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"She is my sister my father's child." And there came upon her, in a flood of mingled compassion and fear, all that Christal would feel when she came to know the truth! Christal so proud of her birth her position whose haughty nature, inherited from both father and mother, had once struggled wrathfully against Olive's mild control.

He was unlike all other men she had ever known. This fact, together with the slight mystery that hung over him, attracted the lingering romance of Olive's nature, and made her observe his manner and his words with a vigilant curiosity, as if to seek some new revelation of humanity in his character or his history.

Merlin stared breathlessly, half-hearing through an auditory ether Olive's low, soft monologue, as like a persistent honey-bee she sucked sweetness from her memorable hour.

Indeed, there was no other man who stood, to Olive's mind, so nearly in a brother's place; no other man, it seemed to Opdyke, who owned one half so good a right to test the ground on which she stood, to assure himself that she might venture forward safely. Opdyke was no sentimentalist.

"It will seem to come right down from well, wherever it does come from." "Yes, we don't pretend to say that," Mrs. Tarrant murmured. This little discussion had brought the blood to Olive's face; she felt that every one present was looking at her Verena most of all and that here was a chance to take a more complete possession of the girl.

She had a good mouth and chin; her eyes were very dark and silken-fringed; but her hair was fair. This peculiarity caught Olive's eye at once; so much so, that she almost fancied she had seen the face before, she could not tell where.

Olive's father was Jack Agar, of the Agars of Lyme, and he married his cousin.

But, learning to love, one learns also to admire. Besides, Olive's defect was less apparent as she grew up, and the extreme sweetness of her countenance almost atoned for her bad figure. Yet, as the mother fastened her white dress, and arranged the golden curls so as to fall in a shower on her neck and bosom, she sighed heavily.

No marvel was there in Olive's dislike; yet she regretted having shown it. "Mr. Wyld, I thought it was my father. I am sorry that he is not at home to receive you." "Nay, I did not come to see Captain Rothesay," answered the lawyer, betraying some confusion and hesitation beneath his usual smooth manner. "The fact is, my dear young lady, I bring a letter for your mother."

Of course neither Bathsheba nor Myrtle thought of him in any other light than as Olive's brother, and would have been surprised with the manifestation on his part of any other feeling, if it existed.