"Austin sails to-morrow for Sydney. I am broken-hearted. Do come to me.-FLORA."

"This is very sudden.

He did not expect to go so soon." When did Austin do what he was expected to do?" she asked bitterly. "But Flora must not be left to suffer alone. I will go to her to-morrow."

He looked at her in surprise. "But can you leave your guests, mother ? "

"My daughter surely comes before any guests. Besides, all the important ones go to-morrow, except Sybil Bindon. She won't mind. She will feel for Flora deeply, I know."

"Yes, I suppose so. me to-morrow morning.

Then, you will come with Punch and That will be an early start for you— after to-night too. You'll get no sleep. Better wait till the evening, mother."

"Sleep? As if I could sleep," she cried, a tragic look in her eyes. "And my child in trouble? No; I'll go in the morning, Charles."

"Then, go and rest, for a while, now," putting his arm round her and leading her gently along the corridor. "Take off this finery and go to bed for an hour or so anyway. I'll explain things to Lady Marsh and a few others. The greater part of the company will never miss you. So don't worry about them; but rest."

"Very well. You," kissing him, "are a good son to me, Charles, and you understand my feelings. God bless you." And leaning upon his arm, she relapsed into silence.

As they neared her bed-room, their footsteps hardly audible upon the thick soft carpet, the door opened suddenly, and to their intense surprise Elizabeth came out, and without looking in their direction, or appearing conscious of their presence, sped quickly along and vanished in a flash, through a distant door leading on to the back staircase.

Charles drew a deep breath, and his heart gave a quick throb of pleasure. With all his soul he longed to be able to get away, free to follow the girl, and get her answer, without any further delay, to the question which had been hovering on his lips at the moment when his mother had so ruthlessly broken in upon their tete-à-tete in the conservatory. But Mrs. Arrowsmith clung to his arm, and in speechless amazement, gazed up into his face, as he led her into her room.

"Elizabeth O'Neill," she gasped, dropping on to the sofa. "You are sure it was Elizabeth ?"

"Oh, yes," throwing back his head, with a short laugh, "Undoubtedly, it was Elizabeth-or her ghost."

"

'She was well-and I thought going to dance. What on earth brought her up here, Charles ?

"

'Business, I presume. She had lost or forgotten some

thing

"

""

"

But I was sure she had gone back into the ball-room." "I saw she did not do that," he said decidedly. She ran out of the side door of the conservatory. The dance has not begun yet, I fancy, so she'll get down again in good time."

It's odd she should come here-to my room.

earth can she have wanted ? "

What on

"Oh, don't worry. She'll tell you by and by. But," with another little laugh, "I think you may trust Elizabeth. She is not likely to have been doing any harm."

"Harm? Of course not.

But I confess her coming up here alone, at this hour, too, in the middle of the ball, puzzles me."

“Oh, she had dropped her handkerchief, perhaps, before, and came to look for it."

"She might have done that. The dear child did come in to show herself to me, on her way downstairs, and very lovely she looked. Isn't her dress sweet ? "

"Perfectly ripping; and the pearls suit her down to the ground. I'm glad you gave them to her, mother."

"The dear child! I'm delighted you are pleased, Charles, and that you think she looks well, to-night. Frank Richards declared she was the belle of the ball. There wasn't, he said, another girl in the room, a patch on her. But that's because he's in love with her. Sybil Bindon is more of a beauty, to my mind-though Betty is more lovable. But I'm glad Frank Richards admires her. He's well off, and will make her a firstrate husband."

"Mother, you must get to bed," Charles said, his voice low and husky," and leave off all match-making ideas till you come back from London. By the by, how long are you intending to stay with Flora ?"

"Merely a few hours, to rest. in a day or so. She cannot go lodgings alone, poor dear."

I will bring her back with me, on living in those wretched

Of course not. She'll be better and happier at Rathkieran, with you. And now, mother, I'll leave you to your maid. Good night.' He rang the bell, kissed his inother tenderly, and went away.

With longing eyes, he gazed round the ball-room, conservatory, and supper-room, hoping, at least, to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth, even though unable to speak to her. But she was

nowhere to be seen. Neither amongst the dancers in the swaying crowd, nor amongst the more quietly disposed couples sitting together, in the many cool secluded corners, could he find her; and, disappointed and weary, he leant aganst a door-way, wishing that the ball were over and the company dispersed.

"They don't seem a bit inclined to go," he thought drearily. "How I hate balls and dancing! They always go wrong and

"Good night, Mr. Arrowsmith," said Kathleen Tiernan, holding out her hand and smiling radiantly. We are just off. It has been a most delightful ball. Do you know where Mrs. Arrowsmith is to be found? Cecily and I would like to say a few words to her and bid her good-night, before we go." My mother has gone to her room, Miss Tiernan," he answered, his eyes still wandering searchingly amongst the dancers. "She was tired, so I begged her to go to bed."

"

"

"I'm sorry she's so tired. But I suppose everyone in the house has been doing too much. Elizabeth seemed worn out and ran off to bed, half an hour ago. I have just come down from her room, and she was very over-wrought and excited."

"

She's not ill?" he cried quickly.

Kathleen laughed softly, and looked up with an amused glance.

Dear me, no; but just surfeited with happiness, admiration and compliments. You'll turn the child's head amongst you all, some day, Mr. Arrowsmith. She was like a little queen to-night instead of a governess. She was always accustomed to a good deal of knocking about and chaff at Docwra-and do you know, I think it was better for her than all this adulation."

"What would you have us to do? 'Tis not our fault that Elizabeth is beautiful and charming. We cannot tell men not to admire her! Can we ?"

"No, oh! no. And it is delightful to see her so lovely, so exquisitely dressed, and so happy. But, you see, it may not last. Betty cannot stay on here always as Mrs. Arrowsmith's governess. She will have to face the world—”

Don't take such a gloomy view of the future, Miss Tiernan. Leave that in God's hands," he said gravely. "He, I trust and hope, will take care of the child and provide good friends for her. So long as my mother and I live"-growing suddenly red"your cousin will never require to face the world. I promise you that."

Kathleen laid her hand in his.

"I thank you and your mother from my heart, Mr. Arrow

smith. You have been, indeed, good friends to the child. Good-night." And in another moment she was gone.

"I have not had my darling's answer, and did not dare say more," he thought. "But, please God, she will trust herself and her happiness to me-and then-oh! then, neither sorrow nor trouble shall come near her."

(To be continued.)

CLARA MULHOLLAND.

A ROBIN'S BURIAL

He was lying just inside a cruel iron gate at the edge of the bog. Either he had hit his little head, flying against it, or somebody had thrown a stone at him-hardly likely this, I hope, for an Irish boy. He was a this-year's robin, scarcely full-grown or fully fledged, though his little breast was redly fluffy. He seemed not long dead, for his feathers felt warm, and his tiny legs and bead fell limply about.

At first I wondered if he was quite dead; but I felt his red bosom with my lips, and his little heart was cold and still.

I carried him home, quite hidden in my hand, and took him to the Beech-walk. There I wrapped him in a primrose leaf, which covered round his wee body, and I folded him in a green soft coffin of moss. Then I laid him inside a cleft of the last beech-tree. It was mossy, and just fitted his tiny shape. I put a small stone on him, and a plant of wood-sorrel to grow over him; and then I made a sign of the Cross for God's little singer, whose red throat I kissed for his songs; and left him, where all his robin-kindred sing always. There were many of them singing his funeral requiem, this sweet November day.

Afterwards I went into the great grey church just opposite his beech-tree; and there was his little spirit! A robin was perched on the carved end of the first seat directly before the Altar, and immediately I came in, he flew up to the sanctuary lamp, perched on the edge of the red glass, inside the swinging brass chains, and I even saw him dip his beak an instant in the sacred burning oil. Then he flew softly into the dim high cedar roof, and I left him there.

God bless all little birds who sing His songs.

VOL. XXXV.-No. 404.

ROSE ARRESTI.

I

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong! Ichimed the little clock. Five o'clock ! Dear me, how the time passes! It is evening in October, and as the bleak day draws to a close, a spirit of reflection steals over me, and my mind would ponder on serious things: my little clock has given me a text.

Ah, me! what a thing is time, how quickly it passes and how little one does! Ding-dong, and there's a quarter of an hour gone, for ever, and I have been dreaming of time's passage, and yet did not feel it pass. But what a terrible truth underlies it all! Every tick of my clock reminds me at such times that life is passing, passing so quickly away. Passing on like a placid river wending its way midst lovely glade and barren waste, and I, like a leaf on its surface, am carried along its course, and, as each point of the river bank is passed, comes the thought that never will there be an opportunity of beholding it again. Other scenes may perhaps be seen like this, but none the very same. How quickly it is left behind! We strain forward to catch a glimpse of some nearing object-some longedfor event, a day, a week, a month hence; and then-ding-dong, ding-dong, it is gone for ever. Then back on the old course, but not the same, for I am a day, a week, a month nearer to the great ocean of Eternity-and soon a year nearer. A year out of perhaps fifty or sixty: it is a large fraction of my life, of my one chance on earth. Hark! it is the voices of the workmen as they go home after their day's work. Who shall hear other workmen pass fifty years hence ? Certainly not I. Then some one else will sit in this room and, it may be, think thoughts like these. And where shall I be? Ding-dong, ding-dong, dingdong!

Yes, there is much to ponder on. It is clear we have not here a lasting city. True, but I am alive now, my little journey on the great river of time is actually in progress. only 'try' at life. How shall I live it? Shall I amusing myself? At times I shall do so, I hope.

This is my spend it in

But am I