Cecil to take a walk with him, and having bought several toys for her and Sophy, he took her to a miniature-painter, and after two or three visits, privately managed, a charming likeness of the child was made. No one was in the secret except the nurse and Cecil herself, who was very proud of having a secret to keep; the pretty miniature, set in pearls and turquoises, was presented to Agnes by Captain Howard on her birthday, which happened almost immediately after their arrival at Woodbury.

Agnes was exceedingly grateful to Edgar for this kind attention, and for a gift which afforded such evidence of his brotherly regard for her. As to Cecil, she danced round her mother in the greatest delight the first time she wore the brooch, and dragged little Sophy round too, who could not understand why she was to jump round her mamma.

"Oh! it was so good of dear, kind cousin Edgar to give you this brooch!" exclaimed Cecil. "Aunt Leina will want one, too, but I hope cousin Edgar won't give it to her."

"Your Aunt Leina won't want a likeness of you, Miss Cecil, I'm sure," said the nurse.

"And if she wanted it, she should not get it," replied the child. "She can wear papa's face, if she likes," she added scornfully, tossing her little head.

Madeleine was certainly rather jealous of Edgar's gift to her sister, as the sharp-sighted Cecil had foretold she would be, and she dropped some tolerably strong hints that a pretty brooch would be very acceptable to herself. Luckily, Cecil did not hear these hints, or she would have bestowed on her aunt a lecture upon greed, which the little damsel thought was Madeleine's besetting sin.

Captain Howard did hear, and did comprehend the hints; he wished to ascertain whose likeness she would like to possess. The question was

asked.

66

May I

"Not that pert child Cecil's, assuredly," said Madeleine. be very frank? I should like a miniature of a naval officer I know, and painted in his uniform. I should wear that with so much pleasure!" Edgar was delighted.

Would you indeed, dear Miss Stuart? Would you, indeed, condescend to value a likeness of me, dearest Madeleine? Thank you a thousand times for this charming frankness. It permits me to entertain a little hope that-that

What he was to entertain a hope about was not fated to reach Madeleine's auricular faculty, for just then Mrs. Barwell and her daughters Edith and Juliet were announced. Captain Howard had seized Madeleine's hand, and was in the act of carrying it to his lips, when these ladies entered, and he dropped the hand as suddenly as if the fair slight fingers had been a bunch of scorpions about to sting his mouth. He was much disconcerted, but Madeleine did not show the least embarrassment; she greeted Mrs. and Miss Barwell gracefully, curtseyed gracefully when introduced to Miss Juliet, whom she had never seen before, and as gracefully presented "Captain Howard, Mr. Percival's cousin."

Edgar felt himself very awkwardly placed, and stood blushing like a shy school-girl. But Mrs. Barwell's easy manners soon reassured him; she held out her hand to him, and spoke immediately of their old acquaintance, and how well she recollected him when, as a boy, he used to July-VOL. CXXXIV. NO. DXxxv.

U

visit her excellent friend, his uncle, Mr. Montague. She remarked how little he was changed, and said that she would have recognised him any. where. Edgar soon recovered his serenity, and was even able to admire Mrs. Barwell's youngest daughter, Juliet, who certainly was a lovely girl. She was some years younger than her sisters, and had not yet left school, but had come home to be present at Edith's approaching wedding.

"She is very pretty," said Captain Howard to himself, "but not so charming as my Madeleine !"

"My Madeleine!" the possessive pronunciation seemed particularly agreeable to the gallant sailor. Ah! Had he quite forgotten his former love the beautiful, the unfortunate Coralie? It seemed pretty certain that he had. For when Forgetfulness has once waved her poppy wand over the mind of any human being, it hovers there, unless chased away for a time by some sudden and unexpected emotion, recalling for a short space the dreams of the past. Then, they come rushing on the soul like a torrent that cannot at once be checked.

Then, on the sadden'd spirit float
Dreams of the unforgotten past,
Of scenes of hours of griefs remote,
And faded joys that could not last!

But no such dreams were rushing on Edgar Howard's soul-occupied with the present, the past exerted no influence over him. He had fallen in love with Madeleine Stuart, and the heart cannot admit two loves at the same time. He could not exclaim with Lord Byron,

Ah! what are thousand living loves

To that which cannot quit the dead?

But the offer which was on his lips to make to Madeleine was obliged to be postponed, for the ladies from Barwell Lodge stayed to luncheon, and some other people called in the afternoon. Every one warmly welcomed Mrs. Percival back to Woodbury, but no one appeared glad to see Alfred Percival again. Decidedly he was not popular in the neighbour hood. There was only one individual who was delighted at his returnpoor Rose Ashford, who had been counting the days, almost the hours, since he had left her. She met him with nearly delirious joy, but before their first interview was over she could not help feeling chilled and mortified by his icy manners.

"And so," he said to her, "I hear your friend Robert Charlton is going to be married immediately; that woman, Mrs. Percy, mentioned this yesterday, when she came to pour out all her gossip at the Hall.' How is this, Rose? Have you been fool enough to refuse him again?" 'No, Mr. Alfred-he has never repeated his offer again."

"Well, 'tis a thousand pities. Is there no one else making up to you ?"

"I don't want any one to make up to me," said Rose, while the tears started to her eyes.

"I'm not asking what you want-I wish to know facts. Is there no chance of your getting a husband in the village ?"

"Oh! Mr. Alfred, how can you speak to me so unkindly? You will break my heart!"

"Nonsense-hearts don't break so easily. I am thinking of what is

for your own good, Rose. It would be best for you to be a married woman. You are still pretty enough to take any man's fancy, if you won't spoil your eyes with crying. I dare say if you took a little pains you could even win Robert Charlton back. He can't care a straw for the innkeeper's fright of a daughter. I wonder he did not rather choose that nice-looking girl of the miller's; she has been at school at Exeter, I am told."

"Have you seen her?" asked Rose, anxiously.

"Yes, I have seen her, and spoken to her, too."

Rose coloured violently, and then turned pale, as she murmured : "Seen her, and spoken to her-and-and-Oh! Mr. Alfred, you will not cast me off for her ?"

"Dear no-you need not fret yourself about her, Rose. Miss Fanny has got a Cerberus of a father, and a lynx-eyed stepmother; she is too well watched for any one to get at her, except with a gold ring and the parson's blessing. When she marries, perhaps she will be more free. You need not be alarming yourself with the idea that the miller's daughter is your rival, she is not."

It was a comfort to Rose to hear this, and when she left Mr. Percival she had in some degree recovered her spirits and her confidence in him.

A few days after the return of the family to Woodbury, Madeleine received a letter from Mademoiselle le Grand, and a note from her mother, both of which had been forwarded from Paris. The latter thanked her "très chère Madeleine" and her "daughter Agnes" for proposing to call on her, but said she was afraid she would hardly have time to receive them, as she was only passing through France on her way to Germany. She said she was enchanted to have had a peep of them both at the Opera, and to see her "chère petite" looking so well. She hoped at no distant day to see Madeleine and also Agnes again. But there was no shadow of an invitation for Madeleine to join her; and, of course, no mention of the coveted pearl necklace.

The ex-governess expressed the most exaggerated regret for not having seen her "bien aimée, et très charmante amie." She was quite "dèsolée" to find that Madeleine had left Paris so soon. She told Madeleine that she no longer went out as a governess, but was living in very nice apartments with "un ami," consequently a male friend. He was very kind to her, and she was perfectly satisfied, and quite happy; she only hoped her little friend was as happy as herself. She said she had seen Madame Stuart, who was still with Lord Darlington, but she did not think there was any chance of his marrying her, as "la belle veuve" wished him to do; on the contrary, she believed he was getting tired of her, and that their liaison would soon be at an end.

Madeleine showed both letters to Agnes, who was shocked and disgusted at Mademoiselle le Grand's epistle, and entreated her sister not to keep up a correspondence with a woman of her very bad principles and shameful conduct. As to Mrs. Stuart's letter, Agnes did not think it by any means so reprehensible, and she was glad, for Madeleine's sake, that her mother gave her no encouragement to join her.

Another letter arrived about the same time at Woodbury, which had a greater effect on one of the inmates of the house than even those from Paris had produced upon Agnes. It was from New York, and from

O'Flynn to Alfred Percival. That worthy wrote that he had not got on so well in the United States as he had expected to have done. There were too many lawyers there for him to obtain employment in that line, and so many Irishmen struggling and striving to make money, that he might have fancied himself in Cork or Tipperary. New York was a very expensive place; the hotels were dear, the boarding-houses were dear, everything was dear, and if you had not plenty of dollars to spend, you were not thought a gentleman. O'Flynn wrote the word correctly, though he would have pronounced it "jintleman." He wound up by requesting his good friend Alfred Percival to send him a remittance speedily, and the sum he named actually made Alfred shiver with dis

may.

The owner of Woodbury was by no means of a liberal disposition; he grudged parting with money, except for his own pleasures, or to further his own schemes. He had, as he considered, provided handsomely for his quondam friend O'Flynn; and he was very angry at that grasping individual for so soon pouncing upon him again for money.

"Does the fellow think that I am a millionnaire,to come upon me with such demands!" exclaimed Alfred to himself, for he did not breathe a syllable of the business part of O'Flynn's letter to a human being. Curse him! I wish he had gone to the bottom in crossing the Atlantic. I wish he were burned or blown up in one of the steamers that are always taking fire, or meeting with accidents, in the United States. I wish he were in the devil's clutches, anywhere except in this world, to rob me and torment me out of my life! How can the rascal get through so much money? He can't have spent all I gave him yet-it is impossible. He is an ungrateful, selfish scoundrel. I would give a hundred pounds to any Indian who would send me his scalp.

"And there's Rose-sticking to me like a leech; not that she wants money, but she wants 'affection,' according to her. Well, I have found to my cost that there is, as the proverb says,

No rose without a thorn.

And she is certainly now a thorn in my side. She might have the sense to know that a man is not bound to his mistress for ever. It is hard enough to be bound to one's wife until death us do part,' as the stupid marriage ceremony says. The marriage laws ought to be revised; I am sure they need reform more than most of the laws, and the Mormon matrimonial code might be adopted with great advantage. If I am to have such epistles often from America, and Rose is to continue to bore me as she does, I shall be obliged to sell Woodbury, invest the money safely somewhere, and start for the Fidgee Islands, or Tahiti, or some other out-of-the-way place, to escape these inflictions.

"I have only one comfort, that Agnes is as blind as a new-born puppy. She holds on the even tenor of her way,' without having a suspicion that all may not be proceeding, as she would say, quite correctly. Will she be always as blind? There's the rub! I fear not. I hope that gossiping, prying old wretch, Mrs. Percy, may not call here often. That woman is a perfect pest. I am sure I would rather come in contact with a rattlesnake or a tigress than with her. And I do not like that fellow Winslow and his wife. They are too wide awake, as the Yankees say-most disagreeable people. Old Montague quite spoiled them. The man Winslow

seems to look upon me as quite an-an alien to the family, and he pays as much attention to Edgar Howard as if he were the heir-apparent to the throne. Ah, well! The Winslows' reign here is drawing to a close, for I fully intend to get rid of them soon. I can't endure either of them."

And with this resolve Mr. Percival concluded his monologue.

IV.

WEDDINGS AT WOODBURY.

Two marriages were about to take place, one in the higher society of Woodbury, the other in the humbler ranks. The latter was that of Robert Charlton, the rich farmer's only son, to Sally Bennet, the innkeeper's extremely plain daughter; the other the Reverend Oliver de Vere, late curate at Woodbury, to Edith Barwell.

Robert Charlton's marriage was a source of great vexation to Alfred Percival, of much disappointment to the lame old tollbar-keeper, and of some little mortification to Rose herself, who saw her empire in the village crumbling away. Fanny, the miller's pretty daughter, had taken her place, and to her even the draper's assistant, once so devoted to Rose, had transferred his allegiance.

It was not that the beauty of the "Rose of Woodbury" had faded much, but that whispers against her reputation had been heard-very low whispers, it is true-but the slightest breath of scandal can tarnish a woman's good name, in whatever grade of society she may move. And if the really innocent-those against whom no charge can be brought, or at least substantiated, except a little folly or a little levity-are looked upon with suspicion-nay, condemned as imprudent, if not erring-how must it fare with those who are actually guilty, however they may, as they fancy, wrap themselves up in the veil of secresy?

It had been remarked in what very low spirits poor Rose was during the absence of Mr. Percival, and how much more she stayed at home than formerly.

"Her grandmother is getting very weak and infirm you say," replied Mrs. Percy to a good-natured person, who was trying to defend Rose. "The girl's not thinking about her grandmother; she can't have her twilight and moonlight meetings with Mr. Percival, and that's the reason she stays so much at home now. She'll find the use of her legs fast enough when he comes back. It was not for nothing that she was so fond of the woods; she does not care for them so much now. Robert Charlton has had a blessed escape. It would have been pleasant to have had Mr. Percival prowling about his house whenever his back was turned. Well, well, all these sort of unlawful connexions must come to an end, and a bad end too. Men are not allowed now-a-days, in Christian countries, to have their wives and their handmaidens, as they had in the Old Testament. Handmaidens indeed! They had better have called them- -I shan't say what."

Edith Barwell's wedding was an extremely quiet one. Only a few of the families in the neighbourhood with whom they were most intimate were asked to it; among these were the Percivals. Agnes had given her friend some very handsome wedding gifts, and Madeleine also presented the bride with some articles of pretty bijouterie from Paris, for which