her glory the first hour, for they'd got hold of some precious bit of gossip about a girl as lived by the wall of Harby Park. Clack, clack, their tongues went, nineteen to the dozen, about the poor thing. Only by-and-bye they got to quarrelling about their own sweethearts, and your woman got up in a huff and said it was time to go, for you would be waiting for her to set your supper."

I decided that the orchard would be the best place for a conversation with Grant, and Nanny undertook to bear my request that he would join me there.

When Darliston Hall was first built-some parts are as old as Cromwell's time-there were probably not more than fifty acres about it rising above the tide line. The orchard has on one side a low wall, beyond which lies a meadow some five feet lower in level. Looking over this wall I saw Grant Wainwright approaching | on a powerful brown horse. "You want to speak to me, Mrs. Gainsborough," he cried as he drew near. "Stand still, brute!"-this to the horse.

"I want a little quiet talk with you, Mr. Grant; will you come to me here?"

He shouted across the field to Dick Wilcox, flung the bridle to him when he came, and sprang from the saddle to the wall.

There was a seat under some walnut trees near. I placed myself there, and said:

"Will you try and keep patience while I speak on matters that are very apt to rouse you? I have some information to give which I think it fair you should have, and some positions to represent to you which, if passion hinders you from considering, it must be to your detriment. Will you hear me?"

"Go on, Mrs. Gainsborough; I have not any objection to receive information."

"Will you first consider with me your uncle's present condition ? You are aware that any excitement may bring on an attack which may be fatal. Helen would endure almost anything rather than peril his life, and I believe I only do you justice in supposing you are equally

minded to allow him the rest of mind so essential."

He nodded.

"Then, when I speak of what Mr Wainwright has done, you will not in any case visit him with resentment, any more than if he had already departed this world. You must see, I think, that as far as contention goes, he is no longer fitted for it; therefore it would be not only unkind, but unmanly, to disturb and endanger him."

"Go on, ma'am. I'm not the jackass that kicked the old lion."

"Well, consider this; that at a certain time your course of conduct was displeasing to him and also to Helen. At such unfortunate time for yourself you made your offer and were refused; Helen declaring to her grandfather that nothing should induce her to accept you. Chance brought forward a gentleman Mr. Wainwright had reasons for considering would

make Helen a good and suitable husband; she saw and approved him; and, somewhat hastily indeed, they were bound fast together. In loving her affianced husband Helen has done no more than is right and natural, supposing him at all worthy of her love. You doubtless believe he is not; but she knows he is very sincerely and affectionately attached to her, and he stands so well in the world's estimation that such attachment reflects honour upon its object. It is not possible their engagement should be set aside. She has not acted ill towards you, neither has he. Her decision had gone out against you before she saw him. She now desires you to consider that your suit must be but a source of unhappiness as well to her as yourself; for her engagement was her own choice, and-she loves Mr. Mainwaring,"

"Loves him! Much she knows of him! How many times has she seen him? I don't think anything of her love for him. She will come round to me, you will see."

"Grant Wainwright you are mistaken. You fancy time must do all for you because Mr. Mainwaring is absent. I tell you now that Mr. Mainwaring may come at any time; will come, unless you resign your pretensions. Mr. Wainwright has put it in his power to claim Helen. If you refuse to discontinue attentions which are directed to winning her affections, she is bound by a sense of duty to seek protection. Mr. Wainwright being incapable of affording it, Mr. Mainwaring can and will."

Grant Wainwright had been leaning against a tree, occasionally flicking an old currant bush with the strong riding whip in his hand. He turned his eyes upon me now; the look of determined will blazing in them gave me little hope that my arguments had availed.

"Mr. Mainwaring can come? Why doesn't he come?"

"You think it would be better then that he

should marry Helen at once? But could you remain at the Rood Farm while he was at Darliston? He may not take Helen away from her grandfather."

"She would not go; that's his difficulty."

"But is it wise of you to go on feeding a Let Helen retain her good feeling towards you passion which reason must tell you is hopeless? with her affianced husband you will lose all.” as a friend of childhood. If you enter on strife

"He won't give me the chance !”

"He has no need. He can claim Helen

without your consent: and he is not so far off

as you think."

Again his eyes flashed fiercely upon me.

"He was here last night, I know it, you see. He brought a post-chaise and would have carried her off if she had been willing. Oh, Mrs. Gainsborough, I can give you information too !"

"And supposing he had done so, he had authority to justify him. He may do so any day, and what can you do?"

"Do? Shoot him like a dog."

"He should not have her. She is mine." "What would you have done if he had taken her last evening, when you were at Captain Ashton's ?"

"Shot myself."

“Come, this is mad talking. Six months ago you would have said no man in his senses would shoot himself for a woman. Think of Helen as of one who is already a wife. It is your only safe course. Bend to the manifest will of Providence."

"You women are so ready to talk of Providence! What has happened, has happened; what may happen you cannot say. She's not his wife yet, nor shall be. Did you send for me to talk of Providence, or is there anything Helen requires of me? She has been shutting herself upstairs all the week. What is she afraid of? What does she want? Am I to promise not to kiss her again?"

"She will see you and speak to you herself in the course of the day. There is one other matter I think it right to tell you of; when you are cool you may weigh it better. Mr. Wainwright, anticipating some trouble from you, has bequeathed certain property to you contingent on your good behaviour. Helen and the trustees are to be judges whether you deserve it." I would gladly have left out this argument, but from some conversation I had held with the old Squire before I went to London, felt it ought now to be brought forward.

I rose to go. Grant still leant against the tree looking moodily down. A sudden impulse made me speak in a changed tone to him. "Grant Wainwright, do what is right. Strive like a brave man with the evil that is besetting you. This trouble is hard to bear, but you may have peace beyond it. There is a right and a wrong way out of every grief. If you cannot submit to a fact you believe unaccomplished, resolve at least that you will submit when the will of Heaven is declared."

I had gone some steps down the path when a shout from the meadow made me turn to look. Grant Wainwright too started from his position and leant over the wall. The lad Dick Wilcox had mounted the brown horse, and apparently proud of his elevation, was dancing towards the orchard. It was his father who had shouted to him an angry remonstrance, and Grant seemed to take part with the elder in the view of the danger.

"Hold him well in, Dick," he shouted. "He won't throw me, Master Grant," cried the lad. "I can hold on to anything!"

"Hold him in, I tell you!" again Grant shouted. "Don't let him gallop, you fool. He'll bolt with you."

It was scarcely spoken when the animal flew straight across the meadow at a frightful pace. As Dick's good fortune willed, a pond lay in the line taken. When the horse had struggled through he rose riderless, but the boy was soon

Grant Wainwright had seen danger to Dick. I could tell that by his excited look and the long breath he drew when he saw him safe.

"He's got off luckily," he said. "I've known a man's brains dashed out against a tree going full fling on such a beast as that. And he was making straight for the plantation."

I had been frightened, but the matter was so soon over that it hardly sufficed to divert my mind from its previous ideas, and a certain analogy struck me forcibly.

"It is a fine thing to ride such a powerful creature as that, and to ride him well,” I observed.

"He is not half trained," Grant Wainwright said; "but he will be first-rate when I have had him in hand a while."

"And what might you not be if you would take a lesson ?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you have a powerful animal nature, and if you give it the rein-”

"I've done with governesses and their lessons these fifteen years. Good-morning Mrs. Gainsborough."

He leapt from the wall into the meadow and strode off, and I proceeded towards the Hall, | too full of serious thought to heed much his affront.

I found the girls busy in the drawing-room with some dressmaking, and Mr. Merton Brown reading Punch" to them. Helen looked at my face with some anxiety as I entered, but she was beguiled into a laugh the next minute.

The article was finished, and some lively comments were being made upon it when the old Squire entered. He shook Mr. Brown and myself by the hand, patted Alice's shoulder, and sat down. Helen he had seen before.

"How you are all laughing here!" he remarked. "What's it all about?" Without waiting for a reply, he went on: "They are going to a party, a gay party, Mrs Gainsborough. Is this what you are going to wear, my dear?"

I

"No-oh, no, Mr. Wainwright. This would be too dark and heavy for me to wear at a dance. I am going in a pale sea-green tarlatane, trimmed with red and white roses. shall have a broad sash hanging from one side of my waist with such pretty silver embroidery on it-real Indian! And mamma will lend me her pearl necklace. Then I have a new lace bordered handkerchief, and white satin shoes, and a white merino cloak trimmed with swan's down to wrap me in. Oh, you've no idea how gay I am going to be. I am coming out of the shell in earnest this time."

"And all the prettiest young gentlemen in the room will be crying, Chick, chick, come and be my partner.'

"Oh, Mr. Brown, I wish-I wish I were Laura. I'd say something to punish you."

"A thousand pardons, I would not offend you for the world; for you have promised to be my partner, and what a partner I shall have in those roses and pearls! The first dance, remember; unless indeed there is anybody your mamma thinks you must dance the first with; in which case I wait for the second."

"Yes, that seems comfortable. Of course they will begin with quadrilles, and I so dislike standing up in quadrilles with strangers. As often as not they talk about schools. Schools to me, who never was at school in my life!" "How was it you did not go to school in France, like your sisters?"

"It was this way. Harriet went first, then Laura joined. I was to have followed a year later, when Harriet was to return. But it proved that Laura's health was too delicate for a French school, and she had to return with Harriet. She was so ill for some time, we feared consumption. I liked staying at home best, and mamma was afraid I might injure my health. So I escaped; and if I am rather deficient in tournure' and 'je ne sais quoi,' at all events I am undeniably well."

"Of course you are, Miss Alice; sounds a little conceited to say so."

but it

"Well in health, Mr. Brown; you cannot say I am looking consumptive. Now, Helen, dear, I would like to put that trimming on myself; I have a peculiar way of doing it, and you can go on with the lace.'

"Just see," said Helen, as she rose, "what a nice thing Alice has made of this old dress. It was my grandmother's. There was a large scarf with it, and by putting that trimming round the hem and up the front, and making use of that old black lace, she found plenty of material. Does it not look pretty ?"

It was a very soft and rich twilled silk, of a peculiar shade of blue, as if a warm sunbeam had mellowed the tint. I said it promised to be a very useful and handsome dress.

"And who is going to wear it at the party?" questioned Mr. Wainwright.

"No one," Helen answered. "It is for me. I am going to put it on to-morrow."

"You are not going to the party, Helen ?" he said, looking hard at her.

"No, grandfather, I am going to stay at home; and Mrs. Gainsborough has promised to spend the night here to console us for Alice being away."

That's right: I thought you were not going to leave me, Helen; you would not

do it."

"And I am coming back next morning, Mr. Wainwright; you are not going to be rid of me yet," said Alice.

"That's right; you will come back. Don't let them keep you.'

Before evening Helen had been enabled to write to her husband that she had had an interview with Grant Wainwright, that he had listened quietly to all she had stated, and asked till the following Sunday to consider her request that he would pledge his word to for

bearance. She concluded by earnestly beseeching him not to write to her cousin or attempt to come again until he next heard from her.

It had been planned that Alice should be taken home in Mr. Wainwright's gig, and Mr. Merton Brown had offered to drive on the occasion. He walked up with me in the afternoon accordingly, but was not destined to be Alice's charioteer. Just before the appointed time a dashing vehicle appeared in front of Darliston Hall, and from it alighted an equally handsomely appointed young gentleman.

Alice had been attiring Helen in the blue dress, and was very merry and pleased with the result of her taste and industry, which we all combined to approve. Following close on Mrs. Cargill's steps, Mr. Frederick Coalhurst entered the drawing-room.

Mr. Brown, who finds a succession of queer little names for my pretty cousin, called her "Daisy" at the beginning of the week, having reference to her inclination to "shut up" under some circumstances and expand her geniality under other conditions. Daisy's leaflets folded up so suddenly on this occasion that I was rather struck by it. Evidently she was taken quite by surprise, and it really seemed to me she was not pleased. She received her visitor with "company manners," very prettily and decorously; but her aspect had undergone as great a change as that I had noticed on the previous Sunday.

The rather hasty entrance of the stranger, had, I perceived, an unfavourable effect on the old Squire. He looked from one to another of us as if he failed to understand what was going forward. "Come for you, Helen!" he said. "Who is this come for you, I don't know him?"

"No, grandfather, I am not going. It is Alice who is called for, and she will come back to-morrow."

I thought Mr. Brown was going to drive her in the gig. I know he would have brought her back. "Will you bring her back?" he questioned

of Mr. Coalhurst.

"I hope I shall have that honour, sir;" was the answer.

"I don't like these parties," and the old man shook his head and murmured to himself.

Helen's attention was much engrossed by the desire of assisting Alice, and showing her due attention on the occasion; but Merton Brown I perceived was as conscious as myself that Mr. Wainwright was unduly excited, and he did not accompany Helen when she descended with

Alice. It was well he did not.

We were standing together at the window to see the departure, when, just as the wheels had begun to move, Merton sprang forwards and threw his arms round the old man, who had started up and would have fallen but for this timely support.

"Open the bedroom door, and get Mrs. Cargill to come," said my young friend, and carried him at once to his bed. As I feared, it proved to be one of the dreaded attacks; and, the gig

being fortunately in readiness, Merton Brown started immediately for Dr. Meredith's house.

CHAP. XLV.

A DARK NIGHT AT DARLISTON.

Not much could be done. Even when the doctor came and wrote prescriptions they were only for medicines which might be administered should nature's efforts induce a return from the state of insensibility into which the old man had fallen. Perfect quiet and careful watching, with a repetition of some directions given to Helen on the last occasion, was all he could speak of at present. He endeavoured to soothe her evident distress with some hope; but, when I followed him down-stairs, he looked very gravely at me, and said, "He may linger in his present state some time, but there is no chance of recovery.

Grant Wainwright was entering the hall from without, and heard the last words. He almost staggered, and clutched at the side of the doorway, looking the doctor in the face as he advanced, his own pale even to ghastliness. In a low voice he said, "You are sure he will not recover?"

The doctor shook his head: "He is in no pain," he said. "Mr. Wainwright has attained a great age. I can hold out no shadow of reasonable hope of his restoration."

He passed on to his carriage, and Grant spoke to me. "Helen," he said, "how does she bear it? Will you say something for me?" "What shall I say?" I inquired, rather desirous of turning Helen's attention from the suspicion of Dr. Meredith's having spoken more openly to me.

"Ask her if I can do anything- no; ask her to come and tell me what I can do to speak to me. I shall wait here till she does."

Helen was watching in the sick room. Halfan-hour later she came to me, where I sat in the drawing-room, and I mentioned Grant's request. She had been crying, I saw by her eyes; but she was in a sort of calm now. "Come down with me," she said: "I should like to speak to him."

We descended the staircase. Grant was standing in the hall, and advanced to meet her. She gave her hand, and said, "Oh, Grant, think of all his kindness to you and me in the old times, and let us be as we were then-like brother and sister. Do promise I shall be your sister! forget all but the old days!"

"Can you forget all but the old days?" he said.

"I will, indeed; I will only think of the time we were children together. You know I have said I do not wish to lose that happy time -or you. You know what I have said-be my brother: do not be the enemy of anyone I love."

He was still pale as marble; but there was a

rigidity in the expression of his mouth and eyes which pained me to see. It was not the look which should have been brought up by Helen's heart-warm appeal.

"When is he coming?" he asked, in a low

tone.

"Mr. Mainwaring? I do not know," she replied. "Oh, Grant, you must learn to think kindly of him for my sake."

"I cannot learn that lesson at once, Helen," he said. Then, after a little pause, "Is there nothing I can do? Come and tell me how he is now and then: I shall be about here."

"There is prescription to be made up; but Dr. Meredith said the morning would be time enough. We have medicine he is to take first. Would you see that one of the men starts early in the morning with it?"

"I will see about it; perhaps go myself. It's always well to have things in time."

Helen caught the sound of Nanny's voice, and ran hastily up. I followed. Finding she was not wanted, she came and sat down beside me on the drawing-room sofa, resting her head on my shoulder.

"Mr. Mainwaring will be sorry to hear you are in grief, dear Helen. You would feel more lonely this sad night if his love were not yours, That is something more to be grateful to your grandfather for having provided."

66

Yes, dear," she said; "I do feel thankful to him for it; and it makes me feel stronger, much stronger to bear this sorrow."

She did not stop long, quickly gliding into the next room. I sat reading: the old grey room looked so sad to me! My one candle gave me light enough to read by, but all around was misty and dark. I hardly knew how time went, except that it went sadly. Now and then the doorway of the adjoining room was passed through by some quiet step; the doors were open, for the night was warm, and I heard some low whisper murmured.

It had been agreed that I must go to bed, and rise early to relieve the other watchers. My head was heavy, and I was thinking of going to my appointed room, when I heard Nanny Cargill's voice at the door say softly, "Miss Helen! Miss Helen! he's stirred !"

"Has your master moved?" I asked.

beg your pardon, I thought Miss Helen was

"Yes, ma'am, he's raised his hand a little-I

here."

"No: perhaps she has gone up-stairs. I suppose it is about time for me to go to bed. Past ten, my watch says. I will tell her as I am passing her door."

I was to occupy a room Alice had been sleeping in near to Helen's, and went in to the latter at once, the door being open and no light within. I expected to see her on the bed, but she was not there, and I passed on to my own room, and set down my watch, which I had taken off to wind while in the drawing-room. I had a fancy she might be in my room, seeing that all was comfortable for me-it would have

been like her. However, she was not, so I went down to acquaint Nanny.

"Dear child, she ought to know!" said the good woman. "She'd be so glad. I do think master's beginning to come to. I have sent the women to bed: would you mind sitting and watching him a while, now? I'll go down and tell her she's may-be run to speak to Grant, or to Will Harper, who is sitting up by the kitchen-fire."

I took her place.

I had sat about five miuutes, when she came back, and said, "I don't find her downstairs, ma'am; could she have fallen asleep on her bed? Did you look when you went in?" "Yes, Nanny; she is certainly not in her room!"

"But where can she be? She creeps about so soft may-be she's in the drawing-room all the time?"

"No, I must have seen her, and you called to her. She is asleep, somewhere, no doubt-in the spare bedroom probably."

Mrs. Cargill called her by name.

"Hush Nanny, don't raise your voice, see, your master has turned his head on his pillow!" She came forward, throwing the light of the candle on his face. "He looks more life-like." "Go into the spare bed-room; you are sure to find her there. If she wanted to lie down she would choose the bed nearest rather than her own up-stairs."

I felt a certain amount of discomfort, but no alarm. I was much taken up with watching the change perceptible in Mr. Wainwright. There was a slight action of the muscles of the face apparent.

Another minute, and Nanny was again at the door; she looked at me with a face of affright: "Oh, ma'am, I can't find her high nor low, and I mustn't call loud. How long is it since you saw her?"

Not since she went in to you, when the women were going to bed."

"Oh, good gracious, ma'am, don't say so! Why, that's an hour ago. Oh, Miss Helen! my dear Miss Helen!" and Nanny's voice rose in uncontrollable alarm.

"Do you mean that she has not been sitting with you since ?"

"No, ma'am, not this hour: I thought she was with you!"

Now, indeed, I was frightened. I took the candle out of her hand, ran upstairs, calling her in each of the rooms, and rousing the maids. Then I rushed down to the hall, where I encountered Will Harper. "Oh, have you seen her?" I cried. "Your mistress, Miss Helenwhere can she be?"

"Oh, ma'am; how scared you look! The house is all safe: I fastened the hall-door wellnigh an hour ago."

I heard a door opened somewhere. "Helen

are you there?" I cried.

"Ask him when he saw Miss Helen last."

I ran up the stairs again, hearing Nanny's voice. She was telling Peggy, who had come down but half-dressed, to sit and watch Mr. Wainwright.

Down to the hall again went poor Mrs. Cargill and I, looking in each other's faces only to see our fears reflected. Searching the parlour. the store-room, the most improbable places, calling again and again on Helen. Dick Wilcox appeared, having hastily put on his clothes.

"When was she seen last? Who saw her? Nanny, try and recollect!"

Poor Nanny was sadly confused. She remembered hearing her say good-night to Peggy; that was on the staircase, about nine o'clock.

"I heard her talking to someone-Master Grant, I think-when we was having our supper," said the boy to Will Harper.

"I did'nt hear her," he said. "She spoke soft, like, but I heard her voice clear."

"What was it she was saying?"

"Be sure you don't lose it-- I think that was it."

66

Maybe it was the prescription," said Nanny, with a memory brightened by the hint. "She took it out of the escritoir drawer, and was going to give it, I thought, to one of you?" addressing the servants. "It was to be taken to Field's, the chemist at Marsham, to be made up."

"Did Mr. Grant speak to either of you about going there?" I asked.

"He said something," the boy answered, "about getting it made up, and what hours the shop was open. I thought he meant to go there himself."

A footstep without, a knock at the hall-door; it was opened, and Grant stood there: a bottle of medicine in one hand, the other was engaged in taking something else out of a pocket.

He looked up and stared at us all. 'Why, how you all look!" he said. "Is the old man dead?"

"Oh, Grant, Grant !" cried Nanny, with a burst of crying, "better for him if he was dead! better for me. Oh, Grant, what has become of Miss Helen-of my mistress? She's gone, Grant! she's gone! We can't find her nowhere!"

"Gone! gone, and you don't know where I should think you, Mrs. Gainsborough, were the most likely person to know where, if she's gone off suddenly."

" I?"

"I thought some friend of yours had been trying to get her off a night or two ago?"

I looked him in the face: he stared me in the eyes with his hard, dark gaze, and I looked a little lower-to his mouth.

to know what we're talking about."

'Well, don't stand gaping round me in this