Fern looked a little surprised at Erle’s speech. “I did not know you had been poor, too,” she returned, drying her eyes, and taking up her work again.

“Yes, but I was very young, and knew little about it; my poor mother was the one to suffer. Well, she wanted for nothing when my uncle took us to Belgrave House; he was very good to her until she died; and,” with a slight hesitation in his voice, “he is good to me.”

“Yes, and you are right to be fond of him,” returned Fern, frankly. “Sometimes I think it is not quite kind of me to speak to you of Percy and our troubles, because it seems to cast a reflection on one you love and”—but Erle interrupted her.

“I hope you will never withhold your confidence, Miss Trafford; I should not feel that you treated me as a friend if you did not allow me to share some of your troubles. Percy and I are like brothers, and Percy’s mother and sister—” but here he paused and a flush crossed his face. How could he tell this girl that she should be as a sister to him, when he knew that even to be alone with her for a few minutes made his heart beat with strange thrills of happiness? His sister, never!

Fern felt a little confused at the sudden pause. She wished in a vague sort of way that he would finish his sentence and tell her what he meant; the silence was becoming awkward.

Fern worked on desperately, but her cheeks were burning. Both of them felt relieved when they heard footsteps approaching—Erle especially, for some dim instinct told him that in another minute he should have betrayed himself.

Both of them rose simultaneously as the door opened; and at the same moment Fluff, hugging herself among the sofa cushions, whispered into the kitten’s ear:

“They don’t know that I heard every word. One of these days I shall go and see grandpapa, and ask him why we may not come and live with him as well as Percy. Erle would like it, I know; he is so fond of Fern.”

Erle certainly looked a little amused as his friend entered the room accompanied by a tall, dark girl, very plainly dressed. But his expression changed as he noticed Percy’s moody looks, and the air of extreme haughtiness observable in the manner of his companion.

Miss Davenport was evidently very much annoyed; she shook hands with Erle, without deigning to look at him, and walked straight to the fire-place.

Fern followed her. “I am so glad you have come home so early, Crystal; Fluff and I have waited tea for you, but we hardly expected you yet.”

“I am sorry you waited for me,” returned the girl, who called herself Crystal Davenport, in a constrained voice; “Mrs. Norton gave me some tea, because she said I must be tired playing with the children.”

“Come, we must be going, Erle,” interrupted Percy, sharply, “or we shall be late for dinner. Good-bye, Fern; tell my mother I am sorry to miss her. Good-evening, Miss Davenport;” but he hesitated, as though he dared not venture to offer his hand.

“Good-night, Mr. Trafford,” she returned, indifferently; but she did not turn her long neck as she spoke. And Erle contented himself with a bow.

“What is it, Crystal, dear?” asked Fern, anxiously, as the two young men left the room; but Crystal only lifted her eyebrows and glanced at Fluff, whose curly head was distinctly visible; so Fern said cheerfully, “Very well, we have our tea, and then it will be Fluff’s bed-time;” and then without another word busied herself with her simple preparations.

But it was not a festive meal. In spite of all her cheery efforts Crystal sat quite silent, with a cloud on her handsome face, and Fluff had turned sulky at the mention of her bed-time. So Fern fell to thinking of Erle’s look as he bade her good-night—how kind he had been to her that evening. Yes, she was glad they were friends, and that he cared to hear about their troubles. He was so unselfish, so different to other young men—Fern did not know a single young man except Erle, so her knowledge was not very reliable; and then, with an odd transition of thought, she wondered who Miss Selby could be, and why Percy called her la Belle Evelyn, and looked at Erle so mischievously.

But presently, when Fluff had gone off grumbling with her kitten, and all the pretty tea-things had been washed and put away in the big corner cupboard, and the kettle was silent, and only a cricket chirped on the hearth, Fern sat down beside Crystal, and put her arm affectionately round her. “Now, you can tell me what has been troubling you, darling,” she said, in a coaxing voice.

It seemed a pity that there was no one to see the two faces so close together; an artist would have sketched them as Night and Morning. Fern’s soft English fairness made a splendid foil to Crystal’s olive complexion and dark southern coloring. The girl was superbly handsome, in spite of the bitter lines round the mouth and the hard, defiant curve of the lips. As Fern spoke her dark eyes flashed angrily.

“He has been speaking to me again,” she said, in an agitated voice. “He has dared to follow me and persecute me; and he calls it love—love!” with immeasurable contempt in her tone; “and when I tell him that it is ungenerous and wrong, he complains that I have robbed him of all peace. Fern, I know he is your brother, and that I ought not to speak against him; but how am I to help hating him?”

“Oh, no!” with a shudder, for Fern’s gentle nature was not capable of Crystal’s passion; “you must not hate poor Percy—he can not help loving you.”

“A poor sort of love,” returned Crystal, scornfully; “a love that partakes too much of the owner’s selfishness to be to my taste. Fern, how can he be your mother’s son? he has not a grain of her noble, frank nature, and from all accounts he does not take after your father.”

“But he is very clever, Crystal, and Mr. Erle says he is really kind-hearted,” returned Fern, in a troubled tone; “people admire and like him, and there are many and many girls, Mr. Erle says, would be ready to listen to him. He is very handsome, even you must allow that, and it is not the poor boy’s fault if he has lost his heart to you.”

Crystal smiled at this sisterly defense, but the next moment she said, tenderly:

“You are such a little angel of goodness yourself, Fern, that you never think people are to blame—you would always excuse them if you could; you have so little knowledge of the world, and have led such a recluse life that you hardly know how rigid society really is; but I should have thought that even you would have thought it wrong for your brother to come here so often in your mother’s absence and bring his friend with him; it is taking advantage of two defenseless girls to intrude himself and Mr. Erle on us in this way.”

“But Percy never knows when mother is out,” replied Fern, in a puzzled tone.

Crystal was silent; she held a different opinion, but after all she need not put these ideas into Fern’s innocent mind. It was her own conviction that Percy in some way was always aware of his mother’s absence. At first he had come alone, and now he always brought Erle with him, and she wanted to say a word that might put Fern on her guard; but at the present moment she was too full of her own grievance.

“You know, Fern,” she continued, in a very grave voice, “if this goes on and your brother refuses to hear reason, I shall be obliged to seek another home, where I shall be free from his unmanly persecution; yes”—as Fern uttered an incredulous exclamation—“though I love you all so dearly, and have grown to look upon this as a home, I shall be forced to go a second time into the world.”

“But Percy must hear reason,” returned Fern, tearfully. “I will ask mother to talk to him, and I know Mr. Erle has given him hints. We can not part with you, Crystal. I have never had a companion of my own age before, and mother is so often out.”

“Well, well,” observed Crystal, soothingly, “I have told him the truth to-night, and perhaps he will believe it; but there! we will not talk about your brother any more. And so he left you alone with Mr. Erle, Fern?”

“Oh, yes, but we were not long alone,” returned the girl, innocently.

“You and Mr. Erle seem good friends.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” rather shyly; “he was very kind to me this evening.”

“Did he tell you anything about the beautiful Miss Selby who is to dine with her aunt, Lady Maltravers, at Belgrave House to-night? a cousin of Mr. Erle’s, Lady Denison, is to act hostess.”

“No,” returned Fern, rather faintly, but she was conscious of a sharp pain as Crystal spoke.

“And yet he meets her very often. Ah, well, young men do not tell all their little secrets. Of course Mr. Erle’s life is very different from ours; we are working bees, Fern, and he is a butterfly of fashion. When he comes here he makes himself very bright and pleasant, but we know nothing of his real life.”

“No, of course not.” But a sort of chill passed over Fern as Crystal spoke. Why did she say these sort of things so often to her? did she think it wrong for her and Mr. Erle to be friends? was she warning her, and against what? Well, it was true she knew nothing of his life excepting what he chose to tell her. He had never mentioned this Miss Selby, though, according to Percy’s account, he met her very often. Few ladies dined at Belgrave House, but to-night she was to be there. For the first time Fern’s gentle nature felt jarred and out of tune. The bright little fire had burned hollow; there was a faint clinging mist from the fog outside; the cricket had ceased to chirp. Fern glanced round her disconsolately; how poor and shabby it must look to him, she thought, after the rooms at Belgrave House.

But the next moment she started up in a conscience-stricken way. “There is mother’s step, Crystal, and we have neglected the fire; poor mother, and she will be so tired and cold.” And Fern drove back her rebellious thoughts, bravely, and seized the bellows and manipulated the fire, while Crystal drew up the old easy-chair, and placed a footstool. Mrs. Trafford smiled as she saw these preparations for her comfort; her pale face relaxed from its gravity as Fern waited upon her, taking off her bonnet, and smoothing the beautiful gray hair with eager loving fingers.

“Thank you, dearest,” she said, drawing down the girl’s face to hers; “and now tell me what you have both been doing.”

“Percy and Mr. Erle have been here,” was Fern’s answer, as she took her place at her mother’s feet; “and Percy left his love for you, and was so sorry to miss you.”

Mrs. Trafford made no comment on this piece of information, but she glanced quickly at Crystal; perhaps something in the girl’s face warned her, for she at once changed the subject, to her daughter’s surprise, and, without asking any questions, began telling them about the invalid.

But after they had chatted for a few minutes, Crystal rose, and, saying that she was very tired, bade them both good-night.

Mrs. Trafford looked after the girl anxiously, and then her glance fell on her daughter. Fern was looking into the fire, dreamily, and there was a sort of wistfulness in her eyes; when her mother touched her gently she started.

“My little sunbeam does not look quite so bright tonight,” she said, tenderly. “I am afraid you have been tiring yourself, Fern, trying to finish Florence’s frock.”

“Oh, no,” returned the girl, quickly, and then a frank blush came to her face as she met her mother’s clear searching look. “Well, I will confess, as Fluff says”—laughing a little unsteadily; “I am afraid I was just a little bit discontented.”

“You discontented, my pet?” in an incredulous voice, for Fern’s sweet unselfishness and bright content made the sunshine of their humble home. There seemed no chord of fretfulness in the girl’s nature; her pure health and buoyant spirits found no cause for complaint. Nea lived her youth again in her child, and she often thanked Heaven even in her desolate moments for this one blessing that had never disappointed her.

Fern pressed a little closer to her mother, and wrapped her arms round her. “But it is true, mother, I had quite a naughty fit. Crystal talked about Percy and Mr. Erle; it was not so much what she said as what she implied that troubled me, but she seemed to think that our life was so different to theirs—that we were poor people, and that they had nothing in common with us, and that it was better not to be friends. Somehow, it made me feel all at once how shabby and commonplace one’s life really was.”

Mrs. Trafford sighed, but there was no reproach in her voice. “Yes, dear; I understand, it is quite natural, and I should have felt the same at your age. I wish, for your sake, my darling, that things were different; but Crystal is very wise and right in trying to make you understand the barrier between Erle Huntingdon and us.”

“But, mother,” with a burning face, “we are gentlefolk; surely it does not matter so much that we are poor.”

“The world would not indorse that, Fern,” replied her mother, gently; “it is apt to turn a cold shoulder to genteel poverty. The hardest lot in life, in my opinion, is the life of a poor gentlewoman.”

“But Mr. Erle does not look down upon us,” persisted Fern, “or he would not come so often. He always says that no room in Belgrave House is so home-like as this room, and that he is happier here than in the houses of his grand friends.”

A troubled look came to the mother’s face, and involuntarily she pressed her child closer to her, as though to defend her from some threatened danger, and her voice was not quite so clear as usual as she answered:

“It is Erle’s nature to say pleasant things. He is a gentlemanly, kind-hearted fellow, and I am sure that we all like him very much; but I should not care for my little daughter to see too much of him. Erle Huntingdon is not the friend I would choose for you, Fern.”

“But, mother”—opening her eyes widely at this—“if we like him, why should we not be friends?”

Mrs. Trafford hesitated; she hardly liked to disturb Fern’s mind, and yet she wished to put her on her guard.

“You see, Fern,” she answered, with assumed lightness, “we are poor people—very poor people; we have to work for our bread, and to be content with simple fare; but my young cousin Erle is rich—he will be his uncle’s heir one day, and, no doubt, he will marry some rich, handsome girl. All the world is before him; he has only to look round him and choose, like the prince in a fairy story. You may be sure there is some gay young princess waiting for him somewhere. Are you cold, my darling?” for Fern shivered a little.“We have let the fire get rather low,” returned Fern, jumping up to replenish it; but somehow her voice was not quite under her control, and her hand was a little unsteady. “Oh, yes, her mother and Crystal were right; these foolish dreams of hers could never come true; she would have to see her prince ride away some day in quest of some dark-haired princess. And yet, in the fairy stories, the real princess was often poor, and wore a shabby dress, and had golden hair, and—” but here Fern banished these thoughts resolutely, and came back to her footstool a little pale and drooping.

Mrs. Trafford’s keen eyes noted everything, but she wisely forebore to continue the subject. Fern was so docile and humble, she thought so little of herself, that her mother hoped that her words would take effect. She had already given her son a hint that his friend’s visits were rather too frequent; she must speak to him seriously on the subject, and appeal to his love for his sister.

She changed the subject now by asking Fern what was the matter with Crystal.

“Percy has been speaking to her again, mother; he went to meet her, when she was coming back from the Nortons’, and Crystal is very, very angry with him.”

Mrs. Trafford’s face darkened—she looked exceedingly displeased. Was this how Percy protected his sister? leaving her alone with Erle Huntingdon while he carried out his own selfish purposes. This was worse than she had imagined; but Fern misunderstood the reason of her mother’s vexation.

“It is very wrong of Percy to worry Crystal in this way, but, poor boy, I do believe he is honestly in love with her. I do wish she would care for him, it would make him so different.”

“Crystal will never care for any one; at least”—checking herself as though she had stated a fact erroneously—“she will never care for Percy. I have told him so, and begged him not to persecute her with his attentions, as, if he persisted, she had made up her mind to seek another home. Percy was dreadfully angry when I told him this, and refused to believe me; and then he turned round on me, and accused me of want of prudence in taking a stranger under our roof, and asked me how I knew that she was a fit companion for his sister?”“As though Crystal were not the dearest and best in the world,” returned Fern, indignantly. “Never mind, mother, he only wanted to make you uncomfortable. He is too fond of Crystal to doubt her for a moment. I hope you told him that you were acquainted with her whole history?”

“Yes; and I informed him at the same time that you were ignorant of it, though Crystal meant to tell you herself one day. I told him that, to put his mind at rest, I could satisfy him that Crystal came of good parentage; that she had influential friends and protectors if she chose to appeal to them; that though she was apparently a lonely waif, she had in reality good friends and a most comfortable home.”

“Then, I suppose, she has alienated them by that confounded temper of hers,” he said, with a sneer; “but I could see he was surprised and not altogether pleased; but I wished him to know that she was not without protectors if he drove her from our roof.”

“Percy is very selfish,” sighed Fern. “Crystal was getting a little happier; she was beginning to look less miserable, and to take more interest in things, but this evening she has the old restless look.”

“That is because she will not take my advice,” returned her mother quickly. “Crystal is a dear girl, and I am very fond of her, but I think most of her troubles come from her own undisciplined nature; she is the object of the tenderest love, the most divine forgiveness; there are kind hearts waiting for her if she would only generously respond to them. She has told me her story under the seal of secrecy, as you know well, or she would long ago have been in her right place. My heart bleeds for the friends who love her so, and are seeking her so vainly. No”—rising as if to close the subject—“I am very sorry for Crystal, but I do not pity her as you do. I have known what it is to sin, but I have not been too proud to acknowledge my error. Crystal acknowledges hers with bitter tears and most true penitence, but she will not be forgiven. ‘Let me expiate my sin a little longer,’ that is all she says.”

“Yes, I know,” whispered Fern, “she is always telling me that she does not deserve to be happy; is that true, mother?”

“My child, do any of us deserve it? Happiness is a free gift like the sunshine that rises alike ‘on the evil and the good.’ Do you remember your father’s dying words?—‘I believe in the forgiveness of sins;’ ah, it is all forgiven up there—in heaven one has a Father;” and with trembling lips Nea turned away. Her punishment had been great, she told herself: she had deserted her earthly father, and now her son had deserted her. “One sows the wind to reap the whirlwind,” she thought, as she mused bitterly over her boy’s weakness.