even a particularly gentle and kind pleasantness about Fleda, intended, he knew, to soothe and put to rest any movings of selfreproach he might feel. It somehow missed of its aim, and made him feel worse; and after, on his part, a very silent meal, he quitted the house, and took himself and his discontent to the woods.

Whatever effect they had upon him, it was the middle of the morning before he came back again. He found Fleda alone in the breakfast-room, sewing; and for the first time he noticed the look his mother had spoken of-a look not of sadness, but rather of settled, patient gravity; the more painful to see, because it could only have been wrought by long-acting causes, and might be as slow to do away as it must have been to bring. Charlton's displeasure with the existing state of things had revived as his remorse died away, and that quiet face did not have a quieting effect upon him.

66

What on earth is going on?" he began, rather abruptly, as soon as he entered the room. "What horrible cookery is on foot?"

66 I venture to recommend that you do not inquire," said Fleda. "It was set on foot in the kitchen, and it has walked in here. If you open the window, it will walk out."

"But you will be cold?"

"Never mind--in that case I will walk out too, into the kitchen."

Into the thick of it! No-I will try some other way of relief. This is unendurable !"

Fleda looked, but made no other remonstrance, and not heeding the look, Mr. Charlton walked out into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

"Barby," said he, " you have got something cooking here that is very disagreeable in the other room."

"Is it?" said Barby. "I reckoned it would all fly up chimney. I guess the draught ain't so strong as I thought it was."

"But I tell you it fills the house!"

"Well, it'll have to a spell yet," said Barby, " cause if it didn't, you see, Captain Rossitur, there'd be nothing to fill Fleda's chickens with."

"Chickens!—where's all the corn in the land ?"

"It's some place besides in our barn," said Barby. "All last year's is out, and Mr. Didenhover ain't fetched any of this year's home; so I have made a bargain with 'em, they shouldn't starve as long as they'd eat boiled pursley."

"What do you give them ?"

66

Most everything-they ain't particular now-a-days-chunks

o' cabbages, and scarcity and pun'kin, and that-all the sass that ain't wanted."

“And do they eat that?

"Eat it!" said Barby; "they don't know how to thank me for't."

"But it ought to be done out of doors,” said Charlton, coming back from a kind of maze in which he had been listening to her. "It is unendurable."

"Then I guess you'll have to go some place were you won't know it," said Barby-"that's the most likely plan I can hit upon; for it'll have to stay on till it's ready."

Charlton went back into the other room really down-hearted, and stood watching the play of Fleda's fingers.

"Is it come to this?" he said at length. "Is it possible that you are obliged to go without such a trifle as the miserable supply of food your fowls want?"

"That's a small matter!" said Fleda, speaking lightly, though she smothered a sigh. "We have been obliged to do without more than that."

"What is the reason ?"

"Why, this man Didenhover is a rogue, I suspect, and he manages to spirit away all the profits that should come to uncle Rolf's hands-I don't know how. We have lived almost entirely upon the mill for some time."

"And has my father been doing nothing all this while ?" Nothing on the farm."

"And what of anything else?"

"I don't know," said Fleda, speaking with evident unwillingness. "But surely, Charlton, he knows his own business best. It is not our affair."

"He is mad!" said Charlton, violently striding up and down the floor.

"No," said Fleda, with equal gentleness and sadness, "he is only unhappy; I understand it all-he had no spirit to take hold of anything ever since we came here."

66

"Spirit!" said Charlton; he ought to have worked off his fingers to their joints before he let you do as you have been doing!"

"Don't say so!" said Fleda, looking even pale in her eagerness-"don't think so, Charlton! it isn't right. We cannot tell what he may have had to trouble him; I know he has suffered, and does suffer a great deal. Do not speak again about anything as you did last night! Oh," said Fleda, now shedding bitter tears, "this is the worst of growing poor-the difficulty of keeping up the old kindness, and sympathy, and care, for each other!"

"I am sure it does not work so upon you," said Charlton, in an altered voice.

66 Promise me, dear Charlton," said Fleda, looking up after a moment, and drying her eyes again, "promise me you will not say any more about these things! I am sure it pains uncle Rolf more than you think. Say you will not-for your mother's sake!"

"I will not, Fleda, for your sake. I would not give you any more trouble to bear. Promise me that you will be more careful of yourself in future."

"Oh there is no danger about me," said Fleda, with a faint smile, and taking up her work again.

“Who are you making shirts for?" said Charlton, after a pause.

"Hugh."

"You do everything for Hugh, don't you?"

“Little enough. Not half so much as he does for me.” "Is he up at the mill to-day?"

"He is always there," said Fleda, sighing.

There was another silence.

"Charlton," said Fleda, looking up with a face of the loveliest insinuation" isn't there something you might do to help us a little ?"

66

I will help you garden, Fleda, with pleasure."

"I would rather you should help somebody else,” said she, still looking at him.

66

What, Hugh? You would have me go and work at the mill for him, I suppose?

"Don't be angry with me, Charlton, for suggesting it," said Fleda, looking down again.

do?"

Angry!" said he. “But is that what you would have me

"Not unless you like; I didn't know but you might take his place once in a while for a little, to give him a rest

And suppose some of the people from Montepoole, that know me, should come by? What are you thinking of?" said he, in a tone that certainly justified Fleda's deprecation.

"Well!" said Fleda, in a kind of choked voice-" there is a strange rule of honour in vogue in the world."

66

Why should I help Hugh rather than anybody else?"

"He is killing himself!" said Fleda, letting her work fall, and hardly speaking the words through thick tears.

Her head was down, and they came fast. Charlton stood abashed for a minute.

"You sha'n't do so, Fleda," said he gently, endeavouring to raise her "you have tired yourself with this miserable work!

Come to the window-you have got low-spirited, but, I am sure, without reason, about Hugh-but you shall set me about what you will; you are right, I dare say, and I am wrong; but don't make me think myself a brute, and I will do anything you please."

He had raised her up, and made her lean upon him. Fleda wiped her eyes and tried to smile.

"I will do anything that will please you, Fleda."

66 It is not to please me," she answered, meekly.

"I would not have spoken a word last night if I had known it would have grieved you so."

"I am sorry you should have none but so poor a reason for doing right," said Fleda, gently.

Upon my word, I think you are about as good a reason as anybody need have," said Charlton.

She put her hand upon his arm, and looked up-such a look of pure rebuke, as carried to his mind the full force of the words she did not speak,-"Who art thou who carest for a worm which shall die, and forgettest the Lord thy Maker?" Charlton's eyes fell. Fleda turned gently away, and began to mend the fire. He stood watching her for a little.

“What do you think of me, Fleda ?" he said at length.

"A little wrong-headed," answered Fleda, giving him a glance and a smile. "I don't think you are very bad."

"If you will go with me, Fleda, you shall make what you please of me."

He spoke half in jest, half in earnest, and did not himself know at the moment which way he wished Fleda to take it. But she had no notion of the depth of his words.

"A hopeless task!" she answered, lightly, shaking her head, as she got down on her knees to blow the fire;-"I am afraid it is too much for me. I have been trying to mend you ever since you came, and I cannot see the slightest change for the better."

"Where is the bellows?" said Charlton, in another tone. "It has expired-its last breath," said Fleda. "In other words, it has lost its nose."

፡፡

"Well, look here," said he, laughing and pulling her away— 'you will stand a fair chance of losing your face if you put it in the fire. You sha'n't do it. Come and show me where to find the scattered parts of that old wind instrument, and I will see if it cannot be persuaded to play again.”

CHAHTER XXV.

"I dinna ken what I should want
If I could get but a man."

SCOTCH BALLAD.

CAPTAIN ROSSITUR did no work at the saw-mill. But Fleda's words had not fallen to the ground. He began to show care for his fellow-creatures in getting the bellows mended; his next step was to look to his gun; and from that time, so long as he stayed, the table was plentifully supplied with all kinds of game the season and the country could furnish. Wild ducks and partridges banished pork and bacon even from memory; and Fleda joyfully declared she would not see another omelette again till she was in distress.

While Charlton was still at home came a very urgent invitation from Mrs. Evelyn, that Fleda should pay them a long visit in New York, bidding her care for no want of preparation, but come and make it there. Fleda demurred, however, on that very score. But before her answer was written another missive came from Dr. Gregory, not asking so much as demanding her presence, and enclosing a fifty-dollar bill, for which he said he would hold her responsible till she had paid him with, not her own hands, but her own lips. There was no withstanding the manner of this entreaty. Fleda packed up some of Mrs. Rossitur's laid-by silks, to be refreshed with an air of fashion, and set off with Charlton at the end of his furlough.

To her simple spirit of enjoyment the weeks ran fast; and all manner of novelties and kindnesses helped them on. It was a time of cloudless pleasure. But those she had left thought it long. She wrote them how delightfully she kept house for the old doctor, whose wife had long been dead, and how joyously she and the Evelyns made time fly. And every pleasure she felt awoke almost as strong a throb in the hearts at home. But they missed her, as Barby said, "dreadfully ;" and she was most dearly welcomed when she came back. It was just before New Year.

For half an hour there was most gladsome use of eyes and tongues. Fleda had a great deal to tell them.

"How well-how well you are looking, dear Fleda !" said her aunt, for the third or fourth time.

"That's more than I can say for you and Hugh, aunt Lucy. What have you been doing to yourselves?"