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evils, and Augusta, after a succession of hysterics and fainting fits, went in a fever to bed.

Mrs. Lindsay had been much shocked at the catastrophe, but, at fifty-five, imagination, the constant bane of the young, is not generally a very active torturer. People of that age do not often add to their grief, for what is the wild useless terror for what may be! The bullet was extracted, her nephew was doing well. So far Mrs. Lindsay saw room rather for congratulation than despair.

For some time past, particularly since the increased devotion and boundless display of wealth of Sir Peter Riskwell, she had seen in Julian something very like a "detrimental:" her maternal vanity, too, was wounded, that he did not propose at once. She saw others, wealthy and titled, make way for him, to sit beside, or dance with Augusta; she knew nothing of his father's request, or his own intentions; but very often she remembered that Augusta was fast completing her four-andtwentieth year, that this might be her only season in town, that Moss Grove contained

no tolerable match, and that, if Julian did not mean to offer himself, Augusta would have sacrificed the substance for the shadow.

She remembered how rapidly her own years had glided on, since she was Augusta's age; how noiselessly and uneventfully, in a country life, they drop into the ocean of eternity. The London matchmakers had taught her duly to appreciate the disadvantage of an unsuccessful campaign. She learnt from them that one defeat, (as in the case of Napoleon) generally turns the tide, however brilliant the foregoing conquests, and is followed by perpetual disappointments. Several times had Mrs. Lindsay resolved to ask Julian his intentions, and compel him to declare himself; but there was a something in his manner that made her dread such a step. Augusta, too, (whom she had consulted) had assured her that, with so proud a man, any thing like compulsion would be ruin, and with tears had implored her not so to humble her own child, promising that, if her unaided charms did not bring Julian to her feet, she would, by a few

words, recal Sir Peter, and, as she had promised her mother, would confer her hand upon him.

In the midst of all this, Julian is brought home wounded in a duel. Ruth's close questioning of his valet draws out that he had fought for "La Zelie!"

To her first natural alarm, reflection brings the resentment of maternal vanity wounded; and Mrs. Lindsay, the gentle, the all-conciliating, is in the worst of ill-humours. In fancy she sees her beautiful Augusta, an old maid unable, while Julian was in danger, to turn Augusta's thoughts to Sir Peter, or even to awaken in her vain, yet woman-heart, any permanent resentment towards a lover whom death might claim, she retired to her own

room.

It was easier for her to say that she was quite overcome by the alarm she had experienced for her dear nephew, than to conceal her resentment, or assume a becoming degree of anxiety and sorrow. She therefore shut herself up, and took the opportunity of sorting

all her things, and of putting all her drawers and boxes to rights. Yet she was not at all of the French maximist's opinion—“ Il vaut mieux ne rien faire que de faire des riens.” As far as her great pursuit was concerned, she was at a standstill, for the most frivolous worldly heart cannot contemplate a marriage when "death's dark angel" has been seen hovering over the destined bridegroom. The house of sickness and mourning is a dull abode for the matchmaker; but, still, she had ribbons to sort, and silk dresses to unpick-they would be ready to be dyed black, if needful.

We have said that experience had taught her the value of money; therefore, whatever her generous brother-in-law placed at her disposal for the additional elegance of toilet necessary in town, she carefully hoarded up against what she called a "rainy-day."

Do not exclaim too severely against her, dear reader; remember she was a Miss Gubbs; and, however easily pliant woman may take the outward forms of elegance and fashion, after twenty, there is no inward change; and

sordid thoughts, and vulgar feelings, and even at times coarse expressions, remind one of the parvenue. Mrs. Lindsay, then, with her" rainy day" in view, pocketed the liberal presents, and privately ironed, and renewed, and turned, and re-made; and, as she had not many opportunities for so entire a seclusion as the present, she made the most of it.

Annie knocked at Mrs. Lindsay's door.

"Who is there?" asked Mrs. Lindsay, in a mournful tone.

Annie."

"And what does dear Annie want with me?"

"I am only come to tell you, from Ellen, that Julian is better."

"Thank you, my dearest girl. Ah, I have

had a terrible shock!

An aunt's heart is like

a mother's too easily alarmed."

"Can I not come in to comfort you?"

"No, my darling girl," still speaking through the closed door; "I am in no state to see any one." And Mrs. Lindsay looked round on a chaos of old flowers she was mend

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