"You cannot be sorry, Robert, that I was saved from accident; and, though I called the stranger my preserver, I have no idea of fêteing him, or the slightest wish ever to see him again; unless, indeed, you could prove him to be player, poet, or painter, and then I would willingly purchase his tickets, subscribe to his rhymes, or patronise his paintings, as bound in gratitude. I am now ready for my ramble, and if you can better keep your promise of last night, I shall have pleasure in your company; but if we can never meet without the chance of a quarrel, I shall be obliged to confine myself to the bare limits of politeness. Am I to have the pleasure of your company or not ?"

He took her extended hand, drew it within his arm without speaking, and in a few minutes they were walking through the wood. The gentleman would have taken the path that led to the village, but the lady said she had been there in the morning, and turned in a contrary direction.

When they returned, it was evident some explanation had taken place between them. The trace of tears was visible on Helen's cheek, yet were her smiles more free and joyous, and her whole manner to her cousin more frank, more warm, and more endearing, than she had ventured to be in the morning. On Robert's part, every vestige of ill-humour had vanished, but he looked paler and more melancholy, though evidently struggling to subdue every appearance of sadness; and his demeanour to Helen, though kind and attentive, had nothing of the lover-like tenderness of the night before.

Both exerted themselves with success to render the conversation gay and animated; and before the close of the evening, Mrs. Hargrave had the surprise of hearing her favourite announce his intention of consulting Lord Hunsdon, his cousin and one of the secretaries of state, about procuring some official situation.

The old lady seemed as much displeased as surprised at this new arrangement, and spoke at some length against the toils of public men, the intricacies of diplomacy, the intrigues of secretaries, &c. and ended by wondering why he could not remain as he was, as he had a fortune of two thousand a-year at least, and might increase it by marriage; or, if he must have an occupation, let him become a magistrate, or a clergyman, or even a lawyer, and then he might still live near Hurlestone.

He coloured with indignation as he replied, "You know me but little, if you can suppose I would allow sordid motives to

influence me in a union which must decide my future fate. Why should you believe me capable of such baseness? As for becoming a magistrate, I have no taste for committing ragged beggars, starving poachers, or crying women. entertain the horror of a culprit towards Burn's Justice,' and the terror of a rogue towards' Blackstone's Commentaries.' I am too bad or too good to become a clergyman. Too volatile, I fear, to perform the duties of a good minister, and too conscientious to undertake such an awful charge lightly. There may be labyrinths of intrigue, and depths of chicanery, in some political characters; but shame on the heart that could think, and the tongue that will say, Britons cannot be governed by honest men!"

"Mighty fine!" said the old lady, who, besides seeing that she stood alone, could not but be aware that her allusion, situated as the cousins were, was both indelicate and impolitic. "The time may come when you may wish you had consulted the aunt instead of the niece; but old people are supposed to know nothing now.

She left the room as she finished speaking, and Mr. Euston paced the apartment in wrath for some minutes, and then flung himself into a seat in a distant window. His eyes were turned on the lovely prospect before him, but his mind was engaged on other matters, and his gloomy silence seemed likely to continue.

"Dear Robert!" said Helen, approaching him and playfully fanning him with a rose, "do not let my aunt's words chafe you thus; you know full well her expressions, when angry, are never guarded, and you should not heed them. Think no more of the past, but come and sing with me.'

He made no reply, he did not even turn towards her. She spoke still more kindly, and displaced the hand that shadowed part of his face, still he neither moved nor spoke.

"Robert! dear Robert! why is this? If you already repent your morning's plan, there are none to hold you to it."

"I do not repent, Helen; but leave me, I cannot brook your contempt;" and he withdrew his hand from her touch, and again shaded his face, but not before she had been startled by his pale and haggard look.

"I cannot, I will not leave you thus. Surely you cannot hold me responsible for the anger of another! And why do you dread contempt from me? Tell me, Robert, for I will not quit you without a reply."

"Then take it," he replied, removing his hand and looking VOL. I.

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full upon her. "It can matter little that the tongue should say what it wrings the heart to feel. Though your words may not be like your aunt's, are not your thoughts the same? Did she not brand me as base and sordid? and do you not deem me such even at this moment? Do not deny it," he continued wildly; "it would be in vain, I see it all, and we part to night for ever."

I will not deny it, dear Robert, since you will not believe But look upon me, and if you see one shadow of mistrust, then fly me if you will."

me.

He took both her hands in his, and by the light of the pale moon looked deep into her eyes. She did not speak, but as he met her sweet confiding smile, and read in her eyes nothing but kindness, the cold chill of despair passed away, and hope once more beamed upon him.

"I am but a poor wavering creature; the denial I refused so lately, I gasp for now. Those lips never breathed a falsehood. Can you, will you, tell me you never once doubted the purity of my affection?" He grasped her hands more firmly, looked more intently in her face, and scarcely breathed as he awaited her answer. It was given in a firm but feeling tone.

"I can, I will. Should the whole world beside prove base, I could feel no doubt of you."

"Heaven bless you, Helen! now I am a man again. I know I am not worthy of you, and yet I cannot yield you to another; and `could not live under your contempt.

"You are more than worthy of any, when you yield not to passion, and possess all the esteem and affection the fondest sister could bestow; besides, Mrs. Hargrave holds no influence over me."

"So I find to my sorrow! Yet, not so! I would not owe even my happiness to the influence of another, at least not in my better moods; but pass we that, I will not again distress you by referring to that subject, if I can command myself; but you must make allowances at times. Will you proclaim an amnesty for the past, and permit me to advise ?"

"Where no offence has been felt, no amnesty is needed. We sovereigns must keep those things for grand occasions. Now speak, and I'll obey you."

"Do not think me actuated by pique, then, if I hint at your finding some annoyance from Mrs. Hargrave's becoming a fixture at Hurlestone. Though she has stood my friend till to-day, and though I believe she is as much at

tached to you as she can be to any one, still I cannot but think her ill-tempered, weak, and injudicious."

"Weak and injudicious she certainly is, and not always in good humour; but I think she is fully aware I have been too long accustomed to act for myself to allow her a hope of ruling me. A temporary embarrassment in her affairs in. duced me to invite her here for the summer, in return for kindness shown to my dear mother in former days. As I shall visit some friends in winter, we shall then of necessity separate. I shall certainly act in accordance with your kind hint, as her affairs will by that time be arranged. In the meantime, with a little management, I think I can contrive to keep in good humour, and yet have my own way, which you were once impertinent enough to say was indispensable to my happiness.

“I have half a mind to repeat the impertinence. Your own way you always will have; for you never yield, but quell opposition by the fascinating smile and tone with which your most peremptory commands are conveyed. If I could put you in a passion, I should hope to rule.'

"I shall consider all this as complimentary, though rather doubtful, and prove its truth by commanding you to come and sing with me."

Before Mrs. Hargrave returned to the room, Helen had prevailed on her cousin not to allude to what had passed, and the sound of their voices mingling together, had the power to banish all her former ill-humour.

"Do you know the people who are living at my cottage?" inquired Helen of her cousin the next morning, as he was assisting her to arrange some plants in the conservatory.

"We do not visit, but I have heard of them; they are a Captain Danvers, his wife, and a tribe of the little Danverses. The Captain is a man who delights in cant terms; talks little or big according to his company, and is in ecstacies at ragouts and Rhenish, in hopes such ecstacies will again enable him to put his feet under his friend's mahogany,' as he himself expresses it. His lady shows equal discrimination in admiring poodles and pâtés, conserves and conservatories, argand lamps and asparagus; and deems it so rude to make any difficulty about accepting a present, that it has been said, were any one to offer her an elephant, but hint at the trouble of getting it home, she would say, 'Oh! dear, no trouble at all, she could put it into her bag very easily.'

"Her eldest daughter is rather pretty, quiet, and pleasing;

the sons great gawky boys, too old to play marbles, too young to play men; so, generally speaking, playing the fool. Mrs. Jones says, Mr. Douglass, their next neighbour, a sickly East Indian, with a liver complaint, who talks of nothing but mulligatawny, Nullahs, and Punkas; shows some inclination to appropriate the gentle Emma, and hints that they will soon leave you at liberty to select more agreeable tenants. But then, Mrs. Jones will say any thing. Parle du diable et il se montre!" starting up; "here she comes, and, Helen, you must say, 'not at home,' for I want you to ride with me, and give your opinion of my new lodge.'

"Here she comes! and you must ride with me!' Who comes? and who says I must !”

"Mrs. Jones comes; and I never can be in her company, or that of her daughter, without being guilty of some piece of wickedness; so that, if you have any regard for my morality, spare me the temptation.

"I have no time to discuss the propriety of resisting temptation, rather than from fleeing from it, as she must, I think, have seen ús, and I cannot be rude on such light evidence. Why is this aversion of yours? and is there sufficient reason for refusing her visits? as I never deny myself on slight grounds."

"She is the widow of the celebrated Doctor Jones, who killed the poor gratis, and robbed the rich to support the widows and orphans of his own making. None but an undertaker could think of patronising his relict. Then, for herself, she is the arrantest gossip in all Europe, and her daughter-"

"Stop, Robert, stop! lest even now

Your words the bounds of truth o'erflow.'

The memory of such a man as Doctor Jones throws a radiance around his descendants, and his widow and child must, for his sale, meet with civility at Hurlestone. His skill once saved my father."

"Then, farewell! for once admit her, and there will be no time for our ride."

"A compromise then. Order the horses round in half an hour, and my habit shall counsel a brief visit. In the mean time," she added, laughing, "do you entertain the ladies."

As Miss St. Maur was entering the drawing-room in her hat and habit, she was joined by her cousin.

"Is this obeying my orders," she asked, laughing.