fail. Wouldn't I wring his neck when I caught him-may be not! comin' around with his canting talk, as though he was the Archbishop hisself.'

6

'How dare you speak of your clergyman in such a way?' says Lilian, shocked; you are a bad, bad boy, and I am very angry with you.

'Don't then, Miss Chesney,' piteously; I ask your pardon humbly, and I'll never again speak of Mr. Austen if you don't like. But he do aggravate awful, Miss, and frightens the life out o' mother, because she do smoke a bit of an evenin', and it's all the comfort she have, poor soul. There's the Methody parson below, even he's a better sort, though he do snivel horrid. But I'll do anything to please you, Miss, an' I'll come to church next Sunday.'

"Well, mind you do,' says Lilian, dismissing him. with a gracious nod.

So Heskett departs much exercised in mind and in the lowest spirits, being full of vague doubts. Yet with a keen consciousness that by his promise to Miss Chesney he has forfeited his dearest joy, and that from him the glory of life has departed. No more poaching, no more snaring, no more midnight excursions fraught with delicious danger; how is he to get on in future, with nothing to murder but time?

Meanwhile Miss Chesney coming home flushed with victory encounters Florence in the garden wandering gracefully amongst the flowers, armed as usual with the huge umbrella, the guardian of her dear complexion.

"You have been for a walk?' she asks Lilian with astonishing bonhomie. I hope it was a pleasant one.' "Very, thank you.'

'Then you were not alone. Solitary walks are never pleasant.'

"Nevertheless mine was solitary."

"Then Guy did not go with you?' somewhat hastily. 'No. He found he had something to do in the stables,' Lilian answers shortly.

Miss Beauchamp laughs, a low, soft, irritating laugh.

How stupid Guy is,' she says. "I wonder it never occurs to him to invent a new excuse; whenever he wants to avoid doing anything unpleasant to him, he has always some pressing business connected with the stables to take him away. Have you not noticed it?'

'I cannot say I have. But then I have not made a point of studying his eccentricities. Now you have told me this one I daresay I shall remark it in future. You see,' with a slight smile, 'I hold myself in such good esteem, that it never occurred to me others might find my company disagreeable.'

'Nor do they, I am sure'-politely-but Guy is so peculiar, at times positively odd.'

"You amuse me more and more every moment. I have always considered him quite a rational being-not in the least madder than the rest of us. I do hope the new moon will have no effect upon him.'

"Ah! you jest,' languidly. But Guy does hold strange opinions, especially about women. No one, I think, quite understands him but me. We have always been so fond of each other, he and I.'

"Yes? Quite like brother and sister, I suppose? It is only natural.'

'Oh! no,' emphatically. Her voice taking a soft intonation, full of sentimental meaning, not in the very least like brother and sister.'

Like what, then?' asks Lilian, somewhat sharply for her.

How downright you are,' says Florence with a little forced laugh, and a modest drooping of her white lids; I mean, I think a brother and sister are hardly so necessary to each other's happiness as-as we are to each other, and have been for years. To me, Chetwoode would not be Chetwoode without Guy, and I fancy-I am sure-it would scarcely be home to Guy without me.' This with a quiet conviction not to be

shaken. 'Perhaps you can see what I mean? though indeed,' with a smile, I hardly know myself what it is I do mean.'

'Ah!' says Lilian, a world of meaning in her tone.

'The only fault I find with him,' goes on Florence in the low, prettily modulated tone she always adopts, 'is, that he is rather a flirt. I believe he cannot help it, it is second nature to him now. He adores pretty women, and at times his manner to them is rather-er -caressing. I tell him it is dangerous. Not perhaps that it makes much difference, nowadays, does it? when women have learned to value attentions exactly at what they are worth. For my own part I have little sympathy with those foolish Ariadnês, who spend their lives bemoaning the loss of their false lovers. Don't you agree with me?'

Entirely. Utterly,' says Lilian in a curious tone that might be translated any way. But I cannot help thinking Fortune very hard on the poor Ariadnês. Is that the dressing-bell? How late it has grown! I am afraid we must go in if we wish to be in time for dinner.'

Miss Beauchamp being possessed with the same fear, they enter the house together apparently in perfect amity with each other, and part in peace at their chamber doors. Lilian even bestows a little smile upon her companion as she closes hers, but it quickly changes into an unmistakable little frown as the lock is turned. A shade falls across her face, an impatient pucker settles comfortably upon her forehead as though it means to spend some time there.

'What a hateful girl that is!' Lilian says to herself, flinging her hat with a good deal of vehemence on to the bed (where it makes one desperate effort to range itself and then rolls over to the floor at the other side), and turning two lovely wrathful eyes towards the door, as though the object of her anger were still in sight. Downright detestable! and quite an old maid;

not a doubt of it. Women close on thirty are always so spiteful!'

Here she picks up the unoffending hat, and almost unconsciously straightens a damaged bow while her thoughts still run on passionately.

So Sir Guy'adores pretty women.' By the by it was a marvellous concession on Miss Beauchamp's part to acknowledge her as such, for without doubt all that kindly warning was meant for her.

Going up to her glass Lilian runs her fingers through the rippling masses of her fair hair, and pinches her soft cheeks cruelly until the red blood rushes upwards to defend them, after which, she tells herself, even Florence could scarcely have said otherwise.

And does Miss Beauchamp think herself a 'pretty woman'? and does Sir Guy adore her'? She said he was a flirt. But is he? Cyril is decidedly given that

way, and some faults run in families. Now she remembers certain lingering glances, tender tones, and soft innuendoes meant for her alone, that might be placed to the account of her guardian. She smiles somewhat contemptuously as she recalls them. Were all these but parts of his caressing' manner? Pah! what a sickening word it is.

6

She blushes hotly, until for a full minute she resembles the heart of a red, red nose. And for that minute she positively hates her guardian. Does he imagine that she-she-is such a baby as to be flattered by the attentions of any man, especially by one who is the lover of another woman? for has not Florence both in words and manner almost claimed him as her own? Oh, it is too abominable. And

But never mind, wait, and when she has the opportunity, won't she show him, that's all!

What she is to show him, or how, does not transpire. But this awful threat, this carefully disguised, and therefore sinister menace, is evidently one of weight, because it adds yet a deeper crimson to Miss

Chesney's cheeks, and brings to life a fire within her eyes, that gleams and sparkles there unrebuked.

Then it quietly dies, and Nurse entering finds her little mistress again calm, but unusually taciturn, and strangely forgetful of her teasing powers.

CHAPTER XII.

Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue,

His breath's like caller air;

His very fit has music in't,

As he comes up the stair.

And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy with the thought,

In troth I'm like to greet.-W. J. MICKLE.

It is the most important day of all the three hundred and sixty-five, at least to Lilian, because it will bring her Taffy. Just before dinner he will arrive, not sooner, and it is now only half-past four..

All at Chetwoode are met in the library. The perfume of tea is on the air; the click of Lady Chetwoode's needles keeps time to the conversation that is buzzing all round.

Miss Beauchamp, serene and immovable as ever, is presiding over the silver and china, while Lilian, wild with spirits, and half mad with excitement and expectation, is chattering with Cyril upon a distant sofa.

Sir Guy, upon the hearth-rug, is expressing his contempt for the views entertained by a certain. periodical on the subject of a famous military scandal, in real parliamentary language, and Florence is meekly agreeing with him straight through. Never was anyone (seemingly) so thoroughly en rapport with another as Florence with Sir Guy. Her amiable, and rather palpable determination to second his ideas on all matters, her 'nods and becks and wreathed smiles,'