rug with his back to the fireplace, looking down upon her and wondering what had so upset her.

"Philip," she said, raising her eyes to his entreatingly, "will you let me go home?"

A cloud gathered over his brow, but Ethel did not see it. She had lost all control over her tears, and her face was hidden in her handkerchief. He watched her for a moment, and then said, in a short dry tone, which was no unusual one, "What makes you so very anxious to go away now? I begged you to do so a short time ago, and you would not hear of it. And just after your illness I offered to take you myself to see your own people, and you decidedly refused. Now, just as Ann Leigh is to be here, and I want you to be with her, you suddenly take it into your head to go and see your mother. Where is your mother? How you know she can receive you?"

do

"Mamma and Margaret are at Brighton," Ethelind replied, making a strong effort to recover her composure.

"Is your mother ill?" he asked, stopping in the middle of a walk up and down the room.

"I have had no news of them for a long time."

Philip pushed his hands deeper into his trouser-pockets as he continued his long strides. Ethelind, the simple guileless girl he had married, whose very thoughts he had been able to read, was becoming a riddle to him. He hardly knew whether to be most angry with her or with himself. "Perhaps this is what Redcar has hinted at lately," he thought, "when he has warned me she was too young to be left so much alone.”

Philip was not naturally despotic or unreasonable, but he felt chafed and irritated now at what really did wear the appearance of the waywardness of a spoiled child. He saw the lines of care about her mouth, the dark purple rings round her sunken eyes, and his heart relented. She was ill, there was no doubt of it; and, like some little child, who scarcely knows its own wishes, she was pining for her own mother's love.

"I wish I could understand you, Ethie," he said; "but you are a great riddle to me; and I want you to remember there should be none between us now. No matter what our feelings may be towards others, to our selves we should be open as the day. What is it that has brought on this sudden fit of home-sickness ?"

Ethel's head fell on Philip's shoulder; and, amidst convulsive sobs, which quite shook her slight frame, she said very earnestly, "If you love me, do let me go home!"

Long after Ethelind had wept herself to sleep, Philip might have been heard pacing slowly up and down his own room. With all his love for Ethelind, and his own bright hopes of married life, he had failed in either making his wife happy or lightening his own cares. How or in what way, he could not tell. The Leigh pride had been violated, and he had sought to soothe it by implicitly following the advice of his mother and sisters. Perhaps the time had come when some reparation might be

made for such hard measures on Ethel. He would speed her off before they knew of the arrangements; and he kept his word. The next day he himself sent Ethel by express train, under charge of Stephens, on her sudden visit to Brighton.

CHAPTER XXIX.

STARTLED beyond measure at the apparition of Ethel's pale face, Margaret clasped her eagerly in her arms.

"I have not felt well," Ethelind said hurriedly, and with a deep colour on her cheeks at any evasion, however slight, from the exact truth. "I cannot tell you, Margaret, how I have longed to see you and mamma; and, last night, Philip gave me leave to come to you.”

"But not alone, Ethie? Philip could never have trusted you alone, darling?" and Margaret's eyes wandered anxiously over her sister's fragile figure, and she looked into her clear truthful eyes, for she could not at all comprehend the mystery of this sudden exploit. But so far Ethel had nothing to conceal. She said at once that a sudden desire came over her to see her mother; and, dreading Barbara's influence over Philip, she had persuaded him to let her start early, before her intentions were known in Eaton Place. That she would not listen to Philip's wish of accompanying her; that she had even dismissed Valerie and Stephens at the station, that she should in no way put her mother out of her usual course.

It was well for both they had an hour or two quietly together before Margaret told Mrs. Atherton of Ethelind's arrival. It gave Margaret time to gather up her scattered faculties, and so explain Ethel's sudden visit as to save any second explanations.

Except to satisfy the curiosity of her mother, Ethelind said little of her home life. She freely owned she could not love Mrs. Leigh or Barbara, and that most of her annoyances arose in some way or other from their interference.

Diana she had learnt to love and to respect. If at times she was rude or abrupt, it was more from a desire to be honest than unsisterly or unkind. Of Philip little was ever said by Ethelind; but her anxiety for his letters, and her disappointment if they did not come, convinced Margaret that, whatever was harassing her mind, her heart was still "leal and true." An intuitive feeling that the inner life of husband and wife is sacred, even from their own kindred, not only sealed Ethelind's lips, but prevented Margaret from attempting, even indirectly, to lead her to unburden her heart to her. She knew there are some sorrows in which even a sister "intermeddleth not." All she could do for ler was to brace her with strong and high resolves; give a healthier tone to her imagination; awake in her an interest in her daily duties; and try to make her brave and hopeful for the future.

The only drawback to Mrs. Atherton's happiness was the absence of Ethel's child. Susannah was loud in her regrets that the little lady had

been left behind. Both in their hearts gave the Earl credit for not letting it accompany its mother, though they would not wound Ethelind by saying so. "It's mother's relations are not good enough for my lord's child," Susannah was heard to say several times rather bitterly; but she always took care that Ethelind did not overhear her.

Ethel listened eagerly to Margaret's description of Ralph's new home. She had never, either directly or indirectly, blamed Philip for his removal from Leigh-Delamere, because she could not help suspecting Barbara's interference had effected it. But it was an intense relief to her to learn from Margaret they were now comfortably settled at Grafton.

A week had passed, and Ethelind, refreshed and strengthened by her visit, had written to Philip for Stephens to fetch her home. His answer was short and hurried-just a pencilled note hastily written at his club. As she reported herself so much recruited by her visit, Philip thought it better she should remain a little longer. He managed very well alone. Indeed, he was hardly ever in Belgrave Square. Godfrey and the child had taken up their abode in Eaton Place. Ann had wished to have it as much with her as possible, and the little thing had grown wonderfully fond of her already.

Ethelind groaned in spirit as she read and re-read the letter. She was thankful it had come to her in her own room, free from the searching eyes of Margaret, or her mother's endless inquiries. All the sunlight of her visit had suddenly disappeared. She had begged hard to come, and Philip had reluctantly granted her leave. She was longing now he should ask her to return; and, when she offered to do so, he intimated she was not wanted. Oh, the perversity of the human heart! At first she thought seriously of starting off at once, and begging Susannah for But gradually a better frame of mind came over her. She would follow Margaret's advice, and not look forward. She would strive to be patient, and do her duty as it was set before her.

an escort.

When she ventured into her mother's room, the intelligence that Philip would spare her a little longer so delighted Mrs. Atherton, her joy almost overset Ethel's good resolution. Margaret no longer hesitated in allowing Ethel the privilege of insuring her mother's declining days those comforts which she herself was quite unable to procure. She knew Ralph or Grace would never have consented to her receiving any assistance from a brother-in-law who virtually ignored them; but she felt that, for Ethel's sake, it was only right. Cut off from participation in their care of her mother, this gratification ought surely to be granted her.

At length the joyful summons arrived. Stephens and Valerie would be at the station the following morning; and Margaret inwardly rejoiced as she watched the glow of pleasure lighting up Ethel's face as she read her letter. She looked brighter and happier than she had done for long; and Mrs. Atherton's parting with her favourite child was cheerful and happy, and full of fond hope that, after all, the marriage would turn out far better than Ralph and Grace were so fond of predicting.

There was a grave smile of welcome for Ethelind as Lord Redenham opened the door of the railway-carriage to assist her out, and he remarked at once her visit had certainly very much improved her looks. In their long drive through the City, Ethel had time to learn that Ann Leigh had left town two days ago.

"She was very sorry to miss you," Philip said, "but the heat and dust of London were killing her, and my mother would not let her remain any longer. I don't know what you will say to it," he added, a little doubtfully, "but she has taken Godfrey and the child with her."

"Taken Baby-my baby!" Ethelind exclaimed hurriedly. "You never mentioned it in your letter."

Philip looked half fearful he had done wrong. "I hope I have not distressed you," he said; "but, to tell the truth, she had grown so fond of Ann, and Ann of her, she was seldom out of her sight. I never saw any thing like it. Even Godfrey was growing jealous. So when Ann proposed it, and my mother said how much better country air would be for her, I gave leave. Of course I thought you would not object, you seemed to care so little about her yourself, and Ann really enjoys having her. I am sure she will take the greatest possible care of her."

"I don't doubt that," Ethel said, in a constrained tone; "but they might have waited my return, or written to me first, at all events."

"It was only thought of the night before Ann left; so I could not write to you. Ann hopes you will join the child as soon as you can. Fix your own day, and I will take you down."

"Oh, I am sick of the sea!" Ethelind exclaimed, almost pettishly. "I am sure I am not going from home at present." Two bright-red spots were burning on her cheeks.

"Well, you shall do as you like," Philip said rather meekly. He was beginning to fear he ought not to have relied so entirely on his mother's assurance that Ethel would be glad to be rid of her child. All her pleasure at being again with Philip was spoiled by this foolish arrangement. As they rattled over the stones, the deafening noise forbade talking, and gave her time to recover her self-command.

"And how have you got on?" she asked at last. "I hope you have been busy, and not missed me much?"

"Well," Philip replied, "it has just happened we have been unusually idle. I have hardly been at home at all. I have dined every day in Eaton Place; I could have almost fancied myself a bachelor again. It gave me the opportunity of seeing Ann. She is not like the same creature. I should not wonder if, after all, she lives to be a strong active woman."

Again there was a silence. There was a block up in the narrow street through which they were passing. Philip asked for Mrs. Atherton and Margaret, where Grace had gone, and what news had been received from the midshipman. A brighter look and a happier expression stole over Ethel's face.

"Oh, Philip!" she said, "Margaret told me of your having taken Frank's expenses off her hands. At first I thought she was under a mistake, because I knew nothing about it; but she assured me it came from you. And I do not think even you could have calculated on the good you have done. It enables Margaret to leave Deignton, and live where it best suits mamma's health."

"And what about that brother of hers?" he asked. "Has he a curacy, do you know? He made me monstrously angry, I own, when we first went to Redenham. The fellow's sermons were the best I ever heard, and every body in the parish liked him. Perhaps I was over-hasty in giving Langton the living, and turning him adrift. But Barbara must take the credit of that move. She would not believe it would encourage him to offer again to Di, though I warned her how it would be. But Barbara is very wilful when she sets her heart on a thing. By the way, that is another piece of news for you,” he added: “Diana is really engaged to Langton, and they are to be married the end of August."

"But your mother!-Barbara!-what do they say?" Ethel asked, her heart sinking at what Diana would have to endure at the hands of her own people.

"If Ann had not stood her friend, it never could have come to pass. Ann has more influence in Eaton Place than any one else, and she thinks, after their four years' probation, it is better to make the best of it, and let it be. Diana is gone home with Ann; and there, from her house-as quietly as possible—the wedding is to come off."

"Poor Di!" Ethel exclaimed, with a deep sigh. "I wonder if she will be happy?"

Philip looked down at her and laughed. "Is that the extent of your congratulations? I expected you to applaud her for her courage."

"I should once; but one grows nervous and doubtful as one gets older. However, for Diana, who has strength of mind not to care for what people say, it is all right; and if Ann is her friend, she will soon persuade you all to look on the connection favourably."

"By the way, there is another change you will notice, when you get home, which, I think, will please you that horrid woman Blake is gone, and Mrs. Edwards- Old Edwards' you have heard us speak of-is in her place. You will wonder how, in your absence, such a revolution was effected; but things were going on in a way I had no conception of: servants won't tell of each other, and though they were all uneasy, no one liked to speak. It came out at last through Godfrey, in some of her long stories with Ann's maid, and so to Ann, who asked me about it. Of course I sent for the woman, and by dint of being very determined, and threatening all sorts of things, succeeded at last in getting at the truth; and, as you may guess, I packed her straight off the premises in less than an hour. Then it came out, through Valerie, she had made a boast in the servants' hall of having made you fear her; that she could make you believe any story she chose to tell you."