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were indications of its approach everywhere. The grocers, the butchers, and fancy emporiums, all proclaimed Christmas was coming. At the railway stations there was more than the usual bustle-more waggons going to and fro, more cabs for down trains, more pleasant faces; fewer looking business,' nothing but business.' No doubt of it, Christmas was coming.

'Where for, sir?' 'Little Stanford.' 'What class, sir?'

'Second. Put my rug and portmanteau into the carriage, and here's something for you.'

The traveller was a handsome, wellformed young man of two-and-twenty, one who evidently was prepared to look the world in the face and to force his way onwards. His name was Reginald Wainwright.

Having paid the cabman, Reginald entered the station, and, taking his ticket, went on to the platform. A neat brougham drove up and a young man got out.

Where for, sir?'
'Little Stanford.'
'What class-first, sir?'
'Yes, first.'

'Have your things in with you, sir?'
'Yes-thanks.'

And the new-comer having spoken a few words to his servant, entered the station, and, obtaining his ticket, went on to the platform. His name was Walter Mainwaring. In a minute or two the young men confronted each other.

Ah! Reginald,' exclaimed Walter, holding out his hand, which the other took somewhat slowly, glad to have met you. Why, I've not seen you since our day's shooting on the 1st.'

'No,' replied Reginald, coldly, 'London is a vast city; the distance is great between Clarges Street and Finsbury Square.'

It is you that make it so, Regi,' said Walter, smiling. You know that my father, sister, all of us are most glad to see you.'

'Well, I'll believe so; but a lonely fellow is apt to grow captious, especially when only a clerk in a merchant's counting-house.'

And what am I, Cousin Regi?' replied Walter. The governor keeps me to the desk as closely as though I were a stranger.'

'Quite right. You will have leisure enough, he thinks, when he makes you his partner.'

Take your places, take your places,” bawled porters and guards.

'Where's your carriage? we'll travel together,' said Walter.

I fancy not; I go second,' replied Reginald.

And so will I. Here, porter, get out my things

'No time now, sir; train five minutes late. Get in, please, sir;' and so the cousins, for such the young men were, journeyed apart until they reached Little Stanford, where their uncle, Mr. Ralph Mainwaring, resided. He had been a prosperous stockbroker, and having purchased a very fair estate in the country, retired thither with an only daughter to keep house for him. It was his custom to invite his nephews at stated intervals to pass a few days with him, in September to knock over the partridges, and at Christmas time to look up the pheasants. He did not shoot himself, but he preserved after a fashion, and invited some of his tenants to a day's sport occasionally.

Reginald was a legacy from a dear sister who died soon after her husband had been lost at sea, leaving her with very scanty means. But her good brother Ralph came to her help and soothed her last hours by the assurance that her boy should be cared for.

Walter was the son of Mr. Mainwaring's brother, a thriving City merchant, who had ventures to all parts of the globe, and was too busy ever to visit Little Stanford; but he was always ready to send an ambassador, thinking, no doubt, that it was highly politic to keep up friendly relations with his brother, the more especially as nearly all Ralph's ready money was invested in the house of Mainwaring, Wapsholl and Company.

Cousin Emily was waiting to give them welcome in the station, having driven from Stanford Hall in her ponycarriage, whilst Traps, the gamekeeper, had brought a light cart for the luggage. Emily's ponies were the admiration of Little Stanford and parts adjacent, and her skill in handling them was no less a theme of general commendation. There was quite a contest between the young men as to who should sit beside the fair charioteer, and as she positively declined to give the casting vote, Regi

nald proposed that they should toss for the honour, and Reginald won.

Emily Mainwaring was a capital girl to have rule in a country house. Without a particle of that detestable 'fastness' which has so deteriorated the charms of English maidens, she had a happy freedom of manner which made every one at ease, and a considerateness which insured the comfort and enjoyment of every guest. She was very fond of her cousins, and their advent at the Hall was always looked to with pleasure both by her father and herself, and this was made evident the moment the visitors entered the house. There was the beaming old gentleman illuminating, as it were, the doorway, whilst the background of smiling servants seemed delighted at the prospect of increased duties. There was no make-believe in the shake of the hand or the ring of the mellow voice which told the boys they were welcome, always welcome; nor was there any possibility (nor inclination) to pass by the flacon of cherry brandy which Botting the butler had received orders to administer on the instant of arrival.

And then the bonfires in the bedrooms. Emily had seen to them before driving to the station. No heap of cinders just smouldering for appearance sake, but a pile of crackling wood-logs on a substratum of glowing coals, the gracious heat going at once to the marrow and thawing whatever there might be undissolved by the cherry brandy. Then the beds with their eider-down coverlids and piled-up pillows, that made the new-comers almost wish it were bed-time, had not past experience recalled the coming savoury luncheon, with its honest, home-brewed stingo, and the good dinner which the doctor and parson never refused to share when invited thereto, and no better assurance of the excellence of the viands and superiority of the wine could be desired.

The young men made a brief toilette and then joined their host in the diningroom. Emily had catered delightfully, and her cousins gratified her by doing ample justice to the luncheon. The round pond was in excellent condition for skating, so the whole party adjourned thither, as Emily excelled in that graceful pastime. Then home again to dinner; but we are warned by the space allotted to us that however pleasant it would be to recount all the cheerful doings at Stanford Hall, we must forbear, and proceed as deftly as we can to the narration of the events which will constitute our story.

To know Emily Mainwaring was to love her, especially if the heart chanced not to be preoccupied. She was not, strictly speaking, beautiful; but if a nose a little retroussée and a chin a trifle too round and short would not have satisfied Phidias, yet the rosiest of lips, the whitest of teeth, the brightest of hazel eyes, arched over by the most delicate eyebrows a shade darker than her rich chesnut hair, made ample amends for the classical deficiencies of her happy face, radiant with health and cheerfulness. Her figure was faultless, and made all kinds of exercise acceptable, and consequently she was free from all fine-ladyish ailments which are sometimes thought to be interesting, but are at all times exceedingly objectionable to those who are expected to sympathise with them. She played and sang moderately well, and she always had the good taste to attempt nothing that required the education of a prima donna or the practice and genius of a Benedict.

There was more than one eligible young gentleman in the neighbourhood who had the heartache through Emily Mainwaring, but as yet no one had ventured to propose to her. Her father made no secret of his confidence in her prudence and good sense, and it was generally known that she would be free to make her own election should she be ever put to the test.

Reginald and Walter were more in love with their cousin than any one else, and there was little doubt but the young men suspected each other of entertaining this predilection. She might not have suspected it also, but if she had done so her manner was more encouraging to Reginald, as he was generally her esquire upon any trifling emergency. She was freer in speech with him than with Walter, who wanted the confident bearing of his cousin; and when at times he was silent and she detected him looking at her with 'lacklustre eyes,' she would challenge, as it were, Reginald to talk, as though to avoid Walter's observation. Not that she was ever unkind to Walter; she never refused his companionship in a walk or a ride; she sang or played anything he requested of her; she read the books he brought to her or sent to her time by time. She bade him goodnight and good-morning with a smile that sent a pleasant pain into his heart and made him deliciously miserable for minutes afterwards.

Was she a coquette after all?

Christmas has been kept at Stanford Hall with all the honours, as Mr.

Mainwaring had been nourished on the milk of human kindness, and believed he was doing God's work in making as many of his fellow-creatures as he could happy and rejoicing. He thought, also, that he offered the best thanksgiving for the good bestowed upon him by encouraging in himself and others a pleasant cheerfulness, and indulging at fitting times in a 'becoming mirth,' and Christmas was one of those times when he and his household and friends made merry, and found no better way than in following the old customs, decking his house with holly and other greenery, and dispensing his Christmas cheer with a liberal hand to great and small, like a true old English gentleman. Not so his brother Elias. He was one of those who pride themselves upon being too strong-minded to care for such frivolities-he was too much a man of business' to care to have the great current of trade impeded but for a day, and though he loved good eating and drinking, his dinner must have been earned by a morning of bargaining and speculation. Hence it was that at a time when most families gather for one day at least under the parental wings, that Walter was permitted to eat his Christmas dinner at Stanford.

Two days only remained of the young men's pleasant holiday. It wanted half an hour to breakfast, when Reginald tapped at Walter's bedroom door.

Come in. Ah! good-morning, Regi.'

Good-morning. I have been tossing about half the night,' continued Reginald, and I shall do so for a dozen nights more, unless I speak out.'

Indeed! What's the matter?' asked Walter.

'Well,' replied his cousin, 'you know that I am rather a blunt speaker, and like to go straight to any object I have in view. And so I have come to you. I fancy, Walter, that we are both hit by the same bolt. I mean, plainly, we both are in love with Emily.'

Walter coloured deeply, and only said, 'Well, what then, Reginald?'

Simply this. I can see no rightif it be so-why I should give place to you, and I have determined to speak to my uncle this morning, and if he consents, I shall propose to Emily.'

'I have no right to interfere with any course you think proper to pursue, Reginald,' replied Walter. I wish it had been otherwise. You have the right of priority, having spoken first;' and he held out his hand to his cousin, which the other took and pressed warmly.

'I wish it had been otherwise, also,' said Reginald; but I cannot abandon what I believe will be the making or the marring of my life.'

"Whatever may be the result, Reginald, let us still continue friends; though, if you are successful, I feel we shall not meet here again, at least for some time to come.'

'Ob, nonsense, Walter,' replied Reginald; 'you are a prosperous man, you have a large society about you, and may pick and choose. But I-I am a poor, struggling devil, with hardly more female acquaintance than my landlady and her squinting daughter. There's the breakfast bell.' The breakfast lacked something to make it the cheerful meal it usually was.

Reginald frequently relapsed into thought-very unusual with him-and Walter was evidently disturbed and ate with little appetite. Emily after a time caught the contagion-dulnessand had not Mr. Mainwaring got into one of his long stories, there is no knowing how the day would have begun.

Breakfast over, Reginald went out into the garden to smoke a cigar and to arrange his thoughts before seeking an interview with his uncle. As he walked up and down he was startled from his reverie by Bang, a favourite setter, jumping upon him in friendly recognition. Without thinking, perhaps, he kicked the poor brute savagely and sent the dog howling away. As he looked towards the house, he thought he saw Emily leaving the window of the breakfast-room. He thought little of that matter, and went on with his cigar and his cogitations.

Reginald had less fear of rejection by Emily than by her father, who might, he thought, take exception to his social position. But had not that good uncle promised to advance him three thousand pounds whenever an eligible op portunity for its investment presented itself? He reflected also upon his uncle's frequent declaration that Emily should choose for herself, and so at last he found courage to go to Mr. Mainwaring.

The old gentleman was hardly surprised, as he believed every one must love his Emily; and Reginald left him with full permission to try his fortune.

Reginald found his cousin busied with her housekeeping accounts.

Emily, will you allow me to interrupt you for a short time?' said Reginald, sitting down by the table.

'Certainly, as soon as I have added up this column. There, that's done.'

Nothing new-the old fight-money against poverty. Walter knew he was safe, or he would not have taken matters so coolly. A cur! Why did he not tell me he had been before me? Well, be it as it is; but if he marries her, and I can cross his path, I'll do it.'

With many other evil thoughts and words he left the house, hardly knowing where he went. Traps, the keeper, was standing near the stable with a couple of guns, waiting for orders. He touched his hat as Reginald approached, and was startled at the angry expression of his face.

Ah, Traps, yes; give me a gun. I'll take a turn through the home wood.'

Yes, sir.

Shall I wait on you,

sir? 'No: I'll go alone. Send Bang.' 'I'm afraid he won't follow you, sir,' said Traps, curtly; not after the kick you gave him this morning.'

'Who told you I kicked him?' asked Reginald, sharply.

Miss Emily. She sent to me to .look at him, thinking he was hurt. So he is.'

'She told you, did she?' asked Reginald. 'Send him here, and if he don't follow, I'll shoot him.'

That would hardly suit my book, sir, nor yourn neither. I wouldn't take ten guineas for the dog.'

You wouldn't? you old fool.' "The dog's mine, sir; and if you doubt me, yonder's Miss Emily, and you can ask her.'

Reginald gave a glance in the direction indicated by Traps, and then, almost snatching the flask and shotbelt from Traps, he strode off towards the home wood.

2

He continued to walk, his gun over his shoulder, looking ou the ground, evidently recalling what had passed during the morning. At length he stopped at a gate, and clinching his fist, exclaimed,

'That d dog! She saw it and has resented it.'

He did not return to luncheon, but he had a strong will, and by dinnertime had again become master of himself, and laughed and talked as though the present had been the happiest moment of his life.

The next day came as a relief to all. Cousin Emily and her pony carriage were again in requisition, and Reginald, as though out of bravado, took his seat beside his fair cousin, and chatted as he had done when no shadow had come between them.

When they parted at the station

Reginald was the last to shake hands with Emily.

'Good-bye, fair cousin,' he said; 'I have seen the last of Stanford Hall!'

Tears came into Emily's eyes, but Reginald turned away smiling, and jauntily waving his handkerchief as he went.

CHAPTER II.

Reginald Wainwright did not keep his word. Some ten months after the visit we have recorded, he heard that his cousin Emily was in London, on a visit to his uncle in Clarges Street. He had so completely estranged himself from Walter that he was not apprised of this visit, as he would otherwise have been, and he only heard of it by accident. He believed himself wronged both by Emily and Walter, as it was hardly a secret that they were now engaged to each other. When he recalled the past, he could remember so many acts upon her part that he had a right to consider justified him in the belief that he was more than indifferent to her, and he could only conclude that he had been trifled with for some sinister purpose of her own-perhaps to draw on Walter to an avowal of his love for her, and which he believed had been made by his wily cousin at the time of their interview in the bedroom. He allowed these impressions to obtain the mastery of his better judgment, his better feelings, until he became restless and vindictive, and there was a proneness in his nature to be dogged and revengeful. Yet his uncle, Emily's father, was his benefactor-the only true friend he had ever known, and he was now about to visit him to claim the fulfilment of the generous promise made two or three years before.

As Stanford Hall was barely distant two miles from the station, Reginald, having only a small valise, determined to walk thither. What a change in his thoughts and feelings since he travelled that road to the Hall, seated beside her that he had loved with all the strength of his passionate nature! There was no doubt of it; the blow he had received had struck upon his heart and numbed it, and old remembrances and associations had no softening influence upon him. He had been cast aside for the richer suitor, for whose advantage he had been used and trifled with.

His visit was unexpected by his uncle, who nevertheless received him with the old welcome.