her cheeks, nor even the little toss of the head. She paused at the head of the stairs for him, he not being as active as he had been; and when he reached her side, he laid his hand caressingly on her hair, which showed the streaks of gold in it, shining in the lamplight, as on that first evening when Cyril Stevens had seen and, admired it. "When the time comes for you to have a lover, dear one, this is the gold he will be in search of, will it not, and no thoughts of how much money there is to gild it? This, and your bright eyes, will be sufficient fortune for him."

"Yes, papa," Cicely replied; but it was a little difficult for her to steady her voice. "Yes, I wish I were quite poor, so that I might be sure it was only for myself I was loved!" which was a harmlessly affected little speech, for no one appreciated herself more highly than did Miss Cicely Arbuthnot, or less imagined the beaux yeux de sa casquette might prove dangerous rivals to her own pretty eyes and rippling hair.

It was not fated, however, that Miss Arbuthnot should finish her little speech in peace, spite of its harmlessness.

"Cicely pausing on the stairs to talk sentimentalities with no other audience than pa!" cried a quick voice behind; and the two turned to see a tall figure running up after them, in sweeping white muslina tall girl's figure, with bright cheeks, bright hair, bright eyes-in fact, everything about her telling of youth and happiness and boisterous health.

"Jessie, take care; you are treading on my dress!

Oh, how rough you are!

And what have you

kind way to welcome

come home so early for?" “Dear pa, now, is that a me? You are glad to see me, are you not? at least you are not so nasty about it as that spoilt girl," pointing in the direction of the tall white figure that was sweeping slowly up the next flight of stairs. "But you are a dear old pa, who is never cross, so if you come into the drawing-room I will tell you how I have been enjoying myself."

Perhaps if Jessie had known how the heart under that white bodice was throbbing with pain and disappointment, and how the tears were standing in those aching eyes, she would not have looked so vindictively after the slight young figure; for Jessie was not at all a bad person, only young and selfish and thoughtless.

"Cross old patch! I do believe she is going to bed! Never mind, pa, you have one daughter who is not sulky; so come in and I will talk to you."

And quite carried away by her impetuosity, old Mr Arbuthnot suffered himself to be led into the drawing-room, saying feebly, "Hush, dear! hush! you should not speak like that about your sister." And whilst he spoke, felt more and more strongly how sad it was that there was no mother to gather the good that lay in these two hearts, and show to the one what was worth finding in the other.

Meanwhile, up-stairs Cicely, with hot and bitter thoughts surging within her, was walking up and down her room. "Going to India," were the only

words she could recall of her late conversation; but they served to madden her. For hers was an ill-regulated mind, all unaccustomed to checks or disasters along life's road, and that what she desired was not to be-was something which seemed impossible to understand.

And with all her youthful impetuosity she believed at present that the whole possibility of future happiness for her lay in the possession of Philip Rayton's love.

"And he does love me," she kept repeating to herself; "he does love me, I know it! But he is poor and I am rich, and that is what is standing between us! And my life will be wretched and spoilt because of his absurd scruples! O Philip, Philip!" and with tears coursing down her cheeks. she leant against the window, gazing out into the dreary, starless night, between her sobs murmuring, It shall not be! it must not be!"

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Here Jessie found her later on, when she looked in for a moment on her way to bed. "Good night, Cicely, got over the sulks? Well, whether you have or not, I must tell you who was at the Whites -Philip Rayton-there! And he was so civil to me that all the other girls were jealous; and he told me-I wish the candles were lit, because I really should like to see your face!—he told me that he was going back to India."

No answer.

'Well, are you not sorry now you were so cross when the invitation came, and that you made me go because you thought it was a child's party?

Never mind; I forgive you, because I have enjoyed it so."

And then, feeling her way to where she could see her sister's figure defined against the window, "Good night," she said, stooping-for she was the taller of the two-and kissing the soft cheek— "good night;" and as Cicely returned the kiss gently, 'Now, as you are evidently in a more forgiving mood, I will tell you something to cheer you."

"What?" said Cicely, speaking for the first time, and turning her head round from the window.

"He said I was to tell you he was leaving town to-morrow afternoon, so he should call here in the morning, in the hopes of seeing you to say 'goodbye.' Also, he said-shall I tell you? yes, I will, because you have not snapped once since I came in-that he hoped I should be at my music lesson -not, perhaps, in so many words, but inferred it; so you see, Cicely, after all, there is no cause to be jealous of me." And with a sweeping curtsey Jessie retired.

When Jessie was in her first sleep that night, she was awakened by a soft kiss upon her forehead. "I have come to say 'good night,'" said Miss Arbuthnot, apologetically, as her sister started up in alarm. "I do not think I kissed you before; and I am sorry, Jessie, I was so cross.”

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"Ah yes, I remember," murmured Jessie, sleepily, you were cross; but it is all right, you know— there is no need to be jealous of me."

64

CHAPTER VI.

DAY-DREAMS.

"To love or hate, to win or lose."

"You look ill, Cis," said her father, as they sat down to breakfast the following morning; "I am afraid you have not slept well?"

"Oh, pa!" cried Jessie, reproachfully, "how could you expect her to sleep well when you know that Mr Rayton is coming this morning to say 'good-bye'?"

Mr Arbuthnot's questioning voice was drowned in Miss Heaton's reproving, "Jessie, that is not the way to speak!" and Cicely's angry, "Jessie, how pert you are! I have a headache," she went on, addressing herself to her father, who, in the silence that ensued, asked again, "When is Mr Rayton coming?"

"This morning, father. He sent message by Jessie that he was leaving town this afternoon, and that he would look in about twelve o'clock, on the chance of seeing us, to say 'good-bye." "

Her lips quivered a little as she spoke; but the