so all I have of a wife comes from the memory of times, the aggregate of which would not amount to half-a-day, and from her letters, need I repeat, your accounts are inestimable to me? Nor is this all-you have been to myself so kind, so considerate, yet so earnestly solicitous I should act up to my duty, that, the fact of having to write to you with the desire to deal honestly in writing, gives a certain support to my good resolutions. It is rather for me to make apologies for my hastily-written and most unequal correspondence. I would say to you now-suffer me to write what at the moment I feel needful; speak your impressions of what I write. They may be mistaken, probably from my own fault in giving you imperfect grounds for forming a judgment on my feelings or actions; but, I am confident they will be sincere, and, when you are much mistaken, you will suffer me to point it out. times when natural feeling has its sway; and she is so gentle and endearing to those she loves, it is almost impossible seeing her so, and seeing her as she was this evening-I ceased to write as I recalled her loveliness: I said, is it wise to dwell on it? Perhaps, too, the thought came, Is it prudent to rave to Mrs. Gainsborough about a lingering weakness she may despise me for? How I long to see Helen again. I long to hear her honest tones. Could I but have a glove fresh from her hand it would be a charm. I look at the ring on my finger, but the wretched jeweller has marred her hair in the setting-to my fancy-though no doubt he deemed his workmanship exquisite. Well, at all events, I see the lady, my cousin, more soberly now. She is always wearing fresh jewellery. I wonder if those pretty, glittering diamonds are new, or the old ones reset! if the former, where on earth does the money come from? She has been making many bewildering purchases in Paris, and inducing my dear mother to make more than she ought. I shall have to remind the latter that there is no more money forthcoming than that assigned for her use from the rent of the old place. Pleasant task-Mr. Ainslie says he cannot get Helen to draw for what is her own. What do men live for? I suppose I ought to have some perception. I have been to school, and to college, and to church. My head is rather bewildered just now, but I entertain an idea that its purpose is to increase our being by development of the good implanted in us. Dazzling, cold, and—yes, it is so I-selfish Althea! You have been no good angel to me! I thank heaven I have hold of Helen's hand. Helen has brought me her all; those were your words I remember. "Lady Althea is here, and has been here a week. My mother, being a resident in the same house, I cannot avoid her. I believe you are right-Merton Brown tells me the same although aware of my marriage, she still thinks a certain amount of devotion due to herself from me-a larger measure than you, I know would approve. Yet put altogether from your mind-if it has entertained the idea-that my cousin could forget her own dignity, or suffer any compromise of reputation for love of any mortal under heaven. I firmly believe she would spurn the fool weak enough to act on such a supposition. She must learn to think me a different being from what I have seemed. But it must take time to bring this about. can hardly tell either herself or my mother that henceforth I am no longer guided by their judgment or desires. I must simply take my own way when it no longer tallies with theirs. Yet, to confess the truth, habit ties me a good deal. It is most natural-generally most easy to me to comply. Although my heart has thrown off subjection to this beautiful queen, I cannot shut my eyes to the fact that she is lovely, and lovelier to my taste in comparison with the foreign beauties she now moves among. Were she my sister I must feel proud of her: I try as much as possible to think I am her brother." It was evident to me that Mr. Mainwaring's letter-writing had been interrupted at this place. What followed was not only less coherant, but the handwriting showed that the pen had been changed; and, even differed itself in a degree from his usual clear, firm, characters. Thus it proceeds: Daylight is coming. I must sleep now. Morning, and this must go to the post, for I may not find time to rewrite it. Take it, kind friend that you are. I will only add that you may believe this-I am fully sensible of the deep debt of gratitude I owe, and should loathe myself could I fail in requiting Helen in the sole way it is in my power to do-in loyalty. I will not let her place in my affections be assailed if I can help it: but I would entreat that, as far as may be, you would urge her to give me something more of herself in her letters. I know, I feel convinced, though circumstanced as I am, I fail to awake it-there is some warmth of feeling in her heart: some unreasonable enthusiasm, perhaps you would call it; such, in fact, as you chided her for at the "I wish that old me of mine were dead in ruin by the rocks. Call it girl's folly, or what reality, that so no old memories would rise up you will, it has highest value for me at present. to haunt and trouble me. I feel sometimes II do not wish to feel too much as though I almost hate her for her cruelty. This night were her father and she my dutiful little she made me hate her. What a fool's paradise girl.—Yours truly. she once led me into; and what a fool I am to let the memory of it rise, when I should be thinking of what followed-if she would only be consistent, that I might despise her; but it seems as though intellect, narrowed by conventional views, ruled her actions. There are "ARDEN MAINWARING." I paced up and down the shady walk in my garden that afternoon, revolving over and over the questions, "What should I say to Helen respecting the contents of this letter? What counsel should I give my correspondent? His candour encouraged me to a hopeful view of the goodness of his heart; I felt sure of his good intentions, but how should I feel confident they would bear the strain of circumstances? True there was a bound I knew would not be passed. I believed what he asserted of Lady Althea's sense of what was due to her own honour. Yet, if he were taught to look upon his union with Helen as a bar to higher happiness-if, dazzled and ensnared, his judgment gave the preference away from her, where was poor Helen's happiness? 66 It may "Helen, more than that. I know that you love him with a love very different to that you bear your grandfather!" "Yes, he is more to me than all the world; he is the realization of all I ever hoped forthat is, he might be, if he were more of a reality to me. Even now the better part of my being is all his: he holds it. I have no happiness that I do not share with him in my heart. I always seem to call to him to share it; and, when I am very much worried and troubled, I fancy he would be sorry for me if he knew what I felt; only sometimes I distrust my own happiness, and doubt that he ever will love me." When, next morning, our usual studies had been gone through, I suggested to my pupil that, her spelling being now very greatly im- "Helen, darling, you are depressed this proved, she might venture to write to Vienna morning. You ought not to doubt that for a without showing her letters to me. moment. Remember his letter requires you to even be as well," I said, "to let Mr. Main-encourage him in thinking of you not merely waring know how it has been. He perceives as a good, dutiful child, but the mistress of his some slight constraint in your letters to him, heart. Can you not speak of your affection for and I think would be better pleased to have less him much as you have now spoken to me?" taultless but more freely-written letters.' Helen looked embarrassed-troubled. "You must not take it amiss," I went on, "that he wishes for more of yourself, your unconstrained self to be revealed to him. His whole letter to me shows that he thinks of you continually looks to you as to promised happiness." "I wish Lady Althea were not there!" was Helen's unexpected reply. It a little disconcerted me. I felt a necessity for saying something, and hastily questioned "What do you fear?" "I fear she will lower me in the eyes of my husband," Helen answered. "I am sure she has the will to do it. It is not having to show my letters to you, dear," she continued, that constrains me; but I know that I never could write what I feel. I must be content to keep off great errors or mistakes. If I were to let fancy or feeling carry me on, I am greatly afraid my letters would read like nonsense-he would | think them absurd! I cannot express; I have not the power of speaking, even, as Lady Althea can; and I have no doubt she writes beautifully. Does he complain much of my letters?" I read the passages referring to them. "I am sorry," she said: "I did not intend him to think me cold. I must try and throw off some of my foolish feelings. That great world he is in sometimes makes me feel I have so little to tell him of that can be worth his attention." "He says, dear, he wants more of yourself." Helen laughed-a nervous little laugh. "It is not considered right to put too many "I's' in a letter," she replied. "Rules have exceptions, and between friends who love each other that one can hardly stand good. Do as you would be done by' is a better. Do you think I shall be pleased when my letter arrives from Captain Gainsborough if he has been over-careful to count his "I's?" Helen was silent awhile, then musingly repeated, "His dutiful little girl'—yes, that is what I am to him!" 66 No, I cannot," she answered, decisively. "If my deeds fail to convince him he is loved by me I cannot. Consider-does he yet love me-love me as fully as he would have me confess I love him? No-though he is my husband, I, I cannot write love-letters to him!" Oh, that cruel Lady Althea! I saw the wound she had inflicted was still unhealed. "Helen, dear," I said, there is a rightful pride in such matters; but I think your danger is in exceeding. Were it a question only of gratified feeling with your husband, I am not sure that it would be wise to encourage in yourself that sort of pride: but it is more; and mind he is seeking your love. Whatever grace you may grant in the way of revealing affection is not unsought by him; and when you gave him your hand you gave him the right to claim such love." "I believe I am in a bad humour to-day," Helen said, after some moments of thought. 1 am too much disposed to look on the dark side. I should like a good good gallop on Prossy, but the sun is too warm for that till evening; and I don't want to meet Grant, as I am likely to do if I go out then." "Have you seen him yet?" "Yes, there has been a formal reconciliation. Moreover, yon may expeet a letter of apology for his language to you that day in the pass. "I hardly anticipated such a condescension.” "It was his own suggestion. He only questioned if I thought you would accept it.' "And of course you said I should be willing. I have only good will towards your cousin, poor fellow, though I did feel indignant when he was for carrying things with a high hand. Do you think he is at all reconciled to the idea of your engagement? Does he guess with whom it is made ?" "I cannot say. There has been no direct reference to it. He is very quiet. He has been ill." "Ill? Not from any harm resulting from his conflict with our champion ?" "Not exactly. Perhaps mortification of feeling has had its part. He has had fever, and looks much thinner-and so pale !" CHAP. XXXVI. FRIENDLY COUNSELS. My duties to my correspondent at Vienna did not seem a whit the less difficult and delicate after this conversation. After tearing up many sheets of paper, I decided to write this: "If I am to help you effectually, it must be by throwing more light upon the conduct and motives of her who troubles your peace. I know that, when I speak to her dispraise, you must look upon me as a partisan; I do not see how that can be avoided; but it ought not to keep me silent. "Accepting entirely your opinion that Lady Althea entertains no idea of compromising her dignity, I yet assert that she seeks a supremacy over your judgment, and also over your affections, which is now neither lawful for her to seek nor for you to yield. I believe that, to maintain such supremacy, she is willing to sacrifice Helen's happiness and yours also; that she would rather you were unhappy as a husband, so that you found consolation in such favour as she chose to bestow. "Most men who had been as unfairly dealt with as you have would be as bitter in their judgment as they had previously been partial. Such a revulsion of feeling bearing the judgment with it, indicates some weakness, and perhaps the desire to avoid this makes you over generous. I do not blame your magnanimity, but I fear it lays you open to further attempts. She may think that latent affection makes your service to her sweet. This should not be so. "Had the lady a brother-such another as yourself-do you think he could feel pride in her conduct? Would he feel it was sufficient his sister were virtuous from self-respect, while willing to lead others towards unfaithfulness ? "I will put the case more strongly to you; what if Helen, circumstanced as she is, were to allow herself the same latitude towards Grant Wainwright? I bear her witness, dear girl, her conduct has been of the very opposite description. She has so honest a concern for her old playmate, that to see he had transferred his allegiance would give her real gratification. "I have said that Lady Althea is willing to sacrifice Helen's happiness, and I feel it needful to warn you against any view of what Helen is, presented by your cousin. I doubt if you have been informed of an occurrence at Cardington Castle very convincing to Helen in regard to Lady Althea's good-will towards her. I think you ought to know it, but would rather Lady Arabella Mainwaring told you than myself. Helen is very little likely to allude to the matter; but the knowledge of it may help to account to you if her letters since that time have seemed a shade less genial. If vanity had had much part in poor Helen's affections for you, or had she been unaware that you had loved before, it must indeed have given her bitter mortification, As it is, she is rather more timorous towards you. more reticent. She does not doubt your truth, but she fears comparison with one you once found so love-compelling. I believe there will still remain something of care in her heart on this score, which only your presence can dispel. "Although I find nothing to blame you for, I must remind you that her care, as matters appeared by your last letter, is far from groundless. I give you credit for having fought, as a man should, to maintain your uprightness. Fight still, and free yourself from the trammels of habit, the habit of seeking pleasure in the society of your cousin. Helen has a woman's pride, and it is not likely she should be very liberal in speaking her heart's feelings towards you while a shadow of doubt hangs over your love for her. Yet, if you knew, as I do, how fully that heart is occupied with thoughts of you, the sense of your duty towards her would be strengthened in the time of trial by pity for the loving girl." I locked this up in my desk until Helen's letter should be ready to accompany it. I had charged her to narrate her adventure on the marsh, and to give such particulars respecting Mr. Witham and the affair at Harby Hall as the Marsham Advertiser was deficient in. With such material, I was certain her letter would be both long and interesting; and the newspaper was to accompany our despatch. On the following morning the promised missive from Mr. Grant Wainwright arrived. It contained as ample an apology as I could desire, and I wrote immediately in reply, to the effect that I was satisfied to let by-gones be bygones. I had promised Helen to come up to Darliston Hall this (Tuesday) afternoon that we might have an evening ride together; but was detained later than I intended by a visitor, Mr. Littington. He came to talk to me about Alfred Merrivale, concerning whose welfare and prospects General Wetheral was much disposed to interest himself. I was pleased to hear that his desire was to afford him something more than a temporary benefit. "I have thought the matter over," proceeded Mr. Littington; "but must confess myself at a loss how beneficially to advise. If the youth had any inclination for farming I have no doubt the General could help him materially; but as to forwarding his interests as an artist I fear he can do but little. Could it be shewn such a thing would be of real service, he is willing to give commissions sufficient to defray his expenses in London or Paris, but he would be much better pleased, I know, to keep him on his estate, for he has taken a fancy to his company. He thinks too, with me, that your friend is rather young to start for the continent alone. He has not enough experience of the world.” "It might make him the better artist, I have little doubt; but certainly, if Alfred were my son, I should deprecate such a course as hazardous in almost every other respect.” "Alfred has nothing like a studio at home. In so large a dwelling as Harbv Hall, I should think a fitting room might easily be spared: but he ought to be allowed to bring what models he pleases there.” "That I know the General would grant, for he said he should like to keep him as an inmate at the Hall. The thing is, would he be content to live in the retired manner General Wetheral is accustomed to ?" "I know he has hitherto much liked the old gentleman's company, and am very sure he would be far happier than in his present home. Of course a visit to London now and then might be very desirable for his advancement in study, as his brother is there, that, I suppose, could be arranged. The only thing I deprecate in his living at Harby Hall is, that he may become accustomed to luxuries-good wine, soft beds, and servants' attendance, which he may miss hereafter. But if, as I think, he is a true artist at heart, such things will not enthral him." "Do you know if it is a fact," queried Mr. Littington, "that Mr. M'Kinnom is engaged to Miss Merrivale ?" “I have heard nothing of it." "The General thinks so; and as he tells me M'Kinnom has a brother doing well in Canada, and purposes some time joining him, I should think it the more likely. She would make him a very suitable wife I should say?" "I think so; and he seems to be frequently at Layton Farm. Have you heard anything further of Mr. Witham ?" "What do you think?" said Helen; "my grandfather asked if I thought Mr. Littington could have sent it! I believe he looks upon him as quite a gay young bachelor." We both laughed at this idea, and I proceeded to speak of that gentleman's visit. Our evening ride was through green lanes to Marsham. We passed the Rood Farm on our left. It is on a slight elevation, a spur of the ridge lying between the marsh and the Tudfield road, and I should have seen it from St. Bride's but for a wood that lies between. When within sight of Marsham, we crossed some fields on our right to vary the return. Although this brought us near the wild marsh, Helen assured me it was a safe road; some of the farm-labourers dwelling thereabout. We had not gone far along this new path when we were met by Grant Wainwright on his grey. I perceived at a glance that he was a good deal altered; I could hardly say for the worse, since his paleness, and the look of languor accompanying it, took from the harshness of expression which before had characterized his countenance; and, with his black eyes and moustache, he certainly looked what young ladies call " very interesting." Had I followed my first impulse I should have offered him my hand; but second thoughts told me that a bow, and "Good-evening," Mr. Wainwright, would suffice, and be more prudent. He "hoped we were enjoying our ride,” and passed on. We were aware afterwards that he followed us on our way to Darliston Hall, but he did not draw near. "Yes; he is staying at Captain Ashton's omewhere on the coast beyond Cardington. LETTERS Alfred Merrivale could get but very few words from him on Friday. He excused himself on the plea of having been already detained with the affair at the Hal! longer then he ought, but said he should call and speak to him more at leisure shortly. He declared himself satisfied to take the water-colour copy of the Dulwich picture at half the amount he had sent, and promised next time they met to arrange in respect to the remainder." Proceeding to Darliston Hall, I found Helen in a more cheerful mood. She had, I think, rather pleased herself with the letter, which, however, she begged me to look over. Doing so I certainly was gratified, for I foresaw it must interest. Helen laughingly told me another bouquet had been sent to her. She was going to add a postcript to her letter giving this piece of information, and consulted me about enclosing some of the bits of heath from the said bouquet. I agreed to this, and she made over the remainder to me. It had been sent, as before, in a neat card-board box. Mrs. Cargill, who had taken it from the Marsham carrier, asked from whence it came; but he knew only that it had been left at the White Hart, and the carriage was paid. Come at last! O my dear letter-my epistle my budget-my own dear Richard's private and special log! It is not a thing to talk about even to my journal. It is mine to read again and again-mine to think over-to realize. He is quite well, and the bonny old ship is wellno sickness on board of any importance. He writes so that I can almost fancy his dear, cheerful voice speaking the words! Friday, July 16th.-I think now all is in order-all that need be before leaving my home. All in order, that is, except my journal. I have time for that too. No need to send my thoughts in advance any more; the long hours of my journey to London will give me plenty of leisure for that work to-morrow. I suppose I stand a better chance of writing clearly if I keep to the order of time rather than commence with the matter most engrossing. I received my husband's letter the Saturday following my ride to Marsham with Helen. Nothing that I remember of importance had occurred meanwhile, except, indeed, that the horse-dealer Benson, on his second examination, was liberated on bail, several witnesses having come forward to speak in his behalf. The next day Grant was at Church with Helen. I walked with them on the return, having been invited to dine at Darliston. I did not know which to wonder at most, that events should so much have subdued Grant Wainwright, or that this effect should tend so greatly to the improvement of his manners. I could have supposed, from previous knowledge, that it would have made him sullen. Under this new-come quietude there is a strange liveliness of attention. He does not neglect the ordinary amenities of society as formerly. I know the sister with whom he has been staying moves in good society, and, doubtless, he has studied to benefit by her suggestions. The marvel is that he should have deigned so to consider, and take the lessons offered. I fear he has not yet given up hope of Helenthat this change of conduct is for her sake. Helen's answers to my questions concerning him have been that he is most exemplary. There has been no passion-no roughness-no word or look that could possibly offend, and yet I know she shares with me the feeling that all trouble is not over concerning him. I know it by the anxious desire she has expressed to have one of the Ainslies to visit her in my absence. Mr. Mainwaring's last letter to me was much more satisfactory than the preceding. Thus he wrote concerning his cousin : "I have learnt from my mother that one of my letters to Althea had, through a mistake, fallen into Helen's hands. I think this must be the occurrence of which you speak, though I am assured Helen mentioned it with apparent unconcern, as merely repeating information she already was acquainted with. My cousin disclaims knowledge of having offered Helen any paper of my writing, except some verses on the old trees which gave the name to my paternal estate-Forest Oaks.' On the cessation of our engagement, instead of the usual custom of returning such letters as had passed between us, it was mutually agreed they should be destroyed. It is almost impossible to believe the lady capable of so very mean and treacherous an act as that you evidently suspect her of; but I beseech you to tell me all you know concerning it, for I cannot rest until it is fully investigated. If no other means are left I will seek leave of absence from Lord St. George, and question Helen about it. I fear by writing I could not prevail on her to tell me all that is needful; it would, necessarily, be a painful, a most hateful task to set her; but, were I with her for one hour in your parlour at Fairclough, I think I could prevail not only to make her speak, but to forgive. You will not, I trust, forbid me this chance of self-vindication, although Mr. Wainwright has written a harsh refusal to my suggestion of coming to Darliston Hall. You might be present, so that I could plan no treason-no elopement." I despatched a reply to this to-day. By referring to my journal I was enabled to give Helen's account as I received it. I begged him not rashly to run the risk of Mr. Wainwright's displeasure, and gave assurance that if it really seemed necessary that he should speak with Helen, I would apprize as well as assist him in the matter. And now to speak of my own affairs-of the purpose of my intended journey: On Monday, while sitting with my desk before me writing to Richard, my servant announced that a person wished to speak with me. "She will not tell her business, ma'am," added Barbara; but she says she comes from Tudfield, and her name is Markland." The connection of ideas between a matter I was writing of and this name was so close, that I started up and flew past Barbara into the hall, to see at once what I could read in Mrs. Markland's face. She read mine-read, doubtless, something of expectation, of hope, and said, directly, "I wish I had any news, my dear lady, as good for you as for me." My imagination is very quick in some matters. I was as near fainting as 1 ever chanced to be. I staggered into a chair and gazed at her. “Oh dear, maʼam," she said; "don't you be so frightened. If it isn't good, it isn't bad; and the truth is, we don't know what to make of it." "Come into the parlour, and tell me all you know." I managed to door upon us. her pocket and son: lead the way, and closed the Mrs. Markland put her hand in handed me this letter from her "Barque Emma. "MY DEAR MOTHER,-In hopes this will find you safe and well, I hasten to write these few lines, as there's a man boarded us from a vessel bound to Rangoon, and he says he'll take care and post it; but I have only got ten minutes to write it in, which is sharp work for a slow fist like mine, dear mother. Well, the arm is doing beautiful, and though the men are a rough set on board, they are kindly, and Captain Spark's a good one, though not like Captain Gainsborough, as is iny only own Captain, and never can be another the same. And I hope the dear lady is well, and tell her old Straggers is a chap she'd need fear for doing his duty. So, hoping all's well-here he comes"Your dutiful son, "HARRY MARKLAND. "P.S. Love to you and to all, not forgetting the little one-and mind ask her who used to curl her hair." The last few words were nearly illegible from haste. Having read the letter once over, I looked up with a confused idea that Mrs. Markland ought to understand it better than myself. She seemed considering me with a look which told nothing but sympathy, and I read it over a second time. "Who is this man he speaks of-this Straggers?" I inquired. "Indeed I've no notion, maʼam. We have |