WHAT deep and endless attraction in these capricious waters of the ocean, spite of all the wreck and ruin they hold! waves reflecting warm pulsating life, glistening with opal and emerald tints, and at night aflame with phosphorescent brilliancy, with nothing of the serenity of earth on their breast. Cruel waves, that forget mourners' tears, and disdain all entreaty; ungrateful as human love that lures, engulfs, and slays.

The girl who watched by the sea this morning dipped her hands in the surf, moistening her hot lips at intervals, as though her restlessness were calmed by contact with the soft green waters that rippled at her feet, and which seemed at times as if inclined to take compassion on her, and devour the frame that was a travesty on what was beautiful in human form, drain all the life from her veins, and with sweet low melodies rock her to rest, even as it pities the wounded bird that the wind blows to destruction, till it cares naught for the misty shore, the warm nest, the dim distance.

Amaranth had watched the waves just two hours, for the sea was her delight; she loved it like Virgil

VOL. XXVII.

and Lord Byron. It seemed to hold her present and future, and she could imagine no life in which it would be absent from her view. She longed to-day to take the little boat some fishermen had left unmoored on the beach, and drift away with the sea-gulls towards the rocks and towering headland in the fragrant freshening breeze.

For Amaranth belonged to the army of martyrs. She was deformed and delicate. The only beautiful gift about her was her mind; but that being invisible no one particularly troubled about its development; for all the wealth of India and all the accomplishments of modern young-ladyhood would never make her eligible or chic. Not a pleasant destiny surely, nor one to be particularly grateful over, all things considered. So she loved the sea because it never thought her body ugly or uninteresting: there was no mockery in its murmurs. She would often throw herself down by the waves, and talk to them, as if they understood how terrible it was to be different from others, while she never envied their sparkling loveliness and odorous pellucid depths. Can

GG

we love where we envy? Impossible. There was not a girl in all Selwood that Amaranth did not dread-every lot seemed so much brighter than hers; and the thought made her brain throb, and the small white hands contract like those of a slave's goaded to mutiny. But the rank and file of the army of martyrs must have no paroxysms that are not mute and well-bred, or shrill voices remonstrate and reproach (with of course the very best intentions), and a seraphic family chorus remind the offender of the blessings he or she is in receipt of, and the wickedness of moral spleen and discontent.

She was too young to be apathetic, too thoughtful not to be keenly alive to her physical misfortune, which already she looked upon in the light of a degradation, and wondered whether people really thought she was bewitched, or had an 'evil eye.' Every glance directed towards her was at times a torture, for her mental organisation was rich and splendid, her imagination vivid and highlywrought; so that she could have relished pleasure with all the keenness of a voluptuary. Perhaps her nerves were too delicately constituted for perfect repose, and this only added to her daily torments. Her enthusiasm and impulsiveness had constantly to be chidden and repressed, while she thirsted for enjoyment, consideration, and regard-feverish thirst that consumed her bodily strength, and left her mind exposed to that endless pain which seemed indeed her element.

And to-day she sang to herself, as was her wont when by the sea : it seemed a sort of offering to the dear waves-as if her ceaseless adoration of them must find vent in song-even as lovers sing beneath their lady-loves' windows in homage and affection. There was

no human sympathy for Amaranth in the world; but there was mournful sweetness in the clear young tones, fresh with a pearly resonance in their crystal purity, in harmony with Nature, and that seemed to float to the sky or rest on the mountains with indescribable aerial force; tones as difficult to define as a perfume.

'I am young and extremely afflicted,' said Amaranth gravely, 'and even I am vain enough to bring a hand-mirror out on the beach to see whether I'm getting wrinkles; we never ought to laugh too much, they say, or else our eyes take the crows'-feet before their time.'

She was silent; then she continued, talking to herself and the sea at intervals:

'Now if Nancy feared wrinkles, that would be quite another thing she will marry William Gilbert, of course, and they won't hate each other particularly, I suppose, for the first few years. William is tall and freckled, much addicted to beer and tobacco; thinks Nancy a first-class specimen of flesh and blood, and means to make the best or the worst of her for the next fifty years or more. Then there's Kitty, engaged to young Graham; and Mary, who is the good angel of the house; while I look on like a sort of ancient grandmother in the background, expected to say, "Bless you, my children." My very dear cousins, I really don't care for you much; you're so exceedingly insipid and commonplace, and take such excellent care of yourselves.'

Every word was an indirect murmur against her fate-murmurs that ever ebbed and flowed, and came gustily like evil visitants.

'How can they comprehend what I feel?' cried Amaranth, rising from the beach, and holding a piece of knotted seaweed in her

hand; 'it is like people with vision wondering what the blind feel. We-we hear the babbling stream and the birds' notes; but the world-the beautiful worldis always gray and dim.'

plaining of fatigue and headache. So even Nancy had her trials.

'Yes, actually, I have made eighty cheese-cakes this morning, and the crab omelette for you, besides a cake and some finger-snaps

'I am not ugly, my dear cousins. If it were not for my misfortune I might compete with you for those social laurels you are bent on winning; it is a fearful thing to hate one's own flesh when the senses are given us to enjoy. I used to believe once in miracles, and prayed, as a child, to wake up some day and find myself beautiful and perfect like Nancy; prayed, and fallen into a trance, while the fire burnt my brain. O, the sweetness of life to beauty! What am I but a spectre in a cemetery-a blind girl among the flowers, fruits, and odours of the green crisp earth! O death in life! when all Nature awakes to gladness and to mirth.'

Then turning to the waves, she knelt down, bending her head, and muttered,

'Kiss me-farewell!'

Amaranth Markham was an orphan, with seventy pounds a year, out of which she paid fifty to her uncle and aunt for board and lodging, keeping the modest twenty for dress and pocket-money.

When she reached home a savoury odour of dinner awaited her in the hall, and however personally afflicted one may be, an appetite makes itself unmistakably felt, especially after dreaming away all the morning on a beach, inhaling ozone by the gallon.

Amaranth recognised the odour of her favourite crab omelette-a delicious dish that already made her mouth water in anticipation as she stole to her room. Here she found Nancy lying full length on the bed, her hair unbound, com

'and my room is so noisy when one has a headache. Besides, you have a spring-mattress, and ours are so hard; so that's why you found me here, Amaranth.'

'You're quite welcome to the couch, Nancy, especially after cooking so hard. I thought you went out for a row with William.'

'He has gone to London to see about a house for us at Fulham.' 'Happy William !'

'Don't be nasty, Amaranth. If you knew how I hurt my fingers picking the crab for you, you'd say something pleasant; and my head aches intolerably.'

'What it is to be a retired British merchant like uncle, with eight hundred pounds a year in the Funds,' cried Amaranth, disregarding Nancy's little speech, and settle down like a worthy nonentity with a passion for tender legs of mutton, apple-puddings, and sound fruity port! O materialism, when unattended with gout, you are divine !'

'Absurd! You think that original, I suppose ?'

'Not at all; but there are mysteries amid the regions of the unknowable as marvellous as the phenomena of religions.'

'You make my flesh creep, Amaranth.'

'I am delighted to hear it; such nice, sound, plump, pretty flesh ought to be made uncomfortable sometimes, you know. Really, Nancy, your limbs are exquisitely modelled. Venus herself could hardly be finer.'

Nancy's arms thrown above her head on the pillow were quite a picture, and even Amaranth could

hardly resist smoothing the hair -the bright, wavy, nut-brown hair-that fell over the lithe shoulders.

'You remind me of a loaded plum-tree, Nancy; nothing seems wanting in perfection. I cannot imagine any one more beautiful. You are so lovely that at times I feel half mad with envy.'

Nancy laughed; she was used to her cousin's extravagances and exaggerations. Indeed, there was something unearthly about Amaranth which people were conscious of without understanding.

'Dinner, children!' called out a strong voice from below; and Mrs. Stapleton appeared on the landing, followed by Mr. S., who tripped lightly by his wife, head erect, somewhat resembling an intelligent pointer startled by a gun.

'Where's Kitty ?' asked Mr. Stapleton, as he took his seat at the table. 'Gone to the rectory, I suppose, and won't be home before tea. It's something, my love, to have two girls nearly off our hands, and our purse-strings lightened. I call children "poor men's plasters."

'But you were sadly prejudiced against Nancy's William,' said his wife.

Mr. Stapleton seldom required his questions answered at mealtimes, his faculties being so fully alive to the charms of the joint before him. He paid little heed to any one at the table. Amaranth, sitting by him, briefly explained that Nancy was over-thed, and that Kitty was spending the day with a friend.

Mary was a pale sickly girl, who seldom spoke; loved crochet and collects better than human beings, and fasted twice a week.

'After all, sons would have been a sad responsibility, and run us into debt,' went on Mr. Stapleton, drawing his knife through the

under-cut of the sirloin. 'Now with girls, if one can only get them respectably married, why, there's an end of them.'

'I consider we're very fortunate,' assented his wife. 'It's only Mary hangs on hand. No girl could possibly be more fitted for calm domestic life; she'd never murmur if she came to a washing-machine and cold potatoes.'

'Nancy would like the omelette,' suggested Mr. Stapleton.

I'll take it myself,' said Amaranth, frisking the plate out of the housemaid's hands; she deserves some as she made it.'

'Ah, Nancy's a treasure, if you like!' cried Mr. Stapleton warmly. No new-fangled accomplish

ments or nonsense of that sort about her. Thank goodness she's left off practising sonatas; and Amaranth reads enough for the family. A fine girl is my Nancy: believes all she's told when it's for her good, and looks after number one. She'll keep Master William in apple-pie order-admirably suited they are, indeed, for they'll sit hours looking at each other and never speak; and when people do that, how can they very well quarrel?'

'As straight a lass as ever walked!' echoed the mother, who was from Birmingham and addicted to strong expressions. I don't say she's clever; for I never could get her to remember her catechism or the ten commandments; but she's none the worse for that; and I never yet knew a clever girl come to any good. There was Marion Ferntree knew half a dozen languages and played and sang like a princess, goes into a galloping consumption because her lover finds the father won't come down with the cash, and so cries off at the eleventh hour-a mean fellow, I don't deny: so they send her to Ireland to make her forget him; and so she does, in her grave.'

'Mind is a very great mistake indeed, unless one is a professor of science, a philosopher, or a politician. I had an aunt set up for a genius once; and she ended in Bedlam. No, give me a girl that says, "As good fish in the sea as ever came out," when a rascal jilts her, or that will go in for a "breach of promise" and not lose an ounce of flesh!'

Noble sentiments for a retired merchant from the Poultry !—a smooth, plausible toady, unctuous as a borrower, hardy as a snipe, and solid as a Dutchman. Who could fail in life with a like disposition? Need it be said he turned every chance and every one that came in his way to the best advantage, bullied his clerks to the verge of suicide, and returned with a smile to the bosom of his family, there to fatten on roast joints, doze through the evening, and suffer no apparent ill results from his stiff libations of hot brandy-and-water ere retiring to rest.

Amaranth now returned to say Nancy was fast asleep, and that the nicknacks on her dressingher dressing table were blown on the floor of her room and many broken, through Nancy having opened the window when the wind blew heavily from the sea.

Mrs. Stapleton retired to contemplate the wreck of the four china shepherdesses, and woke her daughter angrily, reproaching her in no gentle tones for her carelessness and idleness. But Nancy was too sleepy to care, and betook herself to her own room, the door of which she loudly banged, breathing anathemas against her mother and cousin, who evidently took no account of her toil over the eighty cheese-cakes and crab omelette. Had Nancy not been soon going to be married, it is probable she would either have wept or scolded; but, remembering this delightful way of escape, she merely shrugged

her handsome shoulders and rolled herself up in her own blankets like a sleek boa-constrictor; for passive obedience is always the best philosophy to follow in this world when we know the day of liberty is dawning. Nancy resembled her papa, in that she never wasted her anger or regard, but saved both for suitable occasions, when something really useful could be gained by their display.

Amaranth picked up her broken ornaments, and wished Nancy had said she was sorry; but, whether china or hearts, Nancy was equally indifferent to the ruin she worked, exacted her dues from every one, and was universally respected. She rarely complained, but worked out her plans calmly and cleverly, feeling, as the beauty of the family, she was entitled to inflict mild tyrannies and wound her sisters as often as she pleased. Amaranth's tongue alone had power to gall her; indeed, Nancy somewhat feared this excitable, uncertain, reckless cousin, who talked so strangely and held human life so cheap.

As Nancy caressed her loveliness in adorning her body with laces and linen of the finest manufacture, she would often note Amaranth's envious eyes resting on her dimpled shoulders and rose-tinted skin with the expression a starving creature might have watching the savoury meal for another. Nancy never dared irritate Amaranth; the girl's deep melancholy and often morbid despair met with no insulting ridicule from the blessed fiancée. Weak and suffering, Amaranth was often sublime in her impassioned flights; and Nancy, who must ever remain a belle bête, found there was a power in this nervous tension that subjugated animalism, and made her recoil from any struggle with the weird. being.