old home and old affections given up, and the new life that I have marked out with you a melancholy delusion and a failure?'

'I cannot leave papa and mamma,' she answered, still not looking at him.

'Do not all daughters leave their parents when they marry?' he continued. Why should you expect to make a life different from the rest?'

"Theirs do not want them] so much as mine want me,' she answered.

'And do I count for nothing?' he asked in a voice full of tender reproach. Are your promises to me mere child's play that may be taken up or laid down at will? We men, Muriel, love better than that.'

She trembled more than before, and turned impulsively as if to go to him. Then she looked again at her father and crept a few steps nearer still to him.

6

This is my duty,' she said in a low voice. Derwent has left us, and I must not leave them too.'

All the time Edmund Smith had not spoken. Suddenly he lifted up his head, and his long thin pointed fingers ceased their nervous tapping on the table.

Yes, you must leave us,' he then said, speaking with dignity and command. Go with Mr. Machell, Muriel, if he is willing to take you knowing what he does; it is your duty to go.'

'And leave you and mamma?' said Muriel, who was strung to sacrifice.

'And leave us,' he answered.

'Papa, you must be always papa and my beloved to me!' cried Muriel, as she had said once before, flinging herself into his arms and clinging to him. I will be no man's wife who does not love you and accept you. You are my father, and nothing in the whole world shall make me give you up!'

Arthur drew back a few steps. The Machell blood in him repudiated this forger, this convict; and for the instant he felt that his mother was right-no alliance was possible between the clean and the unclean; the son of Sir Gilbert Machell could not marry Edmund Smith's daughter. He stood for a few moments, hesitating, pale, his teeth and lips set as his mother set hers; then he tossed back the hair from his forehead, cleared his eyes with his hand, and set his shoulders square as he went forward and gravely offered Edmund Smith his hand.

'Let the past die,' he said, making the one last supreme effort, the one last supreme sacrifice. You are Muriel's father and I

6

will not separate you. Come to Australia with us, and then my darling will be happy.'

'No,' said Edmund sadly, holding Muriel in his arms. I will not darken your lives by my presence. We will be enough for each other, my wife and I; only let Muriel write to us, and tell us of her happiness-do not cut us off from her love, and we shall be satisfied. It is as much as I ought to ask, and perhaps more than I have the right to expect.'

'Thank you,' said Arthur simply, but he held out his hand again and pressed that of the forger with friendly warmth. Now, Muriel,' he said, taking her by gentle force into his arms; 'the last barrier is broken down, and I see no other to come. Look at me, my darling, and let me hear you say once more that you love me-in the presence of your father and mother who shall be mine because they are yours. Muriel! you do love me well

enough to leave all and come with me, do you not?'

6

"Yes, if I may still hold them,' said Muriel, weeping for sorrow and smiling for love. Mamma! you know how much I love him; and this is just why,' turning back to Arthur, 'I could give you up for your own good. I do not want you to lose all for me.' 'If I lose the whole world, I have you,' said Arthur fervently; and I am content with the exchange.'

It was a bright and crisp December day. The outwardbound ship had taken in the last of her cargo and the last of her passengers. Her decks were clear, her steam was up, and in a short time the order would be given for all strangers to leave, when she would slip her moorings and move out to sea. But a few precious moments still remained to the loving hearts on the eve of parting, perhaps for ever; and the deck was dotted about with groups of sorrowful friends come to 'see the last' of those without whom, it seemed to them now, life would be impossible. Down in the Machell state-room sat Edmund Smith and his wife, passing the last half-hour with the true and faithful heart that had fought the battle of love for them-and won it. Arthur was on deck, his eyes turned wistfully to the shore. He had parted from his mother in anger on her side, in sorrow on his; but to the last he hoped that she would give way now when no good was to be got by displeasure; and that she, as his father had done, would come to see him, and wish him God speed, and be reconciled to his choice so far as to recognize Muriel as her daughter. But he strained his eyes

in vain. Among all the faces looking across on the decks of the outward-bound his mother's was not to be seen.

Presently a little stir took place among the loungers and