His farm was not so large after a time, for a part of it was laid out in building lots for the new village, and Mark, as the neighbours declared, was soon "well-to-do," and doing well.

And though he never made so good a speech again as he made that day at the picnic, he has done for many a suffering and miserable man what in the first days of his coming to Gershom, Mr Maxwell did for him. He has followed, and comforted, and brought back to life and hope more than one or two poor besotted wretches, whom the rising prosperity of Gershom drew thither in the hope of getting bread. And he has never grown weary of the work, though sometimes he has had to grieve over ill-success.

It would be going beyond the truth to say that all Gershom was satisfied when the engagement of Miss Holt and the minister was announced, because there are some people who are never satisfied. But they whose opinion they valued most were satisfied. Mrs Fleming and Cousin Betsey had been hoping for it—almost expecting it all along, and one or two of Elizabeth's special old-lady friends acknowledged that they had been praying for such a marriage all the while. As for Katie, it was in her eyes the only fitting end to the romance which she had guessed at long ago, and which she had been secretly and silently watching all these years.

As to whether or not she made a good minister's wife, Elizabeth was never quite sure. But the minister was content, and so were most of the people. And even those who were never quite contented with anything, acknowledged that "she did as well as she knew how," and that would be high praise for the most of us.

Clifton lived in the old home with them, for his good and their pleasure, till the time came when he made a home of his own, which, considering all things, was not so very long a time after all.

Although Jacob's change from the first place to the second both in the business and in the town was not pleasant to him, it was wholesome. He had never been equal to the role of the great man of the place, and after the first feelings of humiliation wore away, and their affairs began to look prosperous again, the fact that "two heads are better than one" made itself apparent to him even more clearly than had been the case in the days when he found his father unable, and his brother unwilling, to give him help and counsel.

He came to be much better liked by his neighbours than he used to be, and was really a better man. He had fewer worries and fewer temptations, and though he was not what might be called "a shining light" either in the church or in the world, it was the opinion of his brethren and townsmen that his troubles had been blessed to him, and that he was getting along—not very fast, but in the right direction.

But that which did most for Jacob in his time of trouble was the knowledge of Mr Fleming's forgiveness and friendship. It is not likely that he had ever acknowledged, even to himself, that he had sinned against him through his son more than others had done, but a sense of the old man's silent anger had always been in him, and had been painful and humiliating to him—how painful he knew by the sense of relief he experienced whenever they came in contact afterward. He no longer stepped aside when he saw him approaching, so that the neighbours should not remark about the old man's steadily averted face. They had never much to say to each other, but they met and exchanged kindly greetings as other men did, and all Gershom saw the change that had come over them both. Even his cousin Betsey grew friendly and frank in her intercourse with him and his wife, and that was a change certainly.

Few people ever knew just what had brought about this changed state of feeling. There was nothing to tell which Jacob cared to repeat. It would have done no good to bring up the old, sad story again, he well knew, and he said little about it even to his wife.

As for Mr Fleming—and indeed all the Flemings—the joyful tidings that the letter brought on that fair September morning were too sacred and sweet to be discussed much even among themselves. Katie always held that her grandfather would have forgiven Jacob Holt all the same if the letter had never come, because there was the Lord's command clear and plain, "Forgive and ye shall be forgiven," and it must have come to that at last.

"And, indeed, Davie, it was near at hand before the letter came. The Lord had touched him. First there was the fear of losing you, and then the fear of losing grannie, and then the letter came from the son he had lost so long, and that was the last touch for which the rest had made him ready. Oh! how good He has been to us! Surely, surely, Davie, we can never through all our lives forget."

Mrs Fleming thought as Katie did, though they had never spoken together of the subject. In her innermost heart she had believed—though even to herself she had hardly put the thought into words—that on the subject of Jacob Holt's past misdeeds her husband was hardly responsible for his thoughts. The misery of his son's loss, not for this brief life only, but forever and ever, as he could not but believe, had taken such full possession of him as to leave him no power to struggle against the bitterness which became almost hatred as time went on. If he had died unforgiving, the Lord would have still received him, she had believed, and she had striven to content herself with this belief in silence, feeling how vain were spoken words to him.

"Only a miracle would make him see God's will in this; and I have no right to ask for that."

No miracle was wrought. The letter came, and was the last touch of the loving Hand which even at the worst times had wounded but to heal; and lying with his lips in the dust, but with eyes looking upward, the cloud parted, and he saw the face of God, and was at peace.

After this there came nothing to trouble these two old people as they moved softly down the hill together. Grannie was never very strong again after her long illness, and no longer took the lead in all that was done in the house—that was Katie's part in life for several years to come; but she was quite content to rest and to look at other folk busy with the work which had once been hers, and that does not always happen in the last days of a life so active and so full as hers had been.

And what was true of the grandmother was true of the grandfather as well. He seemed to have no more anxious thoughts about anything. He did not need to have while Davie stayed at home; but even after Davie went away, and the management of the farm fell for the most part into the less skillful hands of the younger brothers, their grandfather "took things easy," the lads said, and rarely found fault.

And so they had still a peaceful gloaming, these two old people, when their changeful day of life was drawing to a close. Only it was like the dawn rather than the gloaming, Katie said, because of the soft brightness that shone on them both. It was "light at evening time," and their last days were their best to themselves and to all by whom they were beloved.

For the last days were days of waiting for the change of which they spoke often to the bairns so dear, and to one another. Once, as Katie sat with her grandfather at the pasture-bars on Sabbath afternoon, she said to him—after many other words had been spoken between them—that she would like to put that verse on his grave-stone after he was gone:

"At evening time it shall be light."

But her grandfather said:

"Na, na, my lassie! If I have a grave-stone—which matters little—and if any verse at all be put upon it, let it be this:—

"'Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.'" Then Katie stooped and touched his hand with her lips, as she had done once long ago, and said softly: "Yes, grandfather, so it shall be." And so it was.

THE END.