the hall fire, or gave him a meal when he rambled away on the fells.

She shook her head: "My people do. I don't. I've a lad in 'Merica, that sends me a bit of money yearly, enough to find me in the little that I need. But I mean other work. The wolves won't let the lamb crop the flowers of its own pasture, without wolfish tricks. You may understand now. It shall be our care to watch by moor and fell-by stream and lea. We ate their bread in the old days gone, and it would be evil in us indeed, now the bright day's near at hand, not to watch the nestlings and the nest."

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Well, dame," said Mr. Wye with a smile, "I'm no believer in prophecies, though I hope your good wish may come to pass. At least, the boy is coming to be to me as my own, and any kindness you and yours can show him, and this, my little daughter, will be gratefully regarded. For the rest, I fear we have long to wait, though I have but one unshaken opinion. If it be true, God will aid it."

"He will," said Aggy emphatically, "I've no great gift of reading fate, but old Madge, a woman of our tribe, has; and she fortells this thing. Now pass on to the Ruined House-a few years and it shall rise fresh from its old foundations, and its desolation pass away. If you need me you will find me, I shall bide there."

She pointed upwards to the cave, took the child's hand, kissed it tenderly, and passed again into the shadow of the trees.

Once past the lurid glare of the cave fire, the horses went steadily on. In no great time the narrow valley came to an end. A winding road then sloped into a beautifully hilly plain, in the distance dark with woods, and watered by pools and brooks. Its chief feature was a sterile belt of rocks, covered for the most part at their base with leafless shrubs.

The carriage winding round the side of these towards a low wall of stone, the Ruined House of Quarr, in

all its solitude and desolation, came in view. A. garden fenced in by the wall, lay in front of it; at the bottom of this garden were some neglected marish fishponds surrounded by leafless alders; at a little distance in a sort of paddock, stood an old grey lichen-covered chapel, and at the rear of the ruined hall, the narrow wall continuing, divided a strip of ground covered with turf, low shrubs, and ruins, from a bridle-road which ran at the foot of the rocks.

The moonlight was so brilliant that the ruin could be seen in its fullest desolation, as it stood stern, grey, and mouldering, amidst the wintry waste of snow. At the side from which it was approached, it seemed impossible for it to be inhabited, for its gables were rent with great fissures, the roof had nearly all dropped in, the rotten woodwork of the empty casements swayed to and fro as a gust of wind swept by, and from out the side of a little closet or oriel, built gable-wise, a leafless crab-tree swayed its mournful boughs. Yet George stayed the carriage before a little gate in the garden wall, and proceeded to open it. From some cause this was difficult to unlatch, so Mr. Wye alighted to assist him. This short interval was employed by Lilian in looking out upon the old grey ruin with more than her usual curiosity and interest; for it belonged rightfully, as everybody said, to her little brother Lawrence. Here those of his name had lived for many centuries; here, if right were done, he would come and live when he grew a man ; here, in the beautiful golden hours that were so near, they would visit Phœbe. Thus thinking, no wonder that her heart was filled with childish awe.

Many times as she had visited this ancient place, there was one old upstairs window that never lost its power of exciting her interest, for it was said to light the ancient nursery. As usual, her eye had sought it, for the moonlight shone far within its desolated chamber, when all at once this light was darkened by a passing shadow. For the instant she thought of telling her papa; but fearing

he might think her full of silly fears, she suppressed the intention.

Mr. Wye now took his little daughter in his arms to carry her along the snowy garden-path, and George followed with the basket, when a hound, which had bayed deeply at their approach, came leaping towards them with wild delight. It was an English bloodhound, of great beauty, though far from young. It knew the child, it leapt up and licked her tiny ungloved hand, its recognition was almost human; but its delight was at a height when it heard her pretty voice, as she stooped to coax it.

"Dear old Sleuth," she said, "nice old fellow; your little master is coming, and we've brought the news to Phoebe." Almost as though he knew what she said, it led the way along the path, and disappearing within an open door in front of the ruins, began again to bay