Nell, of Shorne Mills; or, One Heart's Burden. Charles Garvice

supporting her shapely head, the other—after the manner of girls—dabbling in the water. A pang of compassion smote him.

      "It's a devil of a world," he muttered, almost to himself.

      "Do you think so?" she said, with surprise. "I don't. At any rate, I don't think so this afternoon."

      "Why this afternoon?" he asked, half curiously.

      "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it's the sunshine, or—or—do you think it's the mackerel?"

      She laughed.

      "But I feel so happy and free from care. And yet all the old trouble remains. There's Dick's future—and—oh, all the rest. But this afternoon everything seems bright and hopeful. I wonder why?"

      She looked at him wistfully, as if he might perhaps explain; but Vernon said nothing.

      "Have you really finished that cigarette? You smoke much less quickly than Dick. Well, there's another ready; and when you've finished that, I think we ought to be getting back. I want—let me see—yes, ten more fish, and I can get them when we get farther out."

      They set the sail, and the Annie Laurie glided out of the placid little cove into the open sea.

      As Vernon steered for the Head, behind which Shorne Mills sheltered, he sighed unconsciously. He, too, had been happy and free from care that morning, and the afternoon seemed full of indescribable peace and happiness. He, like Nell, wondered why. A day or two ago—or was it a month, a year?—he had been depressed and low-spirited, and firmly convinced that life was not worth living; but this afternoon——

      What a pretty picture she made in her jersey, that fitted her like a skin, with the soft black hair rippling beneath the edge of the tam-o'-shanter!

      Suddenly the pretty picture called out, "Sail ahead, sir!" and Vernon, taking his eyes from her, saw a yacht skimming along the sapphire waves, almost parallel with the Annie Laurie.

      "That's a yacht," said Nell; "and a fine one, too."

      He looked at it, shading his eyes with his practicable hand.

      "I wonder who she is?" said Nell. "There's a field glass in the locker—get it. Can you see her name?"

      He put the glass to his eyes and adjusted it; and, as he got the focus, an exclamation escaped him.

      "What did you say?" inquired Nell.

      "Nothing, only that she's a fine vessel," he said indifferently.

      "Yes. I should like to be on her," said Nell. "Wouldn't you?"

      He smiled grimly.

      "I am content with the Annie Laurie," he replied.

      She stared at him incredulously, then laughed.

      "Thank you for the compliment; but you can't seriously prefer this dear old tub to that! I wonder whom she belongs to? How fast she travels. I should like to have a yacht like that."

      "Would you?" he said, eying her rather strangely. "Perhaps some day——"

      He stopped, and knocked the ash from his cigarette.

      Nell laughed.

      "Were you going to say that perhaps some day I should own one like her? What nonsense! It is like the things one reads in books, when the benevolent and wise old gentleman tells the boy that perhaps, if he works hard, and is honest and persevering, he may own a carriage and a pair like that which happens to be passing at the moment."

      Vernon laughed.

      "Life is full of possibilities," he said, with his eyes fixed on the yacht, which, after sailing broadside to them for some time, suddenly put down the helm and struck out for sea.

      "I thought they might be making for Shorne Mills," said Nell, rather regretfully. "Yachts put in there sometimes, and I should have liked to have seen this one."

      "Would you?" he said, as curiously as he had spoken before.

      "It doesn't matter whether I would or wouldn't; she's gone out into the channel now," said Nell.

      He stifled a sigh which sounded like a sigh of relief, and steered the Annie Laurie for home.

      Nell swept the fish into an old reed basket which had held many such a catch, and held it up to the admiring and anticipatory gaze of a small crowd of women and children which had gathered on the jetty steps at the approach of the Annie Laurie.

      As she stepped on shore and distributed the fish, receiving the short but expressive Devonshire "Thank 'ee, Miss Nell, thank 'ee," Vernon looked at the beautiful girlish face pensively, and thought—well, who can tell what a man thinks at such moments? Perhaps he was thinking of the hundred and one useless women of his class who, throughout the whole of their butterfly lives, had never won a single breath of gratitude from the poor in their midst.

      "Come along," she said, turning to him, when she had emptied the basket. "I'm afraid we're in for a scolding. I quite forgot till this moment that mamma did not know you had gone out."

      "What about you?" he said, remembering for the first time that he had spent so many hours with this girl alone and unchaperoned.

      Nell laughed.

      "Oh, she would not be anxious about me. Mamma is used to my going out for a ride—when I can borrow a horse from some one—or sailing the Annie Laurie with old Brownie; but she'll be anxious about you. You're an invalid, you know."

      "Not much of the invalid about me, saving this arm," he said.

      As they climbed the hill, they came upon Dick mounted upon a horse the like of which Nell had never seen; and she stopped dead short and stared at him.

      "Hallo, Nell! Hallo, Mr. Vernon! Just giving him a run, after being shut up in that stuffy railway box."

      "That's right," said Vernon. "Like him?"

      "Like him?" responded Dick, with the superlative of approval; "never rode a horse to equal him, and the other is as good. And"—in an undertone—"the sidesaddle has come."

      But Nell, whose ears were sharp, heard him.

      "Who is the sidesaddle for?" she asked, innocently and ungrammatically.

      Vernon took the bull by the horns.

      "For you, if you will deign to use it, Miss Nell," he said.

      It was the first time he had addressed her as "Miss Nell," but she did not notice it.

      "For me?" she exclaimed.

      They were opposite Sandy's stables, and Dick dropped off his horse and brought out the other.

      "Look at her, Nell!" he exclaimed, with bated breath. "Perfect, isn't she?"

      Nell looked at her with a flush that came and went

      "Oh, but I—I—could not!" she breathed.

      Mr. Drake Vernon laughed.

      "Why not?" he said argumentatively. "Fair play's a jewel. You can't expect to have all the innings your side, Miss Nell. You've treated me—well, like a prince; and you won't refuse to ride a horse of mine that's simply spoiling for want of exercise!"

      Nell looked from him to the horse, and from the horse to him.

      "I—I—am so surprised," she faltered. "I—I will ask mamma."

      "That's all right," said Vernon, who had learned to know "mamma" by this time.

      Nell left Dick and Vernon standing round the horses in man fashion. Dick was all aglow with satisfaction and admiration.

      "Never saw a better pair than these, Mr. Vernon," he said. "I should think this one could jump."

      She had just won a military steeplechase, and Vernon nodded assent.

      "You