"Effie dear," I said when we were alone, "shall I ask Richard to pay us a visit when I write to-morrow ?"

Her answer was slow in coming, and uttered in an unsteady voice when it came.

"It is probable, Dora, that if you write faithfully he will come without a special in vitation, but you may mention what papa has just said."

The dreaded letter was written the next day, it took me two hours to compose, although far from a lengthy effusion, and what I suffered between its departure and the time an answer could arrive I leave to the imagination of those who have been called upon to communicate to loving hearts tidings that they know will go nigh to quench the sunlight of those hearts for ever.

CHAPTER IV.

RICHARD'S SORROW.

WE had not long to wait for the fine weather, for the very next afternoon the sun shone out again brilliantly, a soft breeze dispersing the dampness of the air, and rendering the atmosphere most delightful and exhilirating.

The ponies arrived while we were wishing they would come, and Mr. Seymour, being informed of the fact, laid aside his books, and not only assisted us to mount, but advised us as to

the route we should take, and saw himself, in conjunction with the old housekeeper, whose eyes were still red with crying, that Effie was well wrapt and guarded against the possibility of catching cold, which she assured them with her sweet, grateful smile, there was no fear of her doing.

We rode along a winding, picturesque road, under shelter of the green hills on which we had so often sat during the long sunny hours, on our first arrival at Lismore. Effie's spirits, which had been gradually brightening since morning, became almost buoyant as the gentle exercise set the languid blood in motion, and her docile little steed cantered lightly under his easy burden.

Sometimes for a few minutes I too could forget the shadows that surrounded us, and awake to the delicious enjoyment in which my companion was revelling; but presently a tormenting ima

gination would picture with peculiar vividness the scene in Bloomsbury Square on the arrival of iny letter, and instead of green hills and clustering trees, and lanes where the honeysuckle and wild rose filled the air with fragrance, I would see the crowded dusty London streets, and distinguish amidst the hurrying masses one solitary man walking to his usual duties with a crushed heart, that writhed none the less under its sufferings because they were hidden from the common gaze.

But all this, of course, and much besides of a more purely selfish nature, I kept secret from my companion, who talked and even laughed with some of her old gaiety, and seemed really to be inhaling life and health from the soft, breezy air.

"Oh, if this weather does but last," she said, as at length, in obedience to the strict orders we

had received, I proposed retracing our steps, "I shall at least have abundance of enjoyment to for a little pain."

make up

Surely if she had known anything of the depth of Richard's love for her, she would have trembled, as I did, at the fear of his despair.

The next day and the next again we were enabled to repeat our ride, and each time to go a little farther, and to stay out a little longer, for the autumn had now set in warm and dry, and the land was filled with the glory of yellow harvest fields, and reddening woods, and all sweet sights and sounds that Nature's children love with such unchanging devotion.

It was quite wonderful the improvement which in these few days had taken place in Effie. The father praised the doctor, and the doctor praised the pony, and Mrs. Allen dried her eyes, and in the plenitude of her satisfaction praised us all; but neither Effie, the doctor, nor myself were de