against Ralph or Grace, though there was much she could not understand. His devotion to Ethelind she never doubted. That he was proud and arbitrary and reserved, required little penetration to discover; and this, perhaps, acting on Ethel's quick sensitive disposition, had forced back her love, and had replaced it by fear and timidity. Whether Ethel had outlived her affection for Philip, or whether she had really only feared and never loved him, was a puzzle which often harassed her in retracing her visit to Redenham.

Amongst others, the Repworths were at Brighton, for Sir John's health; and from them they gleaned constant intelligence of Lord and Lady Redenham.

"She has grown dreadfully thin, and looks as pale as death if you meet her early in the day," Lady Repworth said; "but she is flushed of an evening, and her eyes are so large and bright, it would make me very uneasy if I were her husband."

"Goes to two or three parties of a night," Sir John added; "turning the heads of the men, young and old. You would never believe she was the little timid girl I remember her at Repworth. To be on her visiting list is every thing-quite an introduction to the best society."

“But, then, you must remember how much Lord Redenham is thought of. Quite the rising man; such a clear business head, combined with such sound judgment and discrimination."

At the Repworths' the Athertons made the acquaintance of a Mrs. Aylmer. Grace was particularly taken with her and her two little girls. They were going abroad for two years, and Mrs. Aylmer was wishing to hear of some lady who would accompany her as friend and companion, and assist her in the education of her little girls.

"If she is really as fascinating and good on a nearer acquaintance as we have found her, I should like to go with her myself," Grace said.

"You?" Margaret exclaimed, raising her eyes hastily from her work, and looking anxiously at her sister. "Why, Gracie, what can have made you think of it?" Grace was playing nervously with the bunch of charms on her watch-chain.

"You know, Maggie," she said, "I am a great believer in instincts, and my heart warmed to Mrs. Aylmer at the first sight. Then, I have long wanted to go abroad; and besides, I feel I ought to do more than live on idly at home, as I am now doing. It is not good for me; it makes me grow weary and discontented. This seems such a good opportunity, that had it not been for mamma, I would say, 'Let me go

Margaret watched the colour come and go over her sister's face. She was silent for a minute. Then she said quickly, "I do not think mamma's health need prevent your going, Grace; she is much stronger now, and so anxious you should see more of the world. I do not think she would place any needless obstacles in your way. If you really mean

VOL. II.

M M

all you say, I will find out what I can about Mrs. Aylmer, and see if it would be a pleasant or desirable arrangement for you.”

That same afternoon Margaret went to the Repworths, to gather, indirectly, all the information she could of Mrs. Aylmer. And then, taking that lady into her confidence (with Mrs. Atherton's full concurrence), it was settled that Grace, under the pleasant title of "friend," and with no other remuneration than her travelling expenses, should spend abroad with the Aylmers the following two years.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

IT was the middle of July. Parliament had not broken up, and weary statesmen and worn-out dowagers were looking anxiously forward to the 12th of August, when the powerful attractions of the moor should supersede even the most urgent business of the State, and disperse the West-End population into the free air of their country homes.

Philip had often urged Ethel to take her child and go down for a time to Redenham; but she shook her head, and would not listen to the proposition. It was not the society of her husband which tied her to London. Between his parliamentary labours, his club, and Ethel's perpetual round of gaiety, they now seldom met, unless in a room full of strangers, or from some unsatisfactory encounter over their various plans and arrangements.

A great change had imperceptibly come over Ethelind since her marriage. She had become easy and self-possessed in spite of her timidity. She had striven hard to overcome her dislike to her husband's mother and sisters; and though Barbara knew she could always, if she chose, make her wince under her thoughtless tongue, on the whole Ethelind was better able to encounter her raillery; while Diana candidly acknowledged her beauty was her least attraction. The only marvel to her was her remaining so entirely unspoiled by the open admiration she universally inspired.

The fierce beams of a mid-day sun shut out of her morning room by sun-blinds, Ethel was leisurely sipping her coffee and idly turning over the pages of the Morning Post, casting occasional glances down the long columns occupied by her husband's speech, which had electrified the House the night before.

A tap at the door was followed by the entrance of Barbara.

"Don't disturb yourself," she said; "I only came to talk to you for a few minutes;" and she threw herself into the arm-chair opposite. "How cool and comfortable it feels here after the heat and glare of the sun!" she added, as she untied her bonnet-strings, and laid it on the chair beside her. "Now," she said, "I want to ask you, if Diana comes to you, to be very careful about the advice you offer her."

"What possible advice can she seek of me?" Ethel replied in astonish"She should go to Philip."

ment.

"That is my opinion, but Di thinks differently. She swears by you, and declares you will stand her friend against all of us. The truth is, Philip was not over-wise, considering all things, when he gave Arthur Langton the living at Leigh-Delamere. Of course he did it with the best intentions to serve an old friend, never supposing he would presume upon it. Be that as it may, yesterday's post brought a letter from him to Diana, saying he was now in a position to sue again for her hand, and he is to be in Eaton Place to-morrow, for the purpose of a last appeal. Poor Di is in a dreadful state of excitement, and I am quite sure, unless we are all very positive, more especially yourself, Lady Redenham, she will never find it in her heart to reject him."

"Do not let her come to me," Ethel exclaimed nervously; "rather let her consult Philip, or you, or Mrs. Leigh."

"You would take the romantic side of the question," Barbara said, fixing her black eyes on Ethelind's flushed face. "Of course you feel. bound to stand by all love-matches."

"I don't know what I could advise," Ethel replied hurriedly. "It is a difficult question. Once, a long time ago, before I was married, perhaps I might have done so; but not now. Unequal marriages are not wise, no matter whether in station, age, temper, or any thing else. They are a great risk and a great trial-a trial which cannot be understood, cannot be felt, until it is too late. No! I do not think I could advise any one to run the risk, not even Di herself."

Barbara looked at Ethelind's flushed face, and listened to her low nervous voice. She had seldom seen her so excited.

"Well," she said lightly, "I certainly did not expect to find you on our side. I thought of course you would uphold Di. I am very glad we have you with us. Not, after all, by the way, that you know much about it, your beauty has done so much for you; and besides, a wife takes rank and position from her husband. Now, if Di marries Arthur Langton, she becomes simply a 'parson's wife,' and falls of course into his set. As I told her to-day, she must make up her mind to be cut by all her old friends. What his are, Heaven knows! He is 'decent enough himself, poor fellow; but neither he nor she can expect ns to recognise them."

"It is a hard trial to sacrifice your own family even for a husband's love," Ethel said, in a low quivering tone. "Still, with it, it can be done; only Diana should think well of it before she sees Mr. Langton."

"That is the awkwardness of the thing. I believe a little wholesome advice from some one she could trust would turn the scale; only it will be impossible to prevent their meeting. When we go down to Redenham or Leigh Court, there will be no help for it, and our labour now will be lost."

"One of the inconveniences of Mr. Langton being so close to you." "Say, rather," Barbara replied sharply, "it is one of the inconveniences of Mr. Clifford throwing up the living. Well," she added, with a yawn, as

she rose up to go, "I have said my say. If Diana really thinks such a life will suit her, let her take the Reverend Arthur for better, for worse,' as far as I am concerned, and Heaven help her! In five years' time she will have sunk down into a positive household drudge. She will have no end of socks to mend and garments to repair. There will be a house full of children-there always is in a clergyman's home; she will sport a cotton umbrella, print-gown, and thick shoes, and spend the little time she can spare from her household labours in visiting the sick, teaching the villageschool, and touching up her husband's sermons! She won't even have the advantage of mixing now and then in decent society, they will be too poor or too philanthropic to visit; so her only relaxation will be the society of her husband's relations. I would not stand in her shoes for any thing she could offer me."

Ethelind could not help laughing. "She would hardly wish you should, perhaps," she said. "And who knows but this fête you go to to-morrow may not give you enough to do on your own account, without interfering on Diana's!"

A blush Barbara in vain tried to hide suffused her face, and made her black eyes fall for a moment. "As if I cared a straw for a fellow who flirts and falls in love with every pretty face he sees," she said.

you

"Will ask Lord Redcar when he starts for Munich, if you see him to-night?" Ethel said. "I am wishing to send a little present to my sister, and I would rather trust it to him than to the post."

"Which sister?" Barbara asked quickly.

Quakeress who nursed you in your illness?"

"That demure-looking

"No; the one you saw at Redenham, when we first went down there. Lord Redcar remembers her. He danced with her several times that evening, and has frequently spoken of her since."

"Oh, yes, I remember,-a very pretty girl-very like you! He is always talking about her, and declares, next to you, she is the best-looking girl he knows. I don't think he means to go to Munich," she added hastily; "so I should not recommend your waiting. Better send off your parcel, and say nothing to him about it." She wished Ethelind goodby.

The door had hardly closed after her before she put her head in again. "By the by, I had quite forgotten to tell you, we had a letter from Ann Leigh this morning. Some business which requires Philip's advice will bring her up to London. Will you tell Philip to meet her by the six o'clock express to-morrow evening?" And, without another word, the head was withdrawn and the door closed.

A thunder-clap could hardly have startled Ethel more completely. Walking hastily to and fro the large room, she tried to recover her composure, and face the ordeal which awaited her.

Long and earnestly she had been battling with the demon jealousy, until she sometimes believed no real cause for it existed, and that it must have been some phantasy of her diseased brain, under the excitement of

fever and delirium. How often in the quiet watches of the night, as she lay awake listening for the click of the latch-key in the hall-door, and the long strides of Philip's footsteps, as he passed up the silent staircase, would she go over and over the numberless confirmatory circumstances she could now almost number on her fingers! Small enough they were, but nevertheless giving her unutterable anguish and distress.

"If he had but told me!" she would exclaim bitterly, "I think I could have borne it. But to marry me only for my beauty!-a thing which may perish any day. To imagine that because I was a poor girl I should be satisfied and honoured by the connection, without caring for more!" and she let her head drop on her arms, and her tears fell until heart and eyes ached in sympathy.

Lately she had tutored herself into a calm and quiet exterior. She would try and wait patiently until Heaven blessed her with a son; for vague hopes flitted across her troubled mind of what great things a son might effect for her.

Now, however, this sudden announcement of Ann Leigh's visit quite overset her. Philip and Ann would meet, while she, standing patiently by, would see her hopes ruthlessly scattered by this one week's visit. Even if she ran away, and forsook husband and child, she must go! Her burden was becoming more intolerable than she could bear.

With an aching heart, and hot tearful eyes, she sat on in her sunblinded room, unable to do any thing, or see any one, during the rest of the day. When Philip came home, Ethel was lying on the sofa, looking white and haggard, and her eyes red and swollen.

"My dear Ethel, are you ill?" he asked anxiously, as he came to her. "What on earth is the matter?"

"I have a headache," she said; and she sat up and tried to speak cheerfully.

"It is these ruinously late hours you are keeping,” he replied. "Enough to kill any one twice as strong as you are. Why will you persist in making one engagement after another, as you do, when you know what the end of it will be?"

Ethel pushed back her hair from her throbbing forehead, and passed her hand wearily over her burning eyes, to shut out the glare of the lamp. Philip was struck by the haggard look her face wore.

"Ann Leigh comes to-morrow," she said in a low tone, without looking up. "Your mother wishes you to meet her at the station at six o'clock."

"Ann Leigh! What can bring her to town in this hot weather?" "Business of some sort, I believe; I don't know what."

"I wish she would offer to take you and the child back with her. Sea-air would do you both good. Remember, Ethel, if she proposes it, I will not have you refuse. Do you hear?" he added, as Ethel made no reply.

She was making a desperate effort. He was standing on the hearth