the whole subject would be considered under the Army Accommodation Bill, of which notice had been given in the other House.

"The motion was then withdrawn.”

After this triumph Lugard had indeed the usual hope that B would not go on-at the last moment he'd think better of it. To Diana he would come often, explaining his hopes and the vexation of this.

"He does it on purpose to worry and harass me; it's a very pocz and unworthy satisfaction. I suppose he can't contain himself at the spectacle of my little success, and thinks that this will be the best way to show his spite. What can be the use? He knows he can't win; it's a hopeless game. They tell me the House is always with anyone th seems to make a hit-they don't like losing him; and it has an infaence on the committee. Why should he throw away his money and mine? If he had some real friend who would set all this before him! Of course it would not suit my dignity, you know; and it's no affair of

mine."

"I tell you, Richard," Diana said, seized with a brilliant ida "leave it to me. I met him the other evening at dinner, and I'll just write him a little note to tell him to come here. I think I have SCEN little influence over him, though indeed”—and Diana recalled his marner-" he was very cold to me."

"Just like him," said Lugard; "he'd like to punish you as well as me. But with all that, you could turn him round your finger, if yo chose to do it, Miss Diana."

Diana knew the utter ungovernableness of those little muscles ab her pretty mouth, and what a business it was to look grave. She con'! only weigh an opinion, or speak, when she was alone, and bent her mini to it seriously, which was a dreadful business. At all events, a compl ment of this kind always made her smile.

When Lugard had gone she put in execution her plan, which was to write a charming little letter to Robert Bligh. Indeed, she yearned to make up with that hero. He had been very indifferent to her, which was the same as being unkind. After all, as Richard Lugard had said again and again with great force, what had she done to him? Now that it was all past and gone, they must make up.

"Portman-square.

"DEAR ROBERT," she wrote, "I want you to come and see me, most particularly. I want to talk over something very privately and confidentially, and Lady Margaret is gone out. Poor Richard is very uneasy and unhappy, and thinks you have a spile to him, which I assured him you had not. O, how I wish you two were friends! I have set my heart on it. And he thinks-but I told him he was unjust in that-that you are trying to put him out of his seat, merely to punish him. Everyone is talking of his speech, and says he will be so successful there. And he has set his heart on redeeming all, as

he calls it, by this new life. I know it is very hard for you, who have had so much expense and trouble; but he says he is quite sccure, and that it is such a pity you should waste your hard-earned money in such a thing. I know nothing about these things, but I thought I would write you a little note about it. For I assure you I feel very much the way you have given me up-you, who I thought was such a friend, and who was a friend in the old, old happy days. Forgive me, dear Robert, and believe me yours always, DIANA GAY."

That night she got a prompt answer:

"Chambers.

"MY DEAR MISS GAY,-I am so grieved you should think me neglectful. But I am very busy indeed. As I told you down at Calthorpe, I was then really neglecting business. Now I am gone back to school, and have hardly a moment. When you really want me for advice or assistance, you may be sure I shall sacrifice every other thing to attend to your interests. I often do think of those old, old happy days-more indeed than you would credit. But they are old days, and belong to the past; and therefore it is a very harmless pleasure. As for Lugard, the thing is beyond recall. It must go on now. It does not rest with me at all; for if I withdrew, there are the electors to be considered. As for Lugard himself, I have no feeling of any kind towards him. I wish him well, but I think you will admit he was never so kindly disposed to me as to warrant my making a sacrifice of that sort. It would be quite Quixotic; and he will understand it so himself. You see I have gone back to the world again, and have become its obedient humble servant, and am driven to get what I can out of it. I have not found it so 'hollow' hitherto as it has been painted. There is nothing very genial or overflowing; but it is fair. Forgive me for not being able to comply with your wishes. Very likely I shall be punished by defeat, and then you will say I richly deserve it. Yours sincerely, ROBERT BLIGH."

Diana was very grave as she read.

"My dear child, don't pucker your little forehead that way," said Lady Margaret, "with that horrid paper."

It left a great impression on her, and she was very silent. There was an under-current of earnestness in Robert's letter; and for the first time she saw clearly that what she had done was more important than she had supposed-was more ugly, even more serious. She began to think of herself as cruel and ungenerous.

"I hope to Heaven," said Richard impetuously, when he heard of this result, "he didn't think I had anything to do with it! If I was starving, I wouldn't ask him for a penny. My goodness! he will go about saying that I wanted him to compromise. Yes, he will; I know him well. It's just what he would do."

BY THE RIVER

CHOOSE her fairer face, I do not reckon
Man's love such an estimable prize;
Others are there who, did I but beckon,
Would see all earth's pleasure in mine eyes.
Choose her, an thou carest,

If her face be fairest,

Lo! my hatred groweth, and love dies.

Yet remembrance one day like a painter
May limn for thee such a scene as this;
Were the odours of that May-time fainter?
Was there less of passion in my kiss?
On the stream reclining,

See the lilies shining,

As they shone through all those hours of bliss.

Can I pity her? A fate scarce brighter

Than my fate awaits her in the years:

Now she deems thee true, when no heart lighter
Ever played upon a maiden's fears.

Ere her doom be certain,

Shall I draw the curtain,

Show her all the future's endless tears?

Rather would I have her never know it;
Love, while love is lasting, is divine:
I have lived and loved, as sings the poet;
I can see thee change and make no sign.
Hold the spring-flow'rs o'er her,

In the years before her

May she taste no bitter cup like mine!

H. SAVILE CLARKE