Welsh mountains-days in whose brief space the bliss of years seemed concentrated -a few weeks of troubled, feverish, griefblended joy under their father's roof—and then all was over. The loving father and son, the brother and sisters who had never known an hour's anger or estrangement, parted to meet no more in this world; and Marion tore herself from the arms of those she loved so dearly, to follow him, who was now to be all the world to her.

From this time forth heavy clouds began to settle down upon Helmsley Hall. The sunshine that departed with Arthur and Marion never returned again. Even Lucy's joyous spirit drooped "like some lone bird without a mate" from the hour that severed her from Marion-her twin-sister, as she had been used fondly to call her. Jane Stanley had been, since very early womanhood, a subdued and pensive girl. Some story there was, of which no one knew

any

distinct par

ticulars, of a blight of that nature which at once, and for life, breaks the spirits of a woman-a tale of young warm, trusting affection, basely trifled with, and flung back upon the heart which had written

... With its fiery rain

Wild words on dust."

A common tale it is, but whatever had been its peculiar features in her case, its effects had been to sadden, not sour, her gentle nature; and a deeper shade of melancholy was all that could now be discerned of alteration in her demeanour. But upon Lucy the change was painful to see; and, alas! deeper and heavier sorrows soon followed in the train of the present. Frederic Stanley had of late caused much distress to his father. He had been much from home; had travelled long upon the continent; and at Florence had been led into an unfortunate intimacy with some men of rank and for

tune belonging to what are called the sporting circles—that class of tourists who gain an unenviable notoriety abroad for themselves and their country. This intimacy, and the tastes resulting from it, continued after his return home; and about a year from the time of Arthur's departure, Mr. Stanley found himself compelled-to save his son from dishonour-to pay racing debts for him to a very large amount. Not only was this in itself an acute pang to a man of Mr. Stanley's high-toned principles, but a serious trouble in another point of view. His large property being strictly entailed, it was not in his power to burden it with an adequate provision for his younger children. Their mother's fortune, fifteen thousand pounds, was settled in equal shares upon them; but, anxious to augment it, he had for years laid by an annual sum to accumulate for their behoof. Most unfortunately this was not done on the now uni

versal plan of effecting an insurance on his own life-which in those days was not so well understood as at present-and the payment of Frederic's debts reduced it to a mere trifle. That generous, though imprudent young man, stung to the heart by remorse for the consequences of his misconduct to his sisters and brother, and the degree to which he perceived the subject prey upon his father's mind, formed many resolutions of amendment and of future compensation to them, came down to Helmsley, and there remained quietly for several months, to the manifest improvement of the cheerfulness and comfort of the household. Mr. Stanley now began to entertain sanguine hopes of his son's future steadiness, and to look with less despondency on the prospects of his daughters. But the hand of the destroying angel was stretched forth against his house.

Frederic Stanley was a rash and daunt

less equestrian, and to divert his leisure in the country, had undertaken the task of breaking a high-spirited young horse. With his characteristic wilfulness and contempt of danger, he persisted, in spite of the remonstrances of the old groom-the experienced head of the stable department-in taking this animal out of the park and along the high road long before that functionary considered it safe to do so. The impunity of several days' trial augmented his daring into utter recklessness; and one morning, having had the horse as usual brought to the door, he galloped off in the wildest spirits, with many laughing injunctions to the old man to come in a short while and look for his body at the foot of Barnham Rise, a steep and dangerous height, down the face of which the road to wound in those days.

Jane and Lucy were standing on the terrace, near enough to the front of the house