98 Lily and | Water-Lily.

“Oh, the brave hero!” “A fine St. Michael,
indeed |!” were the exclamations that followed him as
he went, and above them the voice of Mother Falaise
lustily crying—

“Come, which of you will go down to-night and
pluck the fairy’s lilies at the moonrise?”

But Michael heeded them not. He cared nothing
for their taunts ; sensitive as he was, he cared nothing
for their rough usage; he cared only for one thing in
this world—Salome’s smile, Salome’s kindness. And
if he gave any heed to the jealous gibes of his com-
' rades, it was only because, with a lover’s unerring
instinct, he guessed that she cared for them, he
guessed that they injured him in her eyes.

A coward! It had struck her likea stone; he had
seen it. And she had said that that night he would
be discharged her service.

Oh, how cold she had looked! She had frozen his
heart.

But it beat now wildly, as he climbed the hill upon
the slippery fir-needles. She stood on the top, which