ABBEYCHURCH;

OR

SELF-CONTROL AND SELF-CONCEIT, BY

CHARLOTTE M. YONGE

THE AUTHOR OF THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE. 

Second Edition

The Original Printed Text of this work is in the possession of TheCharlotte M Yonge Fellowship. 

'Never think yourself safe because you do your duty in ninety-ninepoints; it is the hundredth which is to be the ground of yourself-denial, which must evidence, or rather instance and realize, yourfaith. '

 Newman's Sermons

PREFACE. 

Rechauffes are proverbially dangerous, but everyone runs into themsooner or later, and the world has done me the kindness so often toinquire after my first crude attempt, that after it has lain for manyyears 'out of print, ' I have ventured to launch it oncemore--imperfections and all--though it is guilty of the error ofpointing rather to a transient phase of difficulty than to a generalprinciple. The wheels of this world go so quickly round, that I havelived to see that it would have been wiser in the clergyman to havedirected rather than obstructed the so-called 'march of intellect. ' Ihave lived also to be somewhat ashamed of the exuberant outpouring ofhistorical allusions, which, however, were perfectly natural among theset of girls from whom my experience was taken: but these defects, aswell as the more serious one of tyrannical aversion to vulgarity, aretoo inherent in this tale to be removed, and the real lesson intendedto be conveyed, of obedience and sincerity, of course remains unchanged. 

The later story was a rather hasty attempt to parody the modernsensation novel, as Northanger Abbey did the Radclyffe school, but itmakes the mistake of having too real a mystery. However, such as theyare, the two stories go forth in company, trusting that they may notprove too utterly wearisome to be brought forward this second time. 

 May 9th, 1872. 

ABBEYCHURCH

OR

SELF-CONTROL AND SELF-CONCEIT. 

CHAPTER I. 

One summer afternoon, Helen Woodbourne returned from her daily walkwith her sisters, and immediately repaired to the school-room, in orderto put the finishing touches to a drawing, with which she had beenengaged during the greater part of the morning. She had not been longestablished there, before her sister Katherine came in, and, taking herfavourite station, leaning against the window shutter so as to commanda good view of the street, she began, 'Helen, do you know that theConsecration is to be on Thursday the twenty-eighth, instead of theTuesday after?'

'I know Lizzie wished that it could be so, ' said Helen, 'because thetwenty-eighth is St. Augustine's day; but I thought that the Bishop hadappointed Tuesday. '

'But Papa wrote to him, and he has altered the day as Papa wished; Iheard Mamma and Mr. Somerville talking about it just now when I wentinto the drawing-room, ' answered Katherine. 

'Will everything be ready in time?' said Helen. 

'Dear me!' cried Katherine, 'I wonder if it will. What is to be doneif that tiresome Miss Dighten does not send home our dresses in time?We must go and hurry her to-morrow. And I must get Mamma to go toBaysmouth this week to get our ribbons. I looked over all Mr. Green'son Monday, and he has not one bit of pink satin ribbon wide enough, orfit to be seen. '

'Oh! but I meant the things in the church--the cushions and the carvingon the Font, ' said Helen. 

'Oh dear! yes, the Font is very nearly done, we saw to-day, you know;and as to the cushions, Mrs. Webbe may have Sarah to help her, and thenthey will certainly be finished. I wonder whether there will be anyfun!' said Katherine. 

'Is a Consecration an occasion for fun?' asked Helen very gravely. 

'Why, no, I do not exactly mean that, ' replied Katherine, 'but therewill be a great many people, and the Mertons staying here, and Rupertis always so full of fun. '

'Hm--m, ' said Helen, 'I do not suppose he will be come back fromScotland. '

'And Mrs. Turner says, ' continued Katherine, 'that of course as theBishop is coming to luncheon after Church, Mamma must give an elegantdejeuner a la fourchette to everybody. Next time I go to St. Martin'sStreet, Mrs. Turner is going to give me a receipt for makingblanc-manger with some cheap stuff which looks quite as well asisinglass. It is made on chemical principles, she says, for she heardit all explained at the Mechanics' Institute. And Aunt Anne will besure to bring us some of their grand fruit from Merton Hall. What aset-out it will be! The old Vicarage will not know itself; howdelightful it will be!'

'So you think the happiness of the Consecration day depends upon theparty and the luncheon, ' said Helen. 

'No, no, of course I do not, ' said Katherine; 'but we must think aboutthat too, or we should not do what is proper. '

'Someone must, ' said Helen, 'but it is happy for us that we are notcalled upon to do so yet. '

'Why, we must help Mamma, ' said Katherine; 'I am sure that is our duty. '

'Certainly, ' said Helen; 'but we need not dwell upon such thoughts forour own pleasure. '

'No, I do not, I am sure, ' said Katherine; 'I do not care about thegrand dejeuner, I am sure I think a great deal more about the Churchand the Bishop--I wonder whether he will come by the railroad. '

At this moment, the door was thrown back hastily, and Elizabeth, theelder sister of Katherine and Helen, darted in, looking full ofindignation, which she only wanted to pour forth, without much caringwhether it was listened to with sympathy or not. 

'So have you heard, ' she began, 'these Hazlebys are coming. Did youever hear of such a nuisance? Anything so preposterous? Mrs. Hazlebyat a Consecration--I should as soon think of asking Gillespie Grumach. '

'It is for the Major's sake, of course, ' said Helen; 'he will like tocome. '

'Ay, but he is not coming, he cannot get leave, ' said Elizabeth; 'if hewas, I should not mind it so much, but it is only Mrs. Hazleby and thegirls, for she has the grace to bring Lucy, on Mamma's specialinvitation. But only think of Mrs. Hazleby, scolding and snapping forever; and Harriet, with her finery and folly and vulgarity. And thatat a time which ought to be full of peace, and glorious feelings. Oh!they will spoil all the pleasure!'

'All?' said Helen. 

'All that they can touch, all that depends upon sympathy, ' saidElizabeth. 

'Well, but I do not see--' said Katherine. 

'No, no, ' said Elizabeth, 'we all know that you will be happy enough, with your beloved Harriet. How frivolous and silly you will be, by theend of the first evening she has been here!'

'I am sure I think Harriet is very silly indeed, ' said Katherine; 'Icannot bear her vulgar ways, bouncing about as she does, and such dressI never did see. Last time she was here, she had a great largeartificial rose upon her bonnet; I wonder what Papa would say if he sawme in such a thing!'

'Pray keep the same opinion of her all the time she is here, Kate, 'said Elizabeth; 'but I know you too well to trust you. I only knowthey will keep me in a perpetual state of irritation all the time, andI hope that will not quite spoil my mind for the Service. '

'How can you talk of Mamma's relations in that way, Lizzie?' said Helen. 

'I do not care whose relations they are, ' said Elizabeth; 'if peoplewill be disagreeable, I must say so. '

'Mrs. Staunton used to say, ' replied Helen, 'that people always oughtto keep up their connexion with their relations, whether they like themor not. There were some very stupid people, relations of Mr. Staunton's, near Dykelands, whom Fanny and Jane could not endure, butshe used to ask them to dinner very often, and always made a point--'

'Well, if I had any disagreeable relations, ' said Elizabeth, 'I wouldmake a point of cutting them. I do not see why relations have a rightto be disagreeable. '

'I do not see how you could, ' said Helen. 'For instance, would youprevent Mamma from ever seeing the Major, her own brother?'

'He cannot be half so well worth seeing since he chose to marry such ahorrid wife, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Would you never see Horace again, if he did such a thing?' saidKatherine; 'I am sure I would not give him up. Would you?'

'I could trust Horace, I think, ' said Elizabeth; 'I will give him fairwarning, and I give you and Helen warning, that if you marry odiouspeople, I will have done with you. '

'When I was at Dykelands, ' said Helen, 'everybody was talking about aman who had married--'

'Never mind Dykelands now, Helen, ' said Elizabeth, 'and do put downyour pencil. That drawing was tolerable before luncheon, but you havebeen making your tree more like Mr. Dillon's Sunday periwig, everyminute since I have been here. And such a shadow! But do not stop tomend it. You will not do any good now, and here is some better work. Mamma wants us to help to finish the cushions. We must do something toearn the pleasure of having St. Austin's Church consecrated on St. Austin's day. '

'What, do you mean that I am to work on that hard velvet?' said Helen, who was a little mortified by the unsparing criticism on her drawing. 

'Yes, I undertook that we three should make up the two cushions for thedesk and eagle; Mrs. Webbe's hands are full of business already, butshe has explained it all to me, and Kate will understand it better thanI can. '

'I thought Sarah Webbe was to help, ' said Helen. 

'She is doing the carpet, ' said Elizabeth. 'Oh! if you look solamentable about it, Helen, we do not want your help. Dora will sewthe seams very nicely, and enjoy the work too. I thought you might beglad to turn your handiwork to some account. '

'Really, Lizzie, ' said Helen, 'I shall be very glad to be useful, ifyou want me. What shall I do?'

This was said in no gracious tone, and Elizabeth would not accept suchan offer of assistance. 'No, no; never mind, ' said she, putting askein of crimson sewing-silk over Katherine's outstretched hands, andstanding with her back to Helen, who took up her pencil again insilence, and made her black shadows much darker. 

Elizabeth, who had not been of the walking party, and had thus heard ofall the arrangements which had been made that afternoon, went ontalking to Katherine. 'As soon as Church is over, the Bishop is comingto luncheon here, and then to settle some business with Papa; then isto be the school-children's feast--in the quadrangle, of course. Oh, how delightful that will be! And Mamma and I have been settling thatwe will have a little table for the smallest creatures, because theelder sisters get no time to eat if they are attending to them, and ifthe little ones are all together, everyone will come and help them. '

'The old women in the Alms-houses will, ' said Katherine. 

'Yes; and Dora will manage that nicely too, the table will not be toohigh for her to reach, and she will be very happy to be able to wait onher little class. And they are to have tea and cake, instead ofdinner, for we do not want to have more cooking than can be helped, that people may not be prevented from going to church, and the childrenwill be thirsty after being in church all the morning. '

'But we have a dinner-party, do not we?' said Katherine. 

'Yes, but our youth and innocence will save us from being much plaguedby it, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Oh! I thought you and Anne at least would dine with the company, 'said Katherine. 

'So Mamma thought, ' said Elizabeth; 'but then she recollected that ifwe did, and not Harriet, Mrs. Hazleby would be mortally offended; andwhen we came to reckon, it appeared that there would be thirteenwithout us, and then Papa and I persuaded her, that it would be muchless uncivil to leave out all the Misses, than to take one and leavethe rest. You know Anne and I are both under seventeen yet, so thatnobody will expect to see us. '

'Only thirteen people?' said Katherine; 'I thought the Bishop was todine and sleep here. '

'Oh no, that was settled long ago; Papa found he had engaged to go toMarlowe Court, ' said Elizabeth, 'and so there was room for theHazlebys; I hoped he would have guarded us from them. '

'But will there be room?' said Katherine; 'I cannot fancy it. '

'Oh! half the rooms can be made Knight's Templar's horses and carrydouble, ' said Elizabeth; 'Mrs. Hazleby and both the girls may very wellbe in the blue room. '

'And there is the best room for the Mertons, and Horace's for Rupert, 'said Katherine. 

'Poor Horace! it is a shame that he, who laid the first stone, shouldnot be at the Consecration, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Well, but where is Anne to be?' said Katherine; 'if we take Dora intoour room, and Winifred goes to the nursery, there is their room; butAunt Anne's maid must have that. '

'Anne shall come to my room--if Aunt Anne will let her, that is tosay, ' said Elizabeth; 'I wonder I never thought of that before, it willcounteract some of the horrors of the Hazlebys. I shall have thecomfort of talking things over with the only person who knows what tofeel. Yes, I will go and speak to Mamma, and shew her that it is theonly way of lodging the world conveniently. Oh, how happy we shall be!'

As soon as Elizabeth had finished winding her skein, she hastened toMrs. Woodbourne, and found no great difficulty in gaining her consentto the plan; and she then sat down to write to Miss Merton to informher of the change of day, and invite her to share her room. 

Elizabeth Woodbourne and Anne Merton were first cousins, and nearly ofthe same age. They had spent much of their time together in theirchildhood, and their early attachment to each other, strengthening asthey grew older, was now becoming something more than girlishaffection. Anne was an only daughter; and Elizabeth, though the eldestof a large family, had not hitherto found any of her sisters able toenter into her feelings as fully as her cousin; and perhaps there wasno one who had so just an appreciation of Elizabeth's character asAnne; who, though hers was of a very different order, had perhaps moreinfluence over her mind than anyone excepting Mr. Woodbourne. 

Sir Edward Merton was brother to Mr. Woodbourne's first wife, themother of Elizabeth, Katherine, and Helen; he had been Mr. Woodbourne'sprincipal assistant in the erection of the new church, and indeed hadadded all the decorations which the Vicar's limited means, aided by asubscription, could not achieve; and his wife and daughter had takennearly as much interest in its progress as the ardent Elizabethherself. Anne eagerly read Elizabeth's note to her mother, and waitedher consent to the scheme which it proposed. 

'Well, Mamma, ' said Anne, 'can you consent to this arrangement, or areyou afraid that Lizzie and I should chatter all night?'

'I hope you have outgrown your old habits of gossipping and idling, 'said Lady Merton; 'I believe I may trust you; and it may beinconvenient to Mrs. Woodbourne to find room for you elsewhere. '

'I am very much obliged to you, Mamma, ' said Anne, at first gravely, then laughing, 'I mean that I shall enjoy it very much. But pray, Mamma, do not trust too much to our age and experience, for I do notknow anything more difficult than to stop short in a delightful talk, only just for the sake of going to sleep. '

'Yes, it requires some self-control, ' said Lady Merton. 

'Self-control!' repeated Anne. 'Mamma, I am sure that "Patientcautious self-control is wisdom's root, " must be your motto, for youare sure to tell me of it on every occasion. '

'I hope you are not tired of it, Anne, ' said Lady Merton, 'for mostprobably I shall often tell you of it again. '

'Oh yes, I hope you will, ' said Anne; 'there will be more need of itthan ever, in this visit to Abbeychurch. '

'Yes, ' said Lady Merton, 'you live so quietly here, excepting whenRupert is at home, that you must take care that all the excitement andpleasure there does not make you wild. '

'Indeed I must, ' said Anne; 'I cannot fancy enjoying anything much morethan the Consecration of a church for which Papa has done so much, andgoing with Lizzie, and meeting Rupert. Really, Mamma, it is luckythere is that one drawback, to keep it from seeming too pleasantbeforehand. '

'You mean the Hazelbys, ' said her mother. 

'Yes, Mamma, ' replied Anne; 'I am rather surprised to hear that theyare to be there. I should not think that a vulgar-minded Scotchwoman, such as Lizzie describes Mrs. Hazleby, would take much delight in aConsecration; but I suppose Uncle Woodbourne could not well avoidasking them on such an occasion, I believe she is rather touchy. '

'You must take care what you say to Lizzie about the Hazlebys, ' saidLady Merton; 'a very little might make it appear that we wished to sether against her step-mother's relations. '

'Oh! that would never do, ' said Anne, 'but I am afraid it will be verydifficult to keep from shewing what we think, if Mrs. Hazleby is allthat Lizzie says. '

'Your Papa was pleased with what he saw of Major Hazleby last year, 'said Lady Merton. 

'Oh yes, Lizzie likes him very much, ' said Anne; 'it is the lady ofwhom she has such a horror. '

'I should fancy, ' said Lady Merton, 'that Mrs. Woodbourne's horror ofher was almost equal to Lizzie's. '

'Kind gentle Aunt Mildred, ' said Anne, 'do you think she ever had ahorror of anyone?'

'It is certainly rather a strong word, ' said Lady Merton, 'but you willallow me to say that she has a great dread of her; I think Mrs. Hazlebyscolds and frightens her. '

'What a fury she must be, ' said Anne, laughing, 'to be able to scoldand frighten such a gentle Desdomona as Mrs. Woodbourne. '

'Do not say too much on that subject, ' said Lady Merton, 'or we shallbe forced to call your beloved Lizzie a fury. '

'O Mamma!' cried Anne, 'you cannot say that she is impetuous andviolent now. She used, I allow, to be rather overbearing to Mrs. Woodbourne; but that was before she was old enough fully to feel andlove her gentleness. Then she did take advantage of it, and argue, anddispute, but now--'

'She has her own way without disputing, ' said Lady Merton. 

'O Mamma, do you think so?' said Anne, as if she thought it a terribleaccusation. 'Yes, I really think that she has, but then her way isgenerally right. '

'Yes, ' said Lady Merton, 'she is in some respects more fit to governherself than most girls of sixteen. Her good sense will keep her fromgoing very far wrong. '

'Very far, Mamma?' repeated Anne. 

'Yes, for such an excitable impetuous creature is not likely to escapegoing wrong, without steady control from herself or from someone else, 'said Lady Merton. 

'But I can hardly imagine Lizzie's actually doing wrong, ' said Anne;'we were certainly both naughty children, but I think the worst we did, was rather what makes nurses scold, than what would seriously displeaseyou or Papa. '

'Oh! she was always an upright, noble-spirited child, ' said Lady Merton. 

'And now, ' continued Anne, 'when she is much interested in anything, when her brilliant dark eyes are lighted up, and her beautiful smile ison her lips, and her whole face is full of brightness, and she looksslight and airy enough to be a spirit, and when she is talking aboutsome things--I could fancy her some higher kind of creature. '

Lady Merton smiled. 'I think I know what you mean, ' said she; 'I usedto feel something of the kind with her mother. '

'What a wonderful person Aunt Katherine must have been!' cried Anne. She paused, and presently added, 'Mamma, I do not know whether I oughtto say so, but much as I like Mrs. Woodbourne, I do rather wonder thatUncle Woodbourne married again. '

'So did your Papa and I, ' said Lady Merton; 'but you must excuse him, when you think of his three little girls, Elizabeth especially, requiring such anxious care of body and mind. '

'But you do not think Mrs. Woodbourne could manage Lizzie?' said Anne. 

'No, ' said Lady Merton, 'she could not manage her in the least, but hermild influence has, I think, been of great service to her. Lizzie hascertainly grown more gentle of late, and I think it is fromconsideration for her and the little children. '

'And I suppose, ' said Anne, 'that Mrs. Woodbourne has done as much forKate as anyone could. '

'Not quite, ' said Lady Merton; 'I think your Aunt Katherine would havemade her a little less trifling and silly. '

'But no one could ever have made her like Lizzie, ' said Aune. 

'No, but I think she might have been rather more than a meregood-natured gossip, ' said Lady Merton. 

'It is curious to see how much difference expression makes in those twosisters, ' said Anne; 'their features are so much alike, that strangersnever know them apart; the only difference between them, that I couldmention, is that Lizzie is the most delicate looking; yet howexceedingly unlike they are to each other!'

'Yes, ' said Lady Merton; 'though Lizzie's whole countenance and air isalmost exactly her mother's, yet there is nothing about Kate but hervoice, which they have in common, that reminds me of her. '

'Helen is very unlike the others in everything, ' said Anne. 

'Helen will be the handsomest as far as regularity of features goes, 'said Lady Merton. 

'Do you think so?' said Anne. 

'Certainly, ' said Lady Merton; 'her features are less prominent, andher colour has not that fixed hectic look that both the others have, especially Lizzie. '

'But she wants brightness and animation, ' said Anne, 'and she so oftenlooks dismal and fretful, that I cannot fancy admiring her. '

'There has never been much sympathy between you and Helen, ' said LadyMerton, smiling. 

'No, ' said Anne, 'I never felt as if I knew or liked her. I believeRupert and I were very unkind to her in our younger days; but, oh! shewas the most tiresome whining child I ever knew. '

'I believe that, though she was too young to know it, ' said LadyMerton, 'poor little Helen suffered more from your aunt's death thaneither of her sisters. '

'How so, Mamma?' said Anne, looking rather alarmed. 

'She was a very delicate baby, requiring a great deal of care, ' saidLady Merton; 'indeed, we have always thought that your aunt laid thefoundation of her illness, by sitting up with her while she was cuttingher large teeth, and during your aunt's illness, it was painful to seehow the poor child missed her. And after her mother died, though Helenhad grown strong and healthy, old Margaret still made her the pet; anduncertain nursery treatment, without her mother's firm kindness, wasnot the best cure for such a temper as hers. '

'Yes, ' said Anne, 'I remember she was always called Baby, and allowedto have her own way, till she was six years old, when Horace was born. How very ill-natured I must have been to her, and how cruel it reallywas of me. But I wonder my uncle did not prevent Margaret fromspoiling her. '

'My dear, a man with a parish of fifteen hundred inhabitants, cannotwatch his own nursery very minutely, ' said Lady Merton; 'he taughtElizabeth admirably, and that was all that could be expected of him. Besides, with all his perfections, managing little girls is not what heis best fitted for. '

Anne laughed. 'No, he is too grave and cold; I am rather afraid of himstill, I do not think he has any toleration for nonsense; but of coursehe must be different with his own children. And how do you think Mrs. Woodbourne trained Helen?'

'I can hardly tell, ' said Lady Merton; 'I used to admire her patienceand sweetness of temper, when Helen's fretfulness was most wearisome;at the same time that I thought it might have been better for the childto speak sharply to her, and punish her if she did not leave offwhining directly. I believe I should have done so, though I do notknow that it would have been the best way, or in accordance with whatyou call my motto. '

'Well, ' said Anne, 'if Dykelands has done such wonders for Helen, asthey say, I hope I shall make friends with her, if she will let me, which I do not think I deserve after my ill-usage of her. Last time Isaw her, it was but for two days, and she was so odd, and grave, andshy, that I could not get on with her, besides that I wanted to makethe most of my time with Lizzie. '

'I hope Rupert will not teaze her as he used to do, ' said Lady Merton;'last time she was here, his teazing and her whining were nearlyunbearable. '

'Oh! she must have outgrown whining, ' said Anne. 

'I am afraid you cannot promise me that he has outgrown teazing, ' saidLady Merton. 

'The one depends upon the other, ' said Anne; 'if she does not whine, hewill not teaze. But had I not better finish my letter to him, and tellhim he must shorten his stay on the Border?'

'Yes, do so, ' said Lady Merton; 'and tell him not to lose his keys asusual. '

'I suppose they are gone by this time, ' said Anne, as Lady Merton leftthe room, and she sat down to her desk to write to her brother. 

CHAPTER II. 

Abbeychurch St. Mary's was a respectable old town, situated at the footof St. Austin's Hill, a large green mound of chalk, named from anestablishment of Augustine Friars, whose monastery (now converted intoalms-houses) and noble old church were the pride of the county. Abbeychurch had been a quiet dull place, scarcely more than a largevillage, until the days of railroads, when the sober inhabitants, andespecially the Vicar and his family, were startled by the news that theline of the new Baysmouth railway was marked out so as to pass exactlythrough the centre of the court round which the alms-houses were built. Happily, however, the difficulty of gaining possession of the propertyrequired for this course, proved too great even for the railwaycompany, and they changed the line, cutting their way through theopposite side of St. Austin's Hill, and spoiling three or fourwater-meadows by the river. Soon after the completion of this work, the town was further improved, by the erection of various rows of smarthouses, which arose on the slope of the hill, once the airy and healthyplay-place of the rising generation of Abbeychurch, and the best spotfor flying kites in all the neighbourhood. London tradesmen weretempted to retire to 'the beautiful and venerable town of Abbeychurch;'the houses were quickly filled, one street after another was built, till the population of the town was more than doubled. A deficiency inchurch accommodation was soon felt, for the old church had before beenbut just sufficient for the inhabitants. Various proposals weremade--to fill up the arches with galleries, and to choke the centreaisle with narrow pews; but all were equally distasteful to Mr. Woodbourne, who, placing some benches in the aisle for the temporaryaccommodation of his new parishioners, made every effort to raise fundsto build and endow an additional church. He succeeded, as we haveheard; and it was the tall white spire of the now Church of St. Austin's, which greeted Anne Merton's delighted eyes, as on the 27th ofAugust, she, with her father and mother, came to the top of a longhill, about five miles from Abbeychurch. What that sight was to her, only those who have shared in the joys of church-building can know. She had many a time built the church in her fancy; she knew fromdrawing and description nearly every window, every buttress, everycornice; she had heard by letter of every step in the progress of thebuilding; but now, that narrow white point, in the greyish green of thedistance, shewed her, for the first time, what really was the work ofher father--yes, of her father, for without him that spire would neverhave been there; with the best intentions, Mr. Woodbourne could nothave accomplished more than a solid well-proportioned building, withcapabilities of embellishment. It was not till they had nearly reachedthe town, that her thoughts turned to the pleasure of seeing hercousins, or even of meeting her brother, whom she expected to find atthe Vicarage, on his return from Scotland, where he had been spendingthe last six weeks. 

In this anticipation, however, she was disappointed; he was not amongthe group who stood in the hall, eager to greet the travellers, and notidings had been heard of him. After talking over the chances of hisarriving in the course of the evening, Sir Edward went with Mr. Woodbourne to see the new church, and the ladies were conducted totheir apartments; Mrs. Woodbourne making apologies to Anne for lodgingher with Elizabeth, and Anne laughingly declaring that she enjoyedElizabeth's company much more than solitary grandeur. The two cousinswere followed by the whole tribe of children, flaxen-haired andblue-eyed little sprites, the younger of whom capered round Anne inhigh glee, though with a little shyness, sometimes looking upon her asa stranger, sometimes recollecting former frolics, till Elizabethdeclared that it was time to dress; and Dorothea, the eldest, a quietand considerate little maiden of seven years old, carried off Winifredand Edward to their own domains in the nursery. 

Elizabeth's room had been set to rights for the accommodation of thevisitor, so that it suited most people's ideas of comfort better justthen, than in its usual state. A number of books and papers had beencleared from the table, to leave it free for Anne's toilette apparatus, and a heap of school girls' frocks and tippets, which had originallybeen piled up on two chairs, but, daily increasing in number, had growntop-heavy, fallen down and encumbered the floor, had that morning beengiven away, so that there was at least room to sit down. Elizabeth'sdesk and painting box were banished to the top of her chest-of-drawers, where her looking-glass stood in a dark corner, being by no meansinteresting to her. Near the window was her book-case, tolerably wellsupplied with works both English and foreign, and its lower shelfcontaining a double row of brown-paper covered volumes, andmany-coloured and much soiled little books, belonging to the lendinglibrary. The walls were hung with Elizabeth's own works, for the mostpart more useful than ornamental. There were genealogical andchronological charts of Kings and Kaisars, comparisons of historicalcharacters, tables of Christian names and their derivations, botanicallists, maps, and drawings--all in such confusion, that once, when Helenattempted to find the Pope contemporary with Edward the First, sheasked Elizabeth why she had written the Pope down as Leo NonusCardinal, on which she was informed, with a sufficient quantity oflaughter, that the word in question was the name of a flower, LeonurusCardiaca, looking like anything but what it was intended for inElizabeth's writing, and that Pope Martin the Fourth was to be found onthe other side of the Kings of France and Spain, and the portrait ofCharles the First. The chimney-piece was generally used as a place ofrefuge for all small things which were in danger of being thrown awayif left loose on the table; but, often forgotten in their asylum, hadaccumulated and formed a strange medley, which its mistress jealouslydefended from all attacks of housemaids. In the middle stood a plastercast of the statue of the Maid of Orleans, a present from her littlebrother Horace; above it hung a small Geneva watch, which had belongedto Elizabeth's own mother; and there were besides a few treasures ofHorace's, too tender to be trusted in the nursery in his absence atschool. 

The window looked out upon the empty solitary street of the old town, and though little was to be seen from it which could interest the twogirls, yet after the little ones were gone, they stood there talkingfor some minutes; Elizabeth inquiring after half the people aboutMerton Hall, a place which she knew almost as well as her own home. 

'When does Mrs. Hazleby come?' said Anne, beginning to dress. 

'Oh! do not ask me, ' said Elizabeth, 'I do not know, and hardly care;quite late, I hope and trust. '

'But, Lizzie, ' asked Anne, 'what have these unfortunate Hazlebys doneto offend you?'

'Done!' answered Elizabeth, 'oh! a thousand things, all too small to bedescribed, but together they amount to a considerable sum, I can tellyou. There has been a natural antipathy, an instinctive dislike, between Mrs. Major Hazleby and me, ever since she paid her first visithere, and, seeing me listening to something she was saying to Mamma, she turned round upon me with that odious proverb, "Little pitchershave long ears. "'

'Perhaps she meant it as a compliment, ' said Anne; 'you know, Mary ofScotland says, that "Sovereigns ought to have long ears. "'

'I suppose her son was of the same opinion, ' said Elizabeth, 'when hebuilt his famous lug. As to Mrs. Hazleby, she is never happy but whenshe is finding fault with someone. It will make you sick to hear herscolding and patronizing poor Mamma. '

'She has been in India, has she not?' said Anne, in order to avoidanswering. 

'Yes, ' replied Elizabeth, 'she married the poor Major there, and theeldest son was born there. I often think I should like to ask old Mrs. Hazleby how she felt on her first meeting with her fairdaughter-in-law. They were safe in Ireland when Papa married, and didnot burst upon us in full perfection till Horace's christening, whenthe aforesaid little pitcher speech was made. '

'And her daughters?' said Anne, 'I never heard you mention them. '

'Lucy is a nice quiet girl, and a great ally of Helen's, unless she hascast her off for her new friends at Dykelands, ' said Elizabeth; 'she israther creep-mouse, but has no _other_ fault that I know of. She islike her father's family, something like Mamma. But as for Harriet, the eldest, and her mother's darling, you will soon be sensible of someof her charms. I only hope she will not teaze the children intonaughtiness, as she did last year. I do not know what would be done ifHorace was at home. One day he had a regular battle with her. Itbegan of course in fun on both sides, but he soon grew angry, and atlast tore her frock and trod pretty hard on her foot. I could not besorry for her, she deserved it so completely; but then poor Horace hadto be punished. And another time, she shut Dora up in a dark room, andreally it did the poor little girl a great deal of harm; she could notsleep quietly for three nights after. Dora is old enough to take careof herself now; and Edward is quieter than Horace, which is a greatcomfort; but, oh! I wish the Hazlebys were forty miles off!'

'Now, Lizzie, ' said Anne, 'is it not a very strange thing to hear youtalk in this manner?--you, the most good-natured person in the world!'

'Thank you, ' said Elizabeth; 'that is as much as to say that I am thegreatest goose in the world. '

'And you had rather be a goose than ill-natured, ' said Anne. 

'It does not follow that I should be a goose for want of ill-nature, 'said Elizabeth. 

'But you say that to be good-natured is to be a goose, ' said Anne. 

'Yes; but good-nature is too poor a thing to be the reverse ofill-nature, ' said Elizabeth, 'it is only a negative quality. '

'I thought good-natured people were those who never used the negative, 'said Anne, laughing. 

'Do not pun in the middle of a serious argument, Miss Anne, ' saidElizabeth, putting on a solemn face. 

'Well, I will be quite as grave as the occasion requires, ' said Anne. 'I believe I ought to have used the word kindness, as that is as activein good as ill-nature in evil. But pray, Lizzie, do not let us getinto any of these abstruse metaphysical discussions, or we shall arriveat conclusions as wise as when we reasoned ourselves into saying, nineyears ago, that it was better to be naughty than good, because goodpeople in books were always stupid. '

'Idle as we were, ' said Elizabeth, smiling, 'I do not think that weever intended to act on that maxim. But really, Anne, I do believethat if you had been a prim pattern of perfection, a real good littlegirl, a true Miss Jenny Meek, who never put her foot in a puddle, nevertore her frock, never spoke above her breath, and never laughed louderthan a sucking dove, I should never have cared two straws for you. '

'I think little Dora might convince you that goodness and stupidityneed not always be united, ' said Anne, after a short pause. 

'Demure Dolly, as Horace calls her, ' said Elizabeth, 'yes, she is avery choice specimen; but, sweet little thing as she is, she would notbe half so good a subject for a story as our high-spirited Horace andwild Winifred. Dora is like peaceful times in history--very pleasantto have to do with, but not so entertaining to read about. '

'Poor Dora, I thought she looked disconsolate as well as demure, without Horace, ' said Anne. 

'She has been very forlorn, poor child, ' said Elizabeth; 'there wasquite a beautiful chivalrous friendship between the brother and sister, he delighting in her gentleness, and she in his high daring spirit. Edward and Winifred are scarcely companions to her yet, so that she isforced to turn to us and be one of the elders. '

'You think Horace is happy at Sandleford, ' said Anne; 'I should hope hewould be; Rupert always looks back to his days there with a great dealof pleasure. '

'I hope Horace's teeth will not meet with the same disaster asRupert's, ' said Elizabeth, 'he has not quite so much beauty to spare;but he really is a very fine looking boy, and just the bold merryfellow to get on well at school, so that he is quite happy now that hehas recovered the leaving home. But I am afraid my classical lore willdie of his departure, for my newly acquired knowledge of Virgil and theGreek declensions will not be of use to Edward these three years. Heis only just conquering "Lapis, lapidis. "'

'But you can go on with Latin and Greek, alone, as you did with German, cannot you?' said Anne. 

'I do sometimes construe a little Virgil, ' said Elizabeth; 'but Horaceis his natural contemporary, and he is not happy without him. Besides, when I have nothing to oblige me to learn regularly, I do not know whento do it, so Dido has been waiting an unconscionable time upon herfuneral pile; for who could think of Jupiter and Venus in the midst ofall our preparations for the Consecration?'

'I am glad Helen came home in time for it, ' said Anne. 

'I began to think we should never see her more, ' said Elizabeth; 'therewas no gentleman at Dykelands to escort her, and Papa was too busy tofetch her, till at last, Captain Atherley, Mrs. Staunton's brother, took pity upon her, or rather on us, and brought her home. '

'Captain Atherley is the only one of the family whom I have ever seen, 'said Anne; 'I have always wished to know something more of them, theywere all such friends of Papa's and Mamma's and Aunt Katherine's. '

'If you wish to hear anything of Mrs. Staunton and her daughters, ' saidElizabeth, 'you have only to ask Helen; you will open the flood-gatesof a stream, which has overwhelmed us all, ever since she came home. '

'Then I hope Helen likes them as well as they seem to like her, ' saidAnne; 'Mrs. Staunton spoke very highly of her in her letter to Mamma. '

'Oh yes, ' said Elizabeth, 'they seem to have done nothing but sit withtheir mouths open, admiring her; and she really is very much improved, positively grown a reflective creature, and the most graceful as wellas the prettiest of the family. She would be almost a beau ideal of asister, if she had but a few more home feelings, or, as you say, if shedid not like the Stauntons quite so much. I wonder what you will thinkof her. Now are you ready? Let us come down. '

When the two cousins came into the drawing-room, they found the rest ofthe ladies already there. Katherine and Helen Woodbourne were busyarranging a quantity of beautiful flowers, which had been brought fromMerton Hall, to decorate the Vicarage on this occasion. Mrs. Woodbournewas sitting at her favourite little work-table, engaged, as usual, withher delicate Berlin embroidery. A few of the choicest of the flowershad been instantly chosen out for her, and were placed on her table ina slender coloured glass, which she held up to Elizabeth as she enteredthe room. 

'Oh, how beautiful!' cried Elizabeth, advancing to the table, which wasstrewn with a profusion of flowers. 'What delightful heliotrope andgeranium! Oh, Anne! how could you tear off such a branch of Capejessamine? that must have been your handiwork, you ruthless one. '

'Anne has been more kind to us than to her greenhouse, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne; 'I am afraid she has displeased Mr. Jenkins; but I hope theplants are not seriously damaged. '

'Oh no, indeed, ' said Anne, 'you should see the plants before you pitythem, Aunt Mildred; we never let Mr. Jenkins scold us for helpingourselves or our friends out of our own garden, for making a greatglorious nosegay is a pleasure which I do not know how to forego. '

'Do you call this a nosegay?' said Elizabeth, 'I call it a forest offlowers. Really, a Consecration opens people's hearts;--I do not meanthat yours is not open enough on ordinary occasions, Aunt Anne; butwhen the children took their walk in the alms-house court this morning, they were loaded with flowers from all quarters, beginning with old Mr. Dillon offering Winifred his best variegated dahlia, by name Dod'sMary. '

'Mr. Dillon!' exclaimed Katherine; 'I thought he never gave away hisflowers on any account. '

'I know, ' said Elizabeth; 'but I have also heard him say that he couldnot refuse little Miss Winifred if she asked him for the very houseover his head. '

'Did she ask him for the dahlia?' said Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'No, ' said Elizabeth, 'it was a free offer on his part. Dora thediscreet tried to make her refuse it, but the dahlia had been gatheredlong before Winifred could make up her mind to say no; and when thelittle things came in this morning they looked like walking garlands. Did you see the noble flower-pot in the hall?'

'You must go and look at the fruit which Lady Merton has been so kindas to bring us, Lizzie, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne; 'you never saw such finegrapes and pines. '

'I hear you have undertaken that part of the arrangement, youngladies, ' said Lady Merton. 

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth; 'but I am afraid we do not know much about thematter. '

'I am sure I cannot tell what I should do if you did not undertake it, my dears, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'Do not begin thanking us till we have done the deed, Mamma, ' saidElizabeth; 'it may turn out a great deal worse than if we had left itto the unassisted taste of the maids. '

The four girls continued to arrange the flowers: Elizabeth, inquiringafter many of the plants at Merton Hall; Anne, telling how the myrtlewas prospering, how well the geraniums had flowered, describing a newfuchsia, and triumphing in the prize which the salpiglossis had gainedfrom the Horticultural Society; Helen, comparing the flora of MertonHall with that of Dykelands; Mrs. Woodbourne, rejoicing in cuttings tobe saved from the branches gathered by Anne's unsparing hand; and LadyMerton, promising to send her seeds and young plants by Rupert, when heshould return to Oxford. 

When the forest of flowers had been dispersed in the epergne, and invarious bowls and glasses, to ornament the drawing-room, the threesisters began to collect the green leaves and pieces of stalksremaining on the table, and as they bent down to sweep them off into abasket, their heads chanced to be almost close together. 

'Why, Lizzie, ' said Lady Merton, 'where are your curls? Have you madeyourself look so very different from Kate, to prevent all futuremistakes between you? and, Helen, have you really become a Pasha of twotails?'

'Is it not very silly of Helen to wear them, Aunt Anne?' said Elizabeth. 

'Indeed, dear Aunt Anne, ' said Helen, 'my hair never will curl well, and Mrs. Staunton always said it made me look like an old woman in theway I wore it before, so what could I do but try it in the way in whichFanny and Jane wore theirs?'

'Oh! we must all bow before Dykelands, ' said Elizabeth. 

'And I have been wondering what made you look so altered, Lizzie, ' saidLady Merton, 'and now I see it is your hair being straight. I likeyour curls better. '

'Ah, so do I, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne; 'but Lizzie docs not like thetrouble of curling it. '

'No, ' said Elizabeth, 'I think it a very useless plague. It usedreally to take me two hours a day, and now I am ready directly withouttrouble or fuss. People I care about will not think the worse of mefor not looking quite so well. '

'Perhaps not, ' said Lady Merton, 'but they would think the better ofyou for a little attention to their taste. '

'They might for attention to their wishes, Aunt Anne, ' said Elizabeth, 'but hardly to their taste. Taste is such a petty nonsensical thing. '

'I shall leave you and Anne to argue about the fine distinction betweentaste and wishes, ' said Lady Merton; 'it is more in your line thanmine. '

'You mean to say that I have been talking nonsense, Aunt Anne, ' saidElizabeth. 

'I say nothing of the kind, Lizzie, ' said her aunt; 'I only say thatyou are in the habit of splitting hairs. '

Elizabeth saw that her aunt was not pleased. She went to thechimney-piece, and employed herself in making a delicate piece of ixiaget a better view of itself in the looking-glass. Presently she turnedround, saying, 'Yes, Aunt Anne, I was very wrong; I was making afoolish pretence at refinement, to defend myself. '

'I did not mean to begin scolding you the very moment I came near you, Lizzie, ' said Lady Merton. 

'Indeed I wish you would, Aunt Anne, ' said Elizabeth; 'pray scold mefrom morning till night, there is no one who wants it more. '

'My dear child, how can you say so?' cried Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'Many thanks for the agreeable employment you propose to me, Lizzie, 'said Lady Merton. 

'If Rupert docs not come to-night, I mean to undertake a little of thatagreeable employment myself, when he arrives, ' said Elizabeth, 'and tomake Anne help me. '

'I believe Rupert is so fond of being scolded, that it only makes himworse, ' said Lady Merton. 

'Here are Papa and Uncle Edward coming back at last, ' said Katherine, who was, as usual, sitting in the window. 

Mrs. Woodbourne looked greatly relieved; she had been for some time introuble for the dinner, not being able to console herself in the way inwhich Elizabeth sometimes attempted to re-assure her in suchcases--'Never mind, Mamma, the dinner is used to waiting. '

CHAPTER III. 

As soon as dinner was over, the girls proposed to walk to the newchurch, that Anne might see it at her leisure before the Consecration. The younger children were very urgent to be allowed to accompany them, but Mrs. Woodbourne would only consent to Dora's doing so, on hereldest sister's promise to return before her bed-time. 

'And, Mamma, ' said Elizabeth, as soon as this question was decided, andthe other two children had taken out their basket of bricks at theother end of the room, 'have you settled whether Edward is to go to theConsecration to-morrow?'

'I really think he is almost too young, my dear, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne;'you know it is a very long service. '

'Oh! Mamma, ' said Dora, 'he is five years old now, and he says he willbe very good, and he will be very much disappointed if he has to stayat home, now he has had his new frock and trousers; and Winifred and Iare going. '

'Really, Dora, ' said Elizabeth, 'I think he had better not go, unlesshe has some reason for wishing to do so, better than what you havementioned. '

'I believe he understands it all as well as we do, ' said Dora; 'we haveall been talking about it in the nursery, this evening, at supper:--andyou know, Mamma, he has quite left off being naughty in church. '

'Still, my dear, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne, 'I scarcely think that we cantake him; I cannot have him sitting with me, among the people whom wehave invited, and he will certainly grow tired and restless. '

'I do not think his being tired just at last will signify, ' saidElizabeth; 'he will attend at first, I am sure, and it is a thing hemust never forget all his life. I will take care of him and Winifred, and Dora can behave well without being watched. '

'Very well, my dear, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne in her plaintive voice, 'Ishall be glad for him to go, if you can undertake to keep him in order, but you must take care you do not tire yourself. You will have almosttoo much to do afterwards, and you must not let yourself be harassed byhis restlessness. '

'Oh no, Mamma, thank you, ' said Elizabeth, 'he will not fidget, and Iam not afraid of anything in the summer, and on such a great day asto-morrow. I could walk to Johnny Groat's house, and take care offifty children, if need were. '

Edward was called, examined as to his reasons for wishing to go to theConsecration, made to promise to behave well, and sent back in highglee to play with Winifred. Elizabeth and Dorothea then followed theothers up-stairs to prepare for the walk. 

'It is very strange, ' remarked Mrs. Woodbourne, as they left the room, 'that Elizabeth can manage the children so much better than anyone elsecan; they always like best to be with her, though she always makes themmind her, and Kate is much more what people would call good-natured. '

'Do you not think Lizzie good-natured?' said Lady Merton, rathersurprised. 

'Oh yes, indeed I do, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne, 'she is a mostkind-hearted creature. I really believe there is nothing she would notdo for the children or me, I do not know what would become of mewithout her: but you know her way of speaking, she does not mean anyharm; but still when people are not used to her, it vexes them; indeedI did not mean to say anything against her, she is a most excellentcreature, quite her Papa's right hand. '

'Horace grew almost too much for her to manage before he went toschool, did not he?' said Lady Merton. 

'Poor little boy!' said Mrs. Woodbourne, 'we miss him sadly, with hismerry face and droll ways. You know, he was always a veryhigh-spirited child, but Lizzie could always make him mind her in theend, and he was very obedient to his papa and me. Edward is a quietmeek boy, he has not his brother's high spirits, and I hope we shallkeep him at home longer. '

'Horace is certainly very young for a school-boy, ' said Lady Merton;'Rupert was ten years old when he went to Sandleford, but Sir Edwardafterwards regretted that he had not gone there earlier, and the littleboys are very well taken care of there. '

'Yes, Mr. Woodbourne said everything looked very comfortable, ' saidMrs. Woodbourne, sighing; 'and I suppose he must rough it some time orother, poor little fellow, so that it may be as well to begin early. '

'And he has taken a good place, ' said Lady Merton; 'Lizzie wrote inhigh glee to tell Anne of it. '

'Yes, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne, 'she had brought him on wonderfully; I amsure I wonder how she could, with only a little occasional assistancefrom her papa; but then, Horace is certainly a very clever child, andfew have Lizzie's spirits and patience, to be able to bear with alittle boy's idleness and inattention so good-humouredly. And I dobelieve she enjoyed playing with him and the others as much as thechildren themselves; I used to say it was no use to send Lizzie to keepthe children in order, she only promoted the fun and noise. '

'She is a merry creature, ' said Lady Morton, 'her spirits never seem toflag, and I think she is looking stronger than when I saw her last. '

'Indeed, I am very glad to hear you say so, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne; 'shehas seemed very well and strong all the summer, but she still has thatconstant cough, and we must always be anxious about her, I wish shewould take a little more care of herself, but she will not understandhow necessary precautions are; she goes out in all sorts of weather, and never allows that anything will give her cold; indeed, I let Dorago out with them this evening, because I knew that Lizzie would stayout of doors too long, unless she had her to make her come in for hersake. '

'How bright and well Helen looks!' said Lady Merton; 'she seems to havebeen very happy at Dykelands. '

'Very happy indeed, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne; 'I am sure we areexceedingly obliged to Mrs. Staunton for asking her. She has come backquite a different creature, and can speak of nothing but the kindnessof her friends at Dykelands. '

Here the conversation dropped for a minute or two, for Lady Mortonfound it difficult to reply. Mrs. Staunton had lived in the villagewhere Merton Hall was situated, and where both Lady Merton and hersister-in-law had spent their childhood. She had been much attached toMrs. Woodbourne, and was Helen's godmother; but having settled in adistant county, had scarcely kept up any intercourse with theWoodbourne family since her friend's death, though constantlycorresponding with Lady Merton, and occasionally writing and sendingpresents to her little god-daughter. Chancing however to come toLondon on business, she had written to Mr. Woodbourne to beg him tobring Helen to meet her there, and allow her to take her back with herinto Lincolnshire to spend some time with her and her daughters. Mr. Woodbourne, knowing that his wife had esteemed her very highly, complied after a little deliberation. Helen's visit had lasted longerthan at first proposed, and she only returned home, after an absence offive months, just in time to wish her little brother farewell, on hisdeparture for school, a few weeks before the Consecration of St. Austin's. Lady Merton would have been glad to read Mrs. Woodbourne allthe admiration of Helen, which Mrs. Staunton had poured forth to her ina letter written a short time before; but the terms in which it wasexpressed were more exaggerated than Lady Merton liked to shew to onewho was not acquainted with Mrs. Staunton, and besides, her praise ofHelen was full of comparison with her mother. 

Visiting Abbeychurch was always painful to Lady Merton, and her manner, usually rather cold, was still more constrained when she was there;for, although both she and Sir Edward had been very careful not to shewany want of cordiality towards Mr. And Mrs. Woodbourne, they could notbut feel that the Vicarage never could be to them what it once hadbeen. It was certainly quite impossible not to have an affection forits present gentle kind-hearted mistress; and Lady Merton feltexceedingly grateful to her, for having, some years ago, nursed Rupertthrough a dangerous attack of scarlet-fever, with which he had beenseized at Abbeychurch, when on his way from school, when she herselfhad been prevented by illness from coming to him; and Mrs. Woodbourne, making light of her anxiety for her own children, had done all that themost affectionate mother could have done for him, and had shewn moreenergy than almost anyone had believed her to possess, comforting SirEdward with hopes and cheerful looks, soothing the boy's waywardness, and bearing with his fretfulness in his recovery, as none but a mother, or a friend as gentle as Mrs. Woodbourne, could have done. Still, muchas she loved Mrs. Woodbourne for her own sake, Lady Merton could nothelp missing Katherine, her first play-fellow, the bright friend of heryouth, her sister-in-law; Mrs. Woodbourne, a shy timid person, manyyears younger, felt that such must be the case, and always feared thatshe was thinking that the girls would have been in better order undertheir own mother; so that the two ladies were never quite at their easewhen alone together. 

In the mean time, Elizabeth, quite unconscious that Dora was intendedto act as a clog round her neck, to keep her from straying too far, wasmounting the hill, the merriest of the merry party. 

'It is certainly an advantage to the world in general to have thechurch on a hill, ' said Anne, 'both for the poetry and beauty of thesight; but I should think that the world in particular would be glad ifthe hill were not quite so steep. '

'Oh!' said Elizabeth, 'on the side towards the new town it is fair andsoft enough to suit the laziest, it is only on our side that itresembles the mountain of fame or of happiness; and St. Austin's, asthe new town is now to be called, is all that has any concern with it. '

'I wish it was not so steep on our side, ' said Katherine; 'I do notthink I ever was so hot in all my life, as I was yesterday, when wecarried up all the cushions ourselves, and Papa sent me all the wayback to the Vicarage, only just to fetch a needle and thread for Mammato sew on a little bit of fringe. '

'Really, Kate, ' said Elizabeth, 'you might have thought yourself veryhappy to have anything to do for the Church. '

'All! it was all very well for you to say so, ' said Katherine; 'youwere sitting in the cool at home, only hearing Edward read, not toilingin the sun as I was. '

'That is not fair, Kate, ' said Helen; 'you know it is sometimes veryhard work to hear Edward read; and besides, Mamma had desired Lizzie tosit still in the house, because she had been at the church ever sincefive, helping Papa to settle the velvet on the pulpit after the peoplehad put it on wrong. '

'You would not imagine, Anne, ' said Elizabeth, 'how fearfully deficientthe world is, in common sense. Would you believe it, the workmenactually put the pulpit-cloth on with the embroidery upside-down, and Ibelieve we were five hours setting it right again. '

'Without any breakfast?' said Anne. 

'Oh! we had no time to think of breakfast till Mr. Somerville came inat ten o'clock to see what was going on, and told us how late it was, 'said Elizabeth. 

By this time, they had reached the brow of the hill, from whence theyhad a fine view of Abbeychurch, old and new. Anne observed upon thedifference between the two divisions of the town. 

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth, 'our town consists of the remains of oldrespectable England, and the beginning of the new great work-shop ofall nations, met together in tolerably close companionship. I couldalmost grudge that beautiful Gothic church to those regular red-brickuniform rows of deformity. '

'I do not think even the new church can boast of more beauty than St. Mary's, ' said Anne. 

'No, and it wants the handiwork of that best artist, old Time, ' saidElizabeth; 'it will be long before Queen Victoria's head on the corbelat the new church is of as good a colour as Queen Eleanor's at the oldone, and we never shall see anything so pretty at St. Austin's as theyellow lichen cap, and plume of spleen-wort feathers, which Edward theFirst wears. '

'How beautiful the old church tower is!' said Anne, turning round tolook at it; 'and the gable ends of your house, and the tall trees ofthe garden, with the cloistered alms-houses, have still quite amonastic air. '

'If you only look at the tower with its intersecting arches and theirzig-zag mouldings, ' said Elizabeth, 'and shut your eyes to our kitchenchimney, on which rests all the fame of the Vicar before last. '

'What can you mean?' said Anne. 

'That when anyone wishes to distinguish the Reverend Hugh Puddingtonfrom all other Vicars of Abbeychurch, his appellation is "The man thatbuilt the kitchen chimney. "'

'That being, I suppose, the only record he has left behind him, ' saidAnne. 

'The only one now existing, ' said Elizabeth, 'since Papa has made hisgreat horrid pew in the chancel into open seats. --Do not you rememberit, Kate? and how naughty you used to be, when Margaret left offsitting there with us, and there was no one to see what we wereabout--oh! and there is a great fat Patience on a monument on the wallover our heads, and a very long inscription, recording things quite asunsuitable to a clergyman. '

'I do not understand you, Lizzie, ' said Helen; 'unsuitable as what?Patience, or building chimneys, or making pews?'

'Patience is a virtue when she is not on a monument, ' said Elizabeth. 

'And neither pews nor chimneys can be unsuitable to a clergyman, ' saidlittle Dora; 'there are four pews in the new church, and Papa built achimney for the school. '

Everyone laughed, much to Dora's surprise, and somewhat to Helen's, andElizabeth was forced to explain, for Dora's edification, that what sheintended by the speech in question, was only that it was unsuitable toa clergyman to leave no record behind him, but what had been intendedto gratify his own love of luxury. 

'I am sorry I said anything about him, ' said she to Anne; 'it wasscarcely right to laugh at him, especially before Dora; I am afraid shewill never see the monument without thinking of the chimney. '

At this moment they arrived at the church, and all their attention wasbestowed upon it. It was built in the Early English style, and neitherpains nor expense had been spared. Anne, who had not been there sincethe wall had been four feet above the ground, was most eager to see it;and Elizabeth, who had watched it from day to day, was equally eager tosee whether Anne would think of everything in it as she did herself. 

As the door opened, a flood of golden light poured in upon the purewhite stone Font, while the last beams of the evening sun werestreaming through the western window, shining on the edges of thecarved oak benches, and glancing upon the golden embroidery of thecrimson velvet on the Altar, above which, the shadows on the groinedroof of the semi-octagonal chancel were rapidly darkening, and the deeptints of the five narrow lancet windows within five arches, supportedand connected by slender clustered shafts with capitals of richlycarved foliage, were full of solemn richness when contrasted with theglittering gorgeous hues of the west window. 

'Oh! Anne, ' whispered Elizabeth, as they stood together in the porch, giving a parting look before she closed the door, 'it is "all gloriouswithin, " even now; and think what it will be to-morrow!'

Nothing more was said till they had left the churchyard, when Anneexclaimed, looking wistfully towards the railroad, 'Then there is butone chance of Rupert's coming to-night. '

'When the eight o'clock train comes in, ' said Katherine; 'it is thatwhich is to bring the Hazlebys. '

'I really think, ' said Helen, 'that the gas manufactory and the unionpoor-house grow more frightful every day. I thought they looked worsethan ever when I came home, and saw the contrast with Lincolnshire. Ihope the old and new towns will long be as different as they are now. '

'I am afraid they hardly will, ' said Anne; 'the old town will soonbegin to rival the new one. You must already find new notions creepinginto it. '

'Creeping!' cried Elizabeth, 'they gallop along the railroad as fast assteam can carry them. However, we are happily a quiet dull race, anddo not take them in; we only open our eyes and stare at all the wondersround. I do not know what we may come to in time, we may be as genteelas Kate's friend, Willie Turner, says the people are in AureliaPlace--that perked-up row of houses, whose windows and doors give themsuch a comical expression of countenance, more like butterflies thanaurelias. '

'Who is Kate's friend?' asked Anne, in a wondering tone. 

'Willie Turner!' said Elizabeth; 'oh! the apothecary's daughter, Wilhelmina. You must have heard of Mr. Turner. Rupert has made astanding joke of him, ever since the scarlet-fever. '

'Oh yes!' said Anne, 'I know Mr. Turner's name very well; but I neverknew that Miss Turner was a friend of Kate's. '

'She was not, ' said Elizabeth, 'till Helen went to Dykelands, and poorKitty was quite lonely for want of someone to gossip with, and so shestruck up a most romantic friendship with Willie Turner; and really, ithas done us one most important service. --May I mention it, Kate, without betraying your confidence?'

'Nonsense, Lizzie, ' said Katherine. 

'Oh! you do not object, ' said Elizabeth; 'then be it known to you, Anne, that once upon a time, Kitty confided to me, what I forthwithconfided to Papa, that Mrs. Turner was working in cross-stitch apicture of St. Augustine preaching to the Saxons, which she intended topresent as a cushion for one of the chairs of St. Austin's Church. '

'Oh! dreadful!' cried Anne. 

'Papa walked up and down the room for full ten minutes after he heardof it, ' said Elizabeth; 'but Mamma came to our rescue. She, themild-spoken, (Mildred, you know, ) set off with the Saxon Winifred, thepeace-maker, to reject the Saint of the Saxons, more civilly than theBritish bishops did. She must have managed most beautifully, so as tosatisfy everybody. I believe that she lamented that the Austin Friarswho named our hill were not called after the converter of ourforefathers, looking perfectly innocent of Kitty's secret all the time;and Winifred eat Mrs. Turner's plum-cake, and stared at hercuriosities, so as to put her into good humour. Thus far is certain, from that day to this no more has been heard of St. Augustine or KingEthelbert. '

'Oh! her work is made up into a screen now, ' said Katharine, 'and isvery pretty. '

'And last time Mrs. Turner called at the Vicarage, she was very learnedabout the Bishop of Hippo, ' said Elizabeth; 'she is really very cleverin concealing her ignorance, when she does not think herself learned. '

'I thought they were not likely to promote the decoration of the newchurch, ' said Anne. 

'Oh! she does not trouble herself about consistency, ' said Elizabeth;'anything which attracts notice pleases her. She thinks our dear papahas done more for the living than nine out of ten would have thoughtof; and if there was any talk of presenting him with some smalltestimonial of respect, her mite would be instantly forthcoming; andSir Edward Merton, he is the most munificent gentleman she ever heardof; if all of his fortune were like him now!--"Only, my dear MissLizzie, does not your papa think of having a lightning conductorattached to the spire? such an elevation, it quite frightens me tothink of it! and the iron of the railroad, too--"'

'Oh! is she scientific, too?' aaid Anne. 

'Yes; you see how the march of intellect has reached us, ' saidElizabeth; 'poor Kate is so much afraid of the electric fluid, that shecannot venture to wear a steel buckle. You have no idea of the effortswe are making to keep up with the rest of the world. We have a wickedRadical newspaper all to ourselves; I wonder it has the face to callitself the Abbeychurch Reporter. '

'Your inns are on the move, ' said Anne; 'I see that little beer-shopnear the Station calls itself "The Locomotive Hotel. "'

'I wish it were really locomotive, ' said Elizabeth, 'so that it wouldtravel out of Abbeychurch; it is ruining half the young men here. '

'Well, perhaps the new town will mend, ' said Anne; 'it will have aChristian name to-morrow, and perhaps the influence of the old townwill improve it. '

'I think Papa has little hope of that kind, ' said Elizabeth; 'if thenew town does grow a little better, the old will still grow worse. Itis grievous to see how much less conformable Papa finds the people ofthe old town, than even I can remember them. But come, we must belocomotive, or Dora will not be at home in time. '

CHAPTER IV. 

The clock was striking eight as the young ladies entered the house; butDora was allowed to sit up a little longer to see her aunt, Mrs. Hazleby. It was not long before a loud knock at the door announcedthat lady's arrival. 

Mrs. Hazleby was a tall bony Scotchwoman, with fierce-looking greyeyes. She gave Mrs. Woodbourne a very overpowering embrace, and thenwas careful to mark the difference between her niece, little Dora, whomshe kissed, and the three elder girls, with whom she only shook hands. She was followed by her daughters--Harriet, a tall showy girl ofsixteen, and Lucy, a pale, quiet, delicate-looking creature, a yearyounger. Rupert Merton was still missing; but his movements werealways so uncertain, that his family were in no uneasiness on hisaccount. 

As Mrs. Woodbourne was advancing to kiss Harriet, a loud sharp 'yap'was heard from something in the arms of the latter; Mrs. Woodbournestarted, turned pale, and looked so much alarmed, that Anne could notlaugh. Harriet, however, was not so restrained, but laughed loudly asshe placed upon a chair a little Blenheim spaniel, with a blue ribbonround his neck, and called to her sister Lucy to 'look after Fido. ' Itpresently appeared that the little dog had been given to them at thelast place where they had been staying on the road to Abbeychurch; andMrs. Hazleby and her eldest daughter continued for some time toexpatiate upon the beauty and good qualities of Fido, as well as thoseof all his kith and kin. He was not, however, very cordially welcomedby anyone at the Vicarage; for Mr. Woodbourne greatly disliked littledogs in the house, his wife dreaded them much among her children, andthere were symptoms of a deadly feud between him and Elizabeth's onlypet, the great black cat, Meg Merrilies. But still his birth, parentage, and education, were safe subjects of conversation; and allwere sorry when Mrs. Hazleby had exhausted them, and began to remarkhow thin Elizabeth looked--to tell a story of a boy who had died of afever, some said of neglect, at the school where Horace was--to hint atthe possibility of Rupert's having been lost on the Scottish mountains, blown up on the railroad, or sunk in a steam-vessel--to declare thatgirls were always spoiled by being long absent from home, and to dilateon the advantages of cheap churches. 

She had nearly all the conversation to herself, the continual sound ofher voice being only varied by Harriet's notes and comments, given in apert shrill, high key, and by a few syllables in answer from LadyMerton and Mrs. Woodbourne. The two gentlemen, happily for themselves, had a great quantity of plans and accounts of the church to look overtogether, which were likely to occupy them through the whole of SirEdward's visit. Elizabeth was busy numbering the Consecration ticketsfor the next day, and Anne in helping her, so that they sat quietlytogether in the inner drawing-room during the greater part of theevening. 

When they went up-stairs to bed, Elizabeth exclaimed, 'Oh! that horridnew bonnet of mine! I had quite forgotten it, and I must trim it now, for I shall not have time to-morrow morning. I will run to Kate andHelen's room, and fetch my share of the ribbon. '

As she returned and sat down to work, she continued, 'It is too muchplague to quill up the ribbon as the others have theirs. It will doquite well enough plain. Now, Anne, do not you think that as long asdress is neat, which of course it must be, prettiness does not signify?'

'Perhaps I might think so, if I had to trim my own bonnets, ' said Anne, laughing. 

'Ah! you do not think so--Anne, you who have everything about you, fromyour shoe-strings upwards, in the most complete order and eleganttaste. But then, you know, you would do quite as well if the thingswere ugly. '

'If I wore yellow gowns and scarlet bonnets, for instance?' asked Anne. 

'No, no, that would not be modest, ' said Elizabeth; 'you would be nolonger a lady, so that you could not look lady-like, which I maintain alady always is, whether each morsel of her apparel is beautiful initself or not. '

'Indeed, Lizzie, ' said Anne, 'I cannot say that I think as you do, atleast as far as regards ourselves, I think that it may be possible towear ugly things and still be lady-like, and I am sure I honour peoplegreatly who really deny themselves for the sake of doing right, ifanyone can seriously care for such a thing as dress; but I consider itas a duty in such as ourselves, to consult the taste of the people welive with. '

'As your mother said about my hair, ' said Elizabeth thoughtfully; 'Iwill do as she advised, Anne, but not while she is here, for fear Mammashould fancy that I do so because Aunt Anne wished it, though I wouldnot to please her. I believe you are right; but look here, will mybonnet do?'

'I think it looks very well, ' said Anne; 'but will it not seemremarkable for you to be unlike your sisters?'

'Ah! it will give Mrs. Hazleby an opportunity of calling me blue, andtormenting Mamma, ' said Elizabeth; 'besides, Mamma wished us all to bealike down to the little ones, so I will make the best of it, and trimit like any London milliner. But, Anne, you must consider it is agreat improvement in me to allow that respectable people must be neat. I used to allow it in theory, but not in practice. '

'I do not think I ever saw you untidy, Lizzie, ' said Anne, 'exceptafter a day's nutting in the hanging wood. '

'Oh yes, I could generally preserve a little outward tidiness, ' saidElizabeth; 'besides, a visit at Merton Hall is very different fromevery day in shabby old Abbeychurch. No, you must know that when I wastwelve years old, I was supposed to be capable of taking care of my ownwardrobe; and for some time all went on very smoothly, only that Inever did a stitch towards mending anything. '

'Did a beneficent fairy do it for you, then?'

'Not a sprite, nor even a brownie, but one of the old wrinkled kind offairies. Old Margaret, that kindest of nurses, could not bear to seeher dear Miss Lizzie untidy, or to hear her dear Miss Lizzie scolded, so she mended and mended without saying anything, encouraging me inhabits of arrant slovenliness, and if I had but known it, of deceit. Dear old Margery, it was a heart-breaking thing when she went away, toall from Winifred upwards, and to none more than to me, who couldremember those two melancholy years when she often seemed my onlyfriend, when I was often naughty and Papa angry with me, and I feelingmotherless and wretched, used to sit on her lap and cry. Dear oldMargery, it is a shame to abuse her in spite of the mischief herover-kindness did us all. Well, when our new maid came, on thesupposition that Miss Woodbourne took care of her own clothes, shenever touched them; and as Margaret's work was not endowed with thefairy power of lasting for ever, I soon grew as ragged as anyragged-robin in the hedge. Mamma used to complain of my slovenliness, but I am afraid I was naughty enough to take advantage of hergentleness, and out-argue her; so things grew worse and worse, till atlast, one fatal day, Papa was aware of a great hole in my stockings. Then forth it all came; he asked question after question; and dear kindMamma, even more unwilling to expose me than I was myself, was forcedto answer, and you may suppose how angry he was. Oh! Anne, I canhardly bear to think of the stern kindness of his voice when he saw Iwas really quite wretched. And only think how kind it was in him, hespoke seriously to me, he shewed me that building the church, helpingour poor people, even Mamma's comforts, and the boys' education, dependupon home economy; and how even I could make a difference by notwasting my clothes, and making another servant necessary. '

'Then could you really gain neat habits immediately?' asked Anne;'there could be no doubt of your resolving to do so, but few peoplecould or would persevere. '

'Oh! I am not properly tidy now, ' said Elizabeth, opening a mostchaotic table-drawer, 'see, there is a proof of it. However, I do notthink I have been shamefully slovenly in my own person since thatexplosion, and I have scarcely been spoken to about it. Who coulddisregard such an appeal? But, Anne, are you not enchanted with sweetMrs. Hazleby?'

'I wish you would not ask me, Lizzie, ' said Anne, feeling very prudent, 'you know that I know nothing of her. '

'No, and you never will know enough of her to say such savage things asI do, ' said Elizabeth, 'but at any rate you saw her when she came in. '

'Certainly. '

'I mean the kissing; I am sure I am glad enough to escape it, andalways think Mamma and the children seem to be hugged by a bear; butyou know making such distinctions is not the way to make us like her, even if we were so disposed. Oh! and about me in particular, I amconvinced that she thinks that Mamma hates me as much as she does, forshe seems to think it will delight her to hear that I am thinner thanever, and that such bright colour is a very bad sign, and then shefinishes off with a hypocritical sigh, and half whisper of "It can beno wonder, poor thing!" trying to put everyone, especially Papa andUncle Edward, in mind of my own poor mother. I declare I have nopatience with her or Harriet, or that ugly little wretch of a dog!'

In the mean time, Katherine and Helen were visiting their guests, Harriet and Lucy Hazleby, whom, contrary to Elizabeth's arrangement, Mrs. Woodbourne had lodged in the room where her own two little girlsusually slept. Harriet was sitting at the table, at her ease, curlingher long cork-screw ringlets, with Fido at her feet; Lucy was unpackingher wardrobe, Katherine lighting her, and admiring each article as itwas taken out, in spite of her former disapprobation of Harriet's styleof dress. Helen stood lingering by the door, with her hand on thelock, still listening or talking, though not much interested, andhaving already three times wished her guests good night. Theirconversation, though not worth recording for any sense or reflectionshewn by any of the talkers, may perhaps display their characters, andadd two or three facts to our story, which may be amusing to some fewof our readers. 

'Oh! Lucy, ' cried Harriet, with a start, 'take care of my spottedmuslin, it is caught on the lock of the box. You always are socareless. '

Katherine assisted Lucy to rescue the dress from the threatened danger, and Harriet continued, 'Well, and what do you wear to-morrow, Kate?'

'White muslin, with pink ribbons, ' said Katherine. 

'I have a green and orange striped mousseline de laine, Mamma gave onlyfifteen-pence a yard for it; I will shew it to you when Lucy comes toit, and you will see if it is not a bargain. And what bonnets?'

'Straw, with ribbon like our sashes, ' said Katherine. 'Oh! we had somuch trouble to get--'

'My bonnet is green satin, ' said Harriet, 'but if I had been you, Kate, I would have had Leghorn. Wouldn't you, Lucy?'

'Five Leghorn bonnets would have cost too much, ' said Katherine, 'andMamma wished us all to be alike. '

'Ah! she would not let you be smarter than her own girls, eh, Kitty?'said Harriet, laughing. 

'I had been obliged to buy a very nice new straw bonnet at Dykelands, 'said Helen, 'and it, would have been a pity not to use that. '

'Well, I have no notion of a whole row of sisters being forced to dressalike, ' said Harriet; 'Aunt Mildred might--'

Here Lucy stopped her sister's speech, by bringing the gown forward todisplay it. When Harriet had sufficiently explained its excellence shebegan, 'So your cousin, young Merton, is coming, is he?'

'Yes, ' said Katherine, 'we expected him last night, or in the course ofthis day, but he has not come yet. '

'Well, what sort of a young fellow is he?' said Harriet. 

'Very clever indeed, ' said Katherine. 

'Oh! then he will not be in my line at all, ' said Harriet; 'thoseclever boys are never worth speaking to, are they, Lucy?'

'Do you like stupid ones better?' said Helen. 

'Capital, isn't it, Lucy?' cried Harriet; 'I did not mean stupid; Ionly meant, clever boys, as they call them, have no fun, they onlyread, read for ever, like my brother Allan. '

'I am sure Rupert is full of fun, ' said Katherine. 

'Oh, but he is quite a boy, is not he?' said Harriet. 

'Nineteen, and at Oxford, ' said Katherine. 

'Oh! I call that quite a boy--don't you, Lucy?' said Harriet; 'is hehandsome?'

'Yes, very, ' said Katherine. 

'Not like his sister, then, I suppose, ' said Harriet. 

'Oh! do not you, think Anne pretty?' said Katherine. 

'I do not know--no, too small and pale to suit me, ' said Harriet. 

'Rupert is not like Anne, ' said Katherine, 'he has a very bright pinkand white complexion, and light hair. '

'Is he tall?'

'No, not so tall as your brother George, but slighter. He has had twoof his front teeth knocked out by a stone at school, ' said Katherine. 

'What a fuss they did make about those teeth!' muttered Helen. 

'Was that the school where Horace is?' said Harriet. 

'Yes, ' said Katherine, 'Sandleford. '

'How you must miss Horace!' said Lucy. 

'Poor little fellow, yes, that we do, ' said Katherine, 'but he was soriotous, he would pull all my things to pieces. Nobody could managehim but Lizzie, and she never minds what she has on. '

'What a tear he did make in my frock!' said Harriet, laughing; 'didn'the, Lucy?'

'How tired you look, Lucy, ' said Helen, 'I am sure you ought to be inbed. '

'Oh no, I am not very sleepy, ' said Lucy, smiling. 

'I am dead tired, I am sure, ' said Harriet, yawning; 'it was so hot inthe railway carriage. '

'Cannot the rest of those things be put away to-morrow morning, Harriet?' said Helen. 

'Oh!' said Harriet, yawning, 'there will not be time; Lucy may as welldo them all now she has begun. How sleepy I am! we walked about Londonall the morning. '

'Come, Helen, ' said Katherine, 'it is quite time for us to be gone; wemust be up early to-morrow. '

CHAPTER V. 

The morning of the twenty-eighth of August was as fine as heart couldwish, and the three sisters rose almost as soon as it was light, tofulfil their promise of attending to all the small nondescript mattersof arrangement, needful when a large party is expected by a family notmuch in the habit of receiving company. Katherine, who had quite givenup all thoughts of equalling her elder sister in talent, and who pridedherself on being the useful member of the family, made herself verybusy in the store-room; Helen, arranged the fruit with much taste; andElizabeth was up-stairs and down, here, there, and everywhere, till itwas difficult to find anything which she had not rectified by labour ofhead or hand. 

'Well, ' said she, as she brought Helen a fresh supply of vine leavesfrom the garden, 'I wonder whether Rupert will come in time. I shallbe very sorry if he does not, for he has done a great deal for thechurch. '

'Has he indeed?' said Helen, with an air that expressed, 'I should nothave thought it. '

'O Helen, how can you take so little interest in the church?' saidElizabeth; 'do not you remember how much trouble Rupert took to find apattern for the kneeling-stools, and what a beautiful drawing he sentof those at Magdalen Collegia Chapel? I am sure he would be very muchvexed to miss the Consecration. '

'I suppose he might come if he pleased, ' said Helen; 'but perhaps hedid not choose to get up early enough. '

'That is the first time I ever heard Rupert accused of indolence, ' saidElizabeth. 

'I do not mean that he does not generally get up in good time, ' saidHelen; 'he is not lazy; but I do not think he chooses to put himselfout of the way; and besides, he rather likes to make people anxiousabout him. '

'I know you have never liked Rupert, ' said Elizabeth drily. 

'Papa thinks as I do, ' said Helen; 'I have heard him say that he is aspoiled child, and thinks too much of himself. '

'Oh! that was only because Aunt Anne worked that beautiful waistcoatfor him, ' said Elizabeth; 'that was not Rupert's fault. '

'And Papa said that he was quite fond enough already of smartwaistcoats, ' said Helen; 'and he laughed at his wearing a ring. '

'That is only a blood-stone with his crest, ' said Elizabeth, 'and I amsure no one can accuse Rupert of vulgar smartness. '

'Not of _vulgar_ smartness, ' said Helen, 'but you must allow thateverything about him has a--kind of--what shall I say?--recherche air, that seems as if he thought a great deal of himself; I am sure you musthave heard Papa say something of the kind. '

'Really, Helen, ' said Elizabeth, 'I cannot think why you should bedetermined to say all that you can against that poor Rupert. '

Helen made no answer. 

'I do believe, ' said Elizabeth, 'that you have had a grudge against himever since he made you an April fool. Oh! how capital it was, ' criedshe, sitting down to laugh at the remembrance. 'To make you believethat the beautiful work-box Uncle Edward sent you, was a case ofsurgical instruments for Mr. Turner, to shew his gratitude for hisattendance upon Rupert when he had the fever, and for setting his mouthto rights when his teeth were knocked out at school. Oh! there neverwas such fun as to see how frightened you looked, and how curious Kateand Horace were, and how Mamma begged him not to open the box and shewher the horrid things. '

'I wish Rupert would keep to the truth with his jokes, ' said Helen. 

'Helen, ' said Elizabeth, 'you cannot mean to say that he ever says whatis untrue. You are letting yourself be carried much too far by yourdislike. '

'If he does not positively assert what is not true, he often makespeople believe it, ' said Helen. 

'Only stupid people, who have no perception of a joke, ' said Elizabeth;'he never deceived me with any joke; it is only that you do notunderstand. '

'I wonder how such a candid person as you are, can defend the slightestdeparture from truth for any purpose, ' said Helen. 

'I would not defend anyone whom I did not believe to be upright andopen, ' said Elizabeth; 'but it is only your slowness, and old spiteagainst Rupert because he used to joke you, that puts these fanciesinto your head. Now I must go to the children; I hope, Helen, you willreally enter into the spirit of the day, little as you seem to careabout the church. '

Helen gave a deep sigh as her sister left the room; she was vexed athaving been laughed at, at the disregard of her arguments, at thereproach, and perhaps a little at Elizabeth's having taken no notice ofthe beautiful pyramid of cherries which had cost her half an hour'slabour. 

There was some truth in what Helen said of her cousin, though few wouldhave given his faults so much prominence. Rupert Merton was an onlyson, and very handsome, and this was the history of nearly all hisfoibles. No one could say that his career at school, and so far atcollege, had not been everything that could be wished, and most peoplehad nearly as high an opinion of him as he had of himself; but Helen, who had almost always been made a laughing-stock when he was with her, had not quite so agreeable a recollection of his lively, graceful, pleasant manners as her sisters had, and was glad to find that histormenting ways were not entirely caused by her own querulous temper, as Elizabeth sometimes told her they were. 

When Mrs. Woodbourne came down, Helen's handiwork received its fullshare of admiration, and Mrs. Woodbourne was much pleased by the girls'forethought and activity, which had saved her from a great deal offatigue. 

The breakfast was quickly finished, and immediately afterwards the foureldest Miss Woodbournes, together with Anne, went to the school to seeif the children were ready to go to church. It was pleasant to see thesmiling courtesying row of girls, each with her Prayer-book in herhand, replying to Elizabeth's nods, greetings, and questions, withbright affectionate looks, or a few words, which shewed that they wereconscious of the solemnity of the service in which they were about tobear a part. 

Elizabeth left her sisters and Anne to assist the school-mistress inmarshalling them on their way to church, and returned home to fetchEdward and Winifred, whom she had engaged to take with her. She foundthat nearly all the party were gone, and report said that the Bishophad arrived at the house of Mr. Somerville, who was to be curate of St. Austin's. Winifred and Edward were watching for her at the door, ingreat dread of being forgotten, for they said, 'Papa had come forMamma, and fetched her away in a great hurry, and then Harriet and Lucyset off after them, and Uncle Edward had taken Aunt Anne long before tolook at the church. ' Elizabeth was rejoicing in the prospect of aquiet walk with the children, and was only delaying in a vain attemptto reduce the long fingers of Winifred's glove to something more likethe length of the short fingers of its owner, when a sharp voice at thetop of the stairs cried out, 'Wait for me!' and Mrs. Hazleby appeared, looking very splendid in a short black silk cloak trimmed with scarlet. 

'Where have you been all this time?' said she to Elizabeth, while shecaught hold of Winifred's hand, or, more properly speaking, of herwrist; 'we shall all be too late. '

'I have been at the school, ' said Elizabeth. 

'What! do you keep school to-day?' asked Mrs. Hazleby. 

'No, ' said Elizabeth, 'but the children are going to the Consecration. '

'Poor little things!' exclaimed Mrs. Hazleby; 'how will they sit outsuch a service?'

'None under seven years old are to be there, ' said Elizabeth, 'and ofthe older ones only those who are tolerably good; and I should thinkthey could join in the service sufficiently to prevent them fromfinding it tedious. '

'Well, I hope so, ' said Mrs. Hazleby, in a voice which meant, 'Whatnonsense!' 'How steep the hill is!' added she presently; 'what afatigue for old people!'

'It is not nearly so steep on the other side, ' replied Elizabeth, 'andthe people on this side have the old church. '

'Why did they choose such an exposed situation?' continued Mrs. Hazleby; 'so hot in summer, and so cold in winter. '

'There was no other open piece of ground to be had near enough to thenew town, ' answered Elizabeth, keeping to herself an additional reason, which was, that tradition said that there had once been a little chapeldedicated in the name of St. Augustine, on the site of the new church. Mrs. Hazleby was silent for a few moments, when, as they came in sightof what was passing at the top of the hill, she saw a gentleman hastenacross the church-yard, and asked who he was. 

'Mr. Somerville, the new curate, ' was the answer. 

'What! another curate? I thought Mr. Walker might have been enough!'exclaimed Mrs. Hazleby. 

'Papa did not think so, ' said Elizabeth drily. 

'Well, I suppose that is another hundred a year out of Mr. Woodbourne'spocket, ' said Mrs. Hazleby; 'enough to ruin his family. '

'I am sure, ' said Elizabeth, beginning to grow angry, 'Papa had ratherdo his duty as a clergyman, than lay up thousands for us. '

'Fine talking for young things, ' said Mrs. Hazleby; 'besides, it isnothing to you, you three elder ones will be well enough off with yourmother's fortune. '

Elizabeth was more annoyed and provoked by this speech than by anythingMrs. Hazleby had ever said to her before; her cheeks burnt withindignation, and something which felt very like shame, but her bonnetconcealed them, and she attempted no reply. Mrs. Hazleby began talkingto Winifred about her new sash, and criticizing Elizabeth's dress; andthough Elizabeth could have wished Winifred's mind to have beenoccupied with other things at such a time, yet she was glad of theopportunity this diversion gave her to compose herself before enteringthe church. 

Almost everyone who has ever joined in our beautiful ConsecrationService, can imagine the feelings of some of the party from theVicarage--can figure to themselves Mrs. Woodbourne's quiet tears;Dora's happy yet awe-struck face; Anne sympathizing with everyone, rather than feeling on her own account; can think of the chokingoverwhelming joy with which Elizabeth looked into little Edward'swondering eyes, as the name of their father was read, the first amongthose who petitioned the Bishop to set that building apart from allordinary and common uses; can feel, or perhaps have known, theexultation with which she joined in the Psalms, and the swelling ofheart as she followed the prayer for a blessing on the families ofthose who had been the means of the building of that House. But wemust go no farther; for, such thoughts and scenes are too high to bemore than touched upon in a story of this kind; therefore we will onlyadd, that Winifred and Edward behaved quite as well as Elizabeth hadengaged that they should do, only beginning to yawn just before the endof the service. 

After they had returned from the church, the luncheon at the Vicaragegave ample employment to Elizabeth's hands, and nearly enough to herthoughts, in carving cold chicken, and doing the honours of Merton Hallpeaches, at the side-table; and she was very glad, when at threeo'clock the company adjourned to the quadrangle, to see theschool-children's feast. 

The quadrangle was enclosed on the north side by the old church, on thesouth and west by the alms-houses, and on the east by the low wall ofthe Vicarage garden; there was a wide gravel path all round the court, and here tables were spread, around which were to be seen the merryfaces of all the children of the two schools--the boys, a uniform rankarrayed in King Edward's blue coats and yellow stockings, with but asmall proportion of modern-looking youths in brown or blue, and deepwhite collars--the girls, a long party-coloured line, only resemblingeach other in the white tippets, which had lately encumberedElizabeth's room. 

Much activity was called for, from all who chose to take part insupplying the children; the young ladies' baskets of buns were rapidlyemptied, and Mr. Somerville's great pitcher of tea frequently drained, although he pretended to be very exclusive, and offer his services tonone but the children of St. Austin's, to whom Winifred introduced him. The rest of the company walked round the cloisters, which were coveredwith dark red roses and honeysuckles, talking to the old people, admiring their flowers, especially Mr. Dillon's dahlias, and watchingthe troop of children, who looked like a living flower-bed. 

Mrs. Hazleby chanced to be standing near Mrs. Bouverie, a lady wholived at some distance from Abbeychurch, and who was going to stay anddine at the Vicarage. She was tolerably well acquainted with Mr. Woodbourne, but she had not seen the girls since they were quite youngchildren, and now, remarking Elizabeth, she asked Mrs. Hazleby if shewas one of Mr. Woodbourne's daughters. 

'Oh yes, ' said Mrs. Hazleby, 'the eldest of them. '

'She has a remarkably fine countenance, ' said Mrs. Bouverie. 

'Do you admire her?' said Mrs. Hazleby; 'well, I never could seeanything so remarkably handsome in Lizzie Woodbourne. Too thin, toosharp, too high-coloured; Kate is twenty times prettier, to say nothingof the little ones. '

'I should not call Miss Woodbourne pretty, ' said Mrs. Bouverie, 'but Ithink her brow and eye exceedingly beautiful and full of expression. '

'Oh yes, ' cried Mrs. Hazleby, 'she is thought vastly clever, I assureyou, though for my part I never could see anything in her but pertness. '

'She has not the air of being pert, ' said Mrs. Bouverie. 

'Oh! she can give herself airs enough, ' said Mrs. Hazleby; 'my poorsister-in-law has had trouble enough with her; just like her mother, they say. '

'So I was thinking, ' said Mrs. Bouverie, looking at Elizabeth, who wasstooping down to a little shy girl, and trying to hear her whisperedrequest. 

Mrs. Bouverie spoke in a tone so different from that which Mrs. Hazlebyexpected, that even she found that she had gone too far, andrecollected that it was possible that Mrs. Bouverie might have knownthe first Mrs. Woodbourne. She changed her note. 'Just like her poormother, and quite as delicate, poor girl. '

'Is she indeed?' said Mrs. Bouverie, in a tone of great interest. 

'Yes, that she is, scarcely ever without a cough. Full of spirits, yousee--rather too, much of it; but I should not be surprised any day--'

At this moment Winifred came running up, to cry, 'Look, Aunt Hazleby, at the basket of balls; I have been to the house to fetch them, and nowthe boys are going away to the cricket-ground, and the girls are tohave a famous game at play. '

Mrs. Hazleby only said, 'Hm, ' but the other lady paid more attention tothe little girl, who was very little troubled with shyness, and soonwas very happy--throwing the balls to the girls, and--at the sametime--chattering to Mrs. Bouverie, and saying a great deal about'Lizzie, ' telling how Lizzie said that one little girl was good andanother was naughty, that Lizzie said she should soon begin to teachher French; Lizzie taught her all her lessons, Mamma only heard hermusic; Lizzie had shewn her where to look in her Consecration-book, sothat she should not be puzzled at Church to-day; Lizzie said she hadbehaved very well, and that she should tell Papa so; she had a redribbon with a medal with Winchester Cathedral upon it, which Lizzie lether wear to shew Papa and Mamma when she was good at her lessons; shehoped she should wear it to-day, though she had not done any lessons, for Lizzie said it was a joyful day, like a Sunday. All this made Mrs. Bouverie desirous of being acquainted with 'Lizzie, ' but she could findno opportunity of speaking to her, as Elizabeth never willingly camenear strangers, and was fully occupied with the school-children, sothat she and Anne were the last to come in-doors to dress. 

They were surprised on coming in to find Helen sitting on the last stepof the stairs, with Dora on her lap, the latter crying bitterly, andHelen using all those means of consolation, which, with the bestintention, have generally the effect of making matters worse. As soonas Elizabeth appeared, Dora sprang towards her, exclaiming, 'Lizzie, dear Lizzie, do you know, Aunt Hazleby says that my mamma is not yourmamma, nor Kate's, nor Helen's, and I do not like it. What does shemean? Lizzie, I do not understand. '

Elizabeth looked up rather fiercely; but, kissing her little sister, said, gently, 'Yes, Dora, it is really true, my own mother lies in thechurchyard. I will shew you where. '

'And are you, not my sisters?' asked Dora, holding firmly by the handsof Elizabeth, and Helen. 

'Oh yes, yes, Dora!' cried Helen, 'we are your sisters, only not quite, the same as Winifred. '

'And have you no mamma, really no mamma?' continued Dora lookingfrightened, although soothed by Elizabeth's manner, and by feeling thatthe truth was really told her. 

'Not really, Dora; but your mamma is quite the same to us as if shereally was our mother, ' said. Elizabeth, leading the little girl away, and leaving Anne and Helen looking unutterable things at each other. 

Helen then went into the large, drawing-room, to fetch some, of herout-of-door apparel which she had left there, and Anne followed her. Noone was in the room but Mrs. Hazleby, who looked more disconcerted thanHelen had ever seen her before. She seemed to think, it necessary tomake some apology, and began, 'I am sure I had no notion that, thechild did not know it all perfectly at her age. '

'Mamma has always wished to keep the little ones from knowing of anydifference as long as possible, ' said Helen, rather indignantly; butrecollecting herself, she added, 'I think Dora is rather tired, andperhaps she was the more easily overcome for that reason. '

'Ah! very likely, poor child, ' said Mrs. Hazleby; 'it was folly to takeher to such a ceremony. '

'She seemed to enjoy it, and enter into it as much as any of us, ' saidHelen. 

'Ah! well, some people's children are vastly clever, ' said Mrs. Hazleby. 'Do you know where Fido is, Miss Helen? if one may ask yousuch a question. '

Helen replied very courteously, by an offer to go and look for him. Hewas quickly found, and as soon as she had brought him to his mistress, she followed Anne to Elizabeth's room, where in a short time they werejoined by the latter, looking worn and tired, and with the brilliantflush of excitement on her cheeks. 

'Is Dora comforted?' was the first question asked on her entrance. 

'Oh yes, ' said Elizabeth, 'that was soon settled; she was only scared, so I took her to Mamma, who kissed us both, told Dora she loved us allthe same, and so on; which made her quite happy again. '

'Dear little affectionate creature!' exclaimed Helen warmly. 

'How very angry with her Mrs. Hazleby seemed!' said Anne. 

'Yes, ' said Helen, 'because Dora came to me in her distress, and wouldnot let Mrs. Hazleby kiss her. '

'How came Mrs. Hazleby to begin upon it?' said Elizabeth; 'was it fromher instinctive perception of disagreeable subjects?'

'I can hardly tell, ' said Helen, 'I was not there at first; I ratherthink--' but here she stopped short, and looked confused. 

'Well, what do you think?'

'Why, I believe it arose from her seeing Uncle Edward playing withEdward on the green, ' began Helen, with a good deal of hesitation, 'saying that he was his godfather, and--and she--she hoped he would bewould be as--he would do as much for him, as if he was actually hisuncle. '

'Horrid woman!' said Elizabeth, blushing deeply. 

'My dear Lizzie, ' said Anne, laughing, 'do you hope he will not?'

'Nonsense, Anne, ' said Elizabeth, laughing too; 'but I hope you quitegive up the Hazlebys after this specimen. '

'Now, Lizzie, ' said Helen, 'that is quite in your unjust sweeping styleof censuring. You do not mean to say that Lucy, or the Major, or theboys, are disagreeable. '

'Root and branch, they are all infected, ' said Elizabeth; 'who couldhelp it, living with Mrs. Hazleby?'

'Pray do not be so unfair, Lizzie, ' continued Helen; 'I am sure thatLucy is a most amiable, sensible, gentle creature; the more to beadmired for having such a mother and sister. '

'By way of foil, I suppose, ' said Elizabeth; 'still, saving yourpresence, Helen, I think that if Lucy had all the sense you ascribe toher, she might keep things a little more straight. '

'Really, Lizzie, ' said Helen, 'it is not like you to blame poor Lucyfor her misfortunes; but I know very well that you only do it tocontradict me. '

'Well, ' said Elizabeth impatiently, 'I do allow that she is a redeemingpoint, but I do not give her such hyperbolical praise as you do; I maysay she is the best of them, without calling her a paragon ofperfection. '

'I never called her any such thing!' exclaimed Helen; 'but you willalways wrest my words, and pretend to misunderstand me. '

'I am sorry I have vexed you, Helen, ' said Elizabeth, more kindly; andHelen left the room. 

'Indeed, Lizzie, ' said Anne, 'I cannot think why you argued againstthis poor girl, after what you said yesterday. '

'Because I cannot bear Helen's sententious decided manner, ' saidElizabeth; 'and she exaggerates so much, that I must sometimes take herdown. '

'But, ' said Anne, 'do you not exaggerate the exaggeration, and so puther more in the right than yourself?'

'You mean by turning her string of superlatives into a paragon ofperfection, ' said Elizabeth; 'I certainly believe I was unjust, but Icould not help it. '

Anne did not see that her cousin might not have helped it, but shethought she had said enough on the subject, and let it pass. 

'Now, Anne, ' said Elizabeth, presently after, 'what strange people weare, to stand here abusing Helen and the Hazlebys, instead of talkingover such wonderful happiness as it is to think that your father andmine have been allowed to complete such a work as this church. '

'Indeed it is wonderful happiness, ' said Anne, her eyes filling withtears, 'but I do not know whether you feel as I do, that it is toogreat, too overwhelming, to talk of now it is fresh. We shall enjoylooking back to it more when we are further from it. '

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth; 'this morning I was only fit to laugh or cry, atI did not know what, and now I am vexed with myself for having been toomuch occupied and annoyed with little things to be happy enough. ThisConsecration day will be a glorious time to look back to, when it isalone on the horizon, and we have lost sight of all that blemishes itnow. I will tell you what it will be like. I once saw the Church, ona misty day, from a great distance. It was about the middle of theday, and the veil of mist was hanging all round the hill, but therestood the Church, clear and bright, and alone in the sunshine, all thescaffold poles and unfinished roughness lost sight of in the distance. I never saw a more beautiful sight. '

'And do you expect that distance of time will conceal all blemishes aswell as distance of place?' said Anne. 

'Yes, unless I take a telescope to look at them with, ' answeredElizabeth; 'perhaps, Anne, in thirty years time, if we both live solong, we may meet and talk over this day, and smile, and wonder that wecould have been vexed by anything at such a time. '

'You like looking forward, ' said Anne; 'I suppose I am too happy, for Iam afraid to look forward; any change of any sort must bring sorrowwith it. '

'I suppose you are right, ' said Elizabeth; 'that is, I believe thesafest frame of mind to be that which resigns itself to anything thatmay be appointed for it, rather than that which makes schemes andprojects for itself. '

'Oh! but, Lizzie, ' said Anne, 'I did not mean that. Mine is rather anindolent frame, which does not scheme, because my present condition is, I do believe, happier than any I could imagine upon earth. I do notthink that is resignation--there are some things under which I do notthink I could be resigned, at least not with my present feelings. '

'Yes, you would, Anne, ' said Elizabeth; 'you are just the calm temperedperson who would rise up to meet the trial in peace. --But I do not knowwhat I am talking about; and so I shall go on with what I meant to saybefore--that bright visions are my great delight. I like to fancy whatHorace and Edward may be, I like to imagine my own mind grown older, Ilike to consider what I shall think of the things that occupy us now. But then I am not likely to be disappointed, even if my castles in theair should fall down. You know I am not likely to be a long-livedperson. '

'Oh! do not say so, my dear Lizzie, ' cried Anne; 'I cannot bear it. '

'Indeed, Anne, ' said Elizabeth, 'I did not mean to say anything whichcould shock you. I only touched upon what you must have known halfyour life, and what Mrs. Hazleby has taken good care that I should notforget. I am perfectly well now, and have nothing the matter with me;but then I know that a little illness has a great effect upon me, andmy colds are much sooner caught than cured. '

Before Anne could answer, there was a knock at the door, and LadyMerton's maid appeared, ready to dress her young lady for the evening;and thus the conversation ended. 

The girls were to drink tea in the inner drawing-room, as soon as thecompany were gone into the dining-room; and Anne and Elizabeth waitedto come down-stairs till dinner had begun. 

As soon as they entered the room, Harriet began to admire the lacetrimming of Anne's dress, asking many questions about it, to all ofwhich Anne replied with great good nature. As soon as the lace hadbeen sufficiently discussed, Harriet turned round to Elizabeth, exclaiming, 'Why, Lizzie, why in the world have you taken to thatfashion of doing your hair? it makes you look thinner than ever. Suchdark hair too! it wants a little colour to relieve it; why do you notwear a red band in it, like mine?'

'I thought this way of wearing it saved time, ' said Elizabeth; 'but Ibelieve I shall curl it again. '

'Indeed I hope you will; you have no notion how thin it makes youlook, ' said Harriet. 

'Of course I must look thin if I am thin, ' said Elizabeth, a good dealannoyed by Harriet's pertinacity. 

'Thin you are, indeed, ' continued Harriet, taking hold of her wrist. Elizabeth drew back hastily, and Harriet relinquished it; consciousperhaps, that however thin the arm might look, her own broad ruddy handwould hardly bear a comparison with Elizabeth's long slender whitefingers, and returned to the subject of the hair, shaking her profusionof ringlets. 

'And straight hair is all the fashion now, but I think it gives aterrible dowdy look. Only that does not signify when you are notout. --By-the-bye, Miss Merton, are you out?'

'I shall not be seventeen these three months, ' said Anne. 

'Well, I am not seventeen yet, nor near it, ' pursued Harriet; 'but Ialways dine out, and at home too. Don't I, Lucy?'

Elizabeth did not think it necessary to make any apology for Harriet'snot having been asked to dine with the company, since Mrs. Woodbournehad already settled that matter with Mrs. Hazleby; but Katharine, who, though younger, had more idea of manner, said, after a littlehesitation, 'Mamma talked of it, but Papa said that if one dined allmust, and there would be too many. '

'Oh, law! Kate, ' said Harriet, 'never mind; I do not mind it a bit, Iwould just as soon drink tea here, as dine. --You are not out, are you, Lizzie?'

'If you consider that dining constitutes being out, I generally am, 'said Elizabeth, rather coldly and haughtily. 

'Ay, ay, ' cried Harriet, laughing, 'you would be out indeed, to gowithout your dinner. --Capital, is not it, Kate? but I wanted to knowwhether you are regularly come out?'

'I do not know, ' replied Elizabeth. 

'Oh, then, you are not, ' said Harriet; 'everyone knows who is out: Ishould not have been out now, if it had not been for Frank Hollis, (heis senior lieutenant at last, you know)--well, when our officers gavethe grand ball at Hull, Frank Hollis came to Mamma, and said they coulddo nothing without the Major's daughter, and I must open the ball. Such nonsense he talked--didn't he, Lucy? Well, Mamma gave way, andsaid she'd persuade the Major. Papa was rather grumpy at first, youknow, Lucy, but we coaxed him over at last. Oh, it was such fun! Idanced first with Frank Hollis--just out of gratitude, you know, andthen with Captain Murphy, and then--O Lucy, do you remember _who_?--andI had a silk dress which Mamma brought from India, trimmed just likeyours, Miss Merton, only with four rows of lace, because I am taller, you know, and a berthe of--'

Elizabeth could endure this no longer, and broke in, 'And pray, Harriet, did you learn the book of fashions by heart?'

'Not quite, ' said Harriet, with provoking obtuseness, or good humour;'I did very nearly, though, when I was making my dress. Now, Lizzie, do not you wish you were out?'

'No, not in the least, ' said Elizabeth, by this time quite out ofpatience; 'I think society a nuisance, and I am glad to be free of itas long as I can. '

'Lizzie, ' said Helen gravely, 'you are talking rhodomontade. '

'By no means, Helen, ' said Elizabeth; 'it is my serious opinion, that, unless you can find real friends, minds that suit you, you should keepto yourself, and let bores and geese keep to themselves. '

'Becoming yourself one of the interesting tribe of bears, or perhaps ofcrabs, ' whispered Anne. 

'Well, what an odd girl you are!' cried Harriet; 'well, if ever--!'

'But, Lizzie, what would become of the world if there was no society?'said Katherine. 

'And, Lizzie, ' began Helen, very seriously, 'do not you know that it isa duty to take part in society, that--'

'Oh yes, Helen!' answered Elizabeth; 'I know all that books and wisepeople say; but what I say is this: if a sumptuary law could decreethat wits should be measured by one standard, like the ruffs andrapiers in Queen Elizabeth's time, so that those found wanting might bebanished, there might be some use in meeting people; but in the presentstate of things there is none. '

'But how would you choose your standard?' said Anne; 'everyone wouldtake their own degree of sense as a measure. '

'Let them, ' said Elizabeth; 'there would be a set of measures like thebolters in a mill, one for the pastry-flour, one for the bread-flour, one for the blues, one for the bran. '

'I am glad you put the blues after the bread, ' said Anne; 'there ishope of you yet, Lizzie. '

Elizabeth was too far advanced in her career of nonsense to be easilychecked, even by Anne; and she continued, 'Sir Walter Scott says in oneof his letters, that he wishes there could be a whole village of poetsand antiquaries isolated from the rest of the world. That must be likewhat I mean. '

'I do not think he meant what he said there, ' said Helen. 

'And pray remember, ' said Anne, 'that your favourite brown bread ismade of all those kinds mixed--bran, and pastry-flour, and all. '

'Yes, ' said Helen, 'all the world would turn idiots if there were not afew sensible people to raise the others. '

'Well, ' said Elizabeth, 'you know the Veillees du Chateau says, thereis a village where all the people do turn idiots at fourteen. '

'You are just the right age, Helen, ' said Anne, 'you had better takecare, since Lizzie says you live in such a foolish world. '

Helen had not tact enough to perceive that it was better to turn offthe discussion by a joke, and continued, 'And you forget how useful itis to the sensible people to be obliged to bear and forbear. '

'I should be content, if the foolish people would be raised by thewise, instead of debasing them, ' said Elizabeth. 

'If people are really wise, they will not let themselves be debased, 'said Anne. 

Helen glanced towards Lucy, Elizabeth caught her eye, and smiled in away which almost compensated for all her unkindness in their dispute anhour before. 

Harriet and Katherine, who had not been much interested by thisargument, now started another subject of conversation, which they hadalmost entirely to themselves, and which occupied them until tea wasover, somewhat to Anne's amusement and Elizabeth's disgust, as theylistened to it. 

As soon as the tea-things were removed, Elizabeth and Anne went tofetch the children. Elizabeth let loose her indignation as soon as shewas out of the drawing-room. 

'Did you ever hear anything so vulgar?' said she. 

'Indeed it was very ridiculous, ' said Anne, beginning to laugh at theremembrance. 

'How can you be diverted with things that enrage me?' said Elizabeth. 

'It is better than taking them to heart, as you do, my poor Lizzie, 'said Anne; 'they are but folly after all. '

'Disgusting provoking folly, ' said Elizabeth; 'and then to see Katelooking as if she thought it must be so delectable. Really, Kate isquite spoiled between Harriet and the Abbeychurch riff-raff, and I cando nothing to prevent it. '

'But, ' said Anne diffidently, seeing that her cousin was in a gravermood this evening, 'do not you think that perhaps if you could be alittle more companionable to Kate, and not say things so evidently forthe sake of contradiction, you might gain a little useful influence?'

'Well, ' said Elizabeth, smiling, 'I believe I do deserve a goodscolding; I fancy I was outrageously rude; but when people talk suchstuff, I do not much care what I say, as long as I am on the other sideof the question. '

'Still the reverse of wrong is not always right, ' said Anne. 

They now found themselves at the nursery door, and summoned thechildren from that scene of playthings, and bread and butter. Down-stairs, one of those games at romps arose, for which littlechildren are often made an excuse by great ones, and which was onlyconcluded by the entrance of the ladies from the drawing-room, whichcaused Harriet hastily to retreat into the inner drawing-room, tosmoothe her ruffled lace; while Katherine was re-tying Winifred'sloosened sash, and laying a few refractory curls in their right places. 

Mrs. Woodbourne called Elizabeth, and introduced her as 'my eldestdaughter, ' to Mrs. Bouverie, and to Mrs. Dale, a lady who had latelycome to live in the neighbourhood, and who discovered a most strikingresemblance between Mrs. Woodbourne and Elizabeth, certainly at theexpense of a considerable stretch of imagination, as Mrs. Woodbournewas a very little and very elegant looking person, very fair and pale, and Elizabeth was tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, her figure much tooslender for her height, and her movements too rapid to be graceful, altogether as different a style of person as could well be imagined. 

Not much prepossessed in favour of the party in general by thisspecimen, Elizabeth, after shaking hands with Miss Maynard and herniece, people whom she seldom saw, and did not much like, retreated toone of the windows, and there began to meditate, as was her usualcustom on such occasions. Once, when accompanying Mrs. Woodbourne on amorning visiting expedition, she had translated the Erl King, which sheknew by heart, into English, far more literal than Sir Walter Scott's, and with no fault, except that not above half the couplets professed torhyme, and most of those that did were deficient in metre. Anothertime she had composed three quarters of a story of a Saxon hero, oppressed by a Norman baron, and going to the Crusades; and at anothertime she had sent back the whole party to the times of Queen Elizabeth, and fancied what they might be saying about the Spanish Armada. Butnow, whether because there was too much talking in the room, or becausethe Consecration had lately left no room for the fancies on which shewas accustomed to feed, she could find nothing more sublime to reflectupon than the appearance of her cousin Anne, who was entertaining theyoung Miss Maynard, a shy girl, yet pleased with notice, by aconversation, which, if not very interesting, saved her from belongingto any of the four agreeable tribes mentioned at tea-time. 

Now, Anne, though she did not posses the tall figure or strikingcountenance of her cousins, the Woodbournes, or the brilliantcomplexion of her brother, was one of those people who always lookwell. She was small and slightly made, and very graceful; andeverything she wore was appropriate and becoming, so that, withoutbestowing much thought on the matter, she never looked otherwise thanperfectly well dressed. She was rather pale; her eyes were grey, withlong dark lashes; and her hair brown; her features were well formed andanimated; and though by no means remarkable, everyone called hernice-looking; some said she was pretty, and a few thought and felt thather countenance was lovely. So much had lately been said aboutdress--about Elizabeth's curls, and Helen's tails, and Anne'slace--that, wonderful to say, it was the readiest subject Elizabethcould find to meditate upon. As she looked at her cousin's whitemuslin frock, with its border of handsome Moravian work, and itsdelicate blue satin ribbons, at her well arranged hair, and prettymosaic brooch, she entered upon a calculation respecting the portion ofa woman's mind which ought to be occupied with her dress--a mentalprocess, the result of which might perhaps have proved of great benefitto herself, and ultimately to Dora and Winifred, had it not beensuddenly cut short in the midst by a piercing scream from the latteryoung lady, who had been playing on the floor with Edward and Fido. 

Mrs. Woodbourne instantly caught up the little girl in her arms, andsat down on the sofa with her on her lap, while Winifred buried herhand in her pocket-handkerchief, screaming and sobbing violently. Fidoslunk away under the sofa; and Elizabeth hastily made her way throughthe circle of ladies who surrounded Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'That is what comes of teazing him, ' said Mrs. Hazleby reproachfully toEdward; who answered in a loud voice, 'I am sure I did not make him doit. '

Elizabeth knelt down by Mrs. Woodbourne, and began to unroll thehandkerchief in which Winifred had wound up her hand; but she wasprevented by a fresh scream from the patient. 

'Oh! my dear, never mind, do not cry; come, be a brave woman, ' saidpoor Mrs. Woodbourne, her voice quivering with alarm. 

'Poor little dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Dale, 'she bears it like a littleangel; but it is quite a severe bite. '

'Mamma, ' said Elizabeth, rising, 'I think she had better come up-stairswith me. Do not you come, Mamma; I will send for you, if--if it ismore than a scratch. '

She took Winifred in her arms and carried her off, followed by Mrs. Dale, Miss Maynard, Harriet, Katherine, and Dora, the last-mentionedlooking quite pale with fright. 

'If you please, ' said Elizabeth, turning round at the foot of thestairs, 'I can manage her better alone. '

She gained her point, though at the expense of politeness. Mrs. Daleand Miss Maynard retreated, and Harriet and Katherine followed in theirtrain. Dora looked inquiringly at her eldest sister. 

'Yes, Dora, you may come, ' said she, running up-stairs to her own room, where she shut the door, and set Winifred on her feet again. 'Well, Winifred, let us see, ' said she cheerfully, 'are you much hurt?'

'It bleeds, ' said Winifred, withholding her hand. 

'Not very much, ' said Elizabeth, removing the handkerchief, and washingoff the blood, which had been more the cause of the scream than thepain. She soon satisfied herself and her sisters that the bite wasscarcely more than a scratch; and a piece of sticking-plaster, fetchedby Dora, whose ready eye and clear thoughtful head had already made herthe best finder in the family, had covered the wound before Mrs. Woodbourne came up to satisfy herself as to the extent of the injury. Winifred had by this time been diverted from the contemplation of hermisfortunes by the fitting on of the sticking-plaster, and byadmiration of Anne's bright rose-wood dressing-box, and was full of thedelight of discovering that A. K. M. , engraven in silver upon the lid, stood for Anne Katherine Merton, when her mamma came in. It appearedthat the little girl and her brother had been playing rather tooroughly with Fido, and that he had revenged himself after the usualfashion of little dogs, especially of those not come to years ofdiscretion. Winifred was quite ready to assure her mamma that he hadscarcely hurt her, and that she was very sorry she had cried so much. Mrs. Woodbourne and Elizabeth, however, agreed that it would be betterfor her to appear no more that evening, and Dora undertook to keep hercompany in the nursery--glad, as Elizabeth could see, to escape fromthe presence of Aunt Hazleby, who had sunk much in Dora's good gracessince her conversation with her in the afternoon. 

'If people would but let children alone, ' said Elizabeth, as the twolittle girls departed hand in hand; 'it puts me out of all patience tosee her first made silly by being pitied, and then told she is anangel. Too bad and too silly, I declare. '

'You should consider a little, my dear, and not speak so hastily, ' saidgentle Mrs. Woodbourne; 'they mean it kindly. '

'Mistaken kindness, ' said Elizabeth, as she opened the drawing-roomdoor. 

In a moment they were overwhelmed with inquiries for 'the sweet littlesufferer, ' as Mrs. Dale called her. 

'I only hope there is no fear of the dog's being mad, ' observed thatlady. 

'Oh! there is no danger of that, ' said Elizabeth, knowing how such aterror would dwell on Mrs. Woodbourne's spirits. 'See, he can drink. '

Mrs. Hazleby had taken possession of the cream-jug, which hadaccompanied the coffee, and was consoling the offender by pouring someof its contents into a saucer for him. 

'But I thought it was water that mad dogs refuse, ' said Mrs. Dale. 

'Mad dog!' cried Mrs. Hazleby, 'he is as mad as I am, I fancy; it wasquite enough to make him bite when Edward there was pulling his ears. '

'I did not pull his ears, Aunt Hazleby; I did not make him biteWinifred, ' vociferated Edward; 'I told you so before, Aunt Hazleby, andyou will say so. '

'Fine little fellow, ' whispered Mrs. Dale, quite loud enough for Edwardto hear her; 'I quite admire his spirit. '

'Do not be rude, Edward my dear, ' said his mother. 

'But Aunt Hazleby will say that I made Fido bite Winifred, Mamma, ' saidEdward; 'and I did not, he did it of himself. '

'Never mind now, my love, pray be quiet, my dear boy, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne imploringly; and Edward, who was really a very tractableboy, walked off to his sister Katherine. 

Mrs. Dale then seized upon Mrs. Woodbourne, to tell her some horriblestories of hydrophobia; and Elizabeth, in hopes of lessening theimpression such stories were likely to make on Mrs. Woodbourne's mind, listened also, sometimes not very courteously correcting evidentexaggerations, and at others contradicting certain statements. Atlast, just as the subject, fertile as it was, was exhausted, Anne'sgoing to the piano, and carrying off a train of listeners, brought Mrs. Bouverie next to Elizabeth, and she took the opportunity of enteringinto conversation with her. 

'Do you play, Miss Woodbourne?'

'No, I do not, ' replied Elizabeth, who particularly disliked this modeof beginning a conversation. 

'Do not you like music?' continued Mrs. Bouverie. 

'I seldom have heard any I liked, ' said Elizabeth shortly. 

'Indeed you have been unfortunate, ' said Mrs. Bouverie; 'but perhapsyou are not fond of the piano?'

'No, ' said Elizabeth, with rather less of the manner of a suspectedcriminal examined in sight of the rack; 'I am sick of all theAbbeychurch pianos; I know them all perfectly, and hear nothing else. '

Mrs. Bouverie laughed, and was glad to obtain something like an answer. 'Your cousin plays very well, ' said she. 

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth, 'I like her music better than most people's, andshe does not make a great fuss about it, she plays when she thinkspeople like it, and not when they ask only out of politeness, withoutcaring about it. '

'Do you think many people ask in that manner?' said Mrs. Bouverie. 

'Oh yes, everyone, ' said Elizabeth; 'what can they do when they see adisconsolate damsel sitting in a corner with nothing to say, and onlylonging to be at the piano by way of doing something? It would be toocruel not to ask her. '

'Did you ever do so?' said Mrs. Bouverie, smiling. 

'No, ' said Elizabeth, 'luckily it is no affair of mine yet; but if everit was, there would be a hard struggle between my politeness andsincerity. '

'Sincerity would be most likely to gain the day, ' thought Mrs. Bouverie. 'Perhaps, ' said she, 'you are not a fair judge of otherpeople's sincerity, since you do not like music yourself. '

'I think, ' said Elizabeth, 'that even if I did play, I could see inpeople's faces whether they meant what they said; that is, if vanityand love of applause did not blind me. '

Mrs. Bouverie was silent for a moment, and then said, 'Well, I mustsay, I am disappointed to find that you do not play. '

Elizabeth remembered how well her mother had, played, and it was plainto her that Mrs. Bouverie was noticing her for her mother's sake. Shelooked down and coloured as she replied, 'Both my sisters are musical, and Helen is said to be likely to sing very well. I believe thehistory of my want of music to be, ' added she, with a bright smile, 'that I was too naughty to learn; and now, I am afraid--I am not sorryfor it, as it would have taken up a great deal of time, and two singingsisters are surely enough for one family. '

'I was in hopes of hearing, ' said Mrs. Bouverie, 'that you had trainedyour school-children to sing the sixty-fifth Psalm as nicely as theydid to-day. I am sure their teacher must have come from the Vicarage. '

'No, ' said Elizabeth, 'it was the school-master who taught them. Perhaps, if Helen had not been from home so long, she might have helpedthe girls, but when she came home three weeks ago, it was hardly worthwhile for her to begin. That is the only reason I ever wished tounderstand music. '

Mrs. Bouverie now began talking to her about the church and itsarchitecture, and of the children, in exactly the way that Elizabethliked, and in half an hour she saw more of Elizabeth's true self thanMiss Maynard had ever seen, though she had known her all her life. MissMaynard had seen only her roughness. Mrs. Bouverie had found her waybelow it. Elizabeth was as sincere and open as the day, although fromseldom meeting with anyone who could comprehend or sympathize with herideas, her manners had acquired a degree of roughness and reserve, difficult to penetrate, and anything but attractive, suiting ill withher sweet smile and beaming eyes. She was talking quite happily andconfidentially to Mrs. Bouverie, when she caught Mrs. Woodbourne's eye, and seeing her look anxious, she remembered Winifred's disaster, andtook the first opportunity of hastening up-stairs to see whether thelittle girl's hand was still in as favourable a state as when she lefther. 

A few moments after she had quitted the room, Sir Edward Mertonapproached Mrs. Bouverie, and took the place beside her, whichElizabeth had lately occupied. 

'I hope Elizabeth has been gracious to you, as I see you have been sokind as to talk to her, ' said he, smiling. 

'Oh, I hope we are becoming good friends, ' said Mrs. Bouverie; 'I haveseldom seen so young a girl shew as much mind as your niece. '

'I am very glad to hear you say so, ' said Sir Edward, 'for she is aptto be rather more reserved with strangers than could be wished. '

'Perhaps she did not consider me as an entire stranger; I rememberseeing her once when a most engaging little child of four or five yearsold, ' said Mrs. Bouverie; 'and now I hope our acquaintance willcontinue. Shall we see her at Marlowe Court to-morrow, as I believe wemeet you there? Of course we shall see Miss Merton?'

'No, I believe not, ' said Sir Edward; 'we are rather too large a numberwithout the girls, who really form quite a troop by themselves. '

'I like to see your daughter and Miss Woodbourne together, ' said Mrs. Bouverie; 'I am sure they must be great allies. '

'Yes, ' said Sir Edward, 'there is a tolerably strong cousinlyfriendship between them: Anne has a wholesome feeling of inferiority, which makes her rather proud of her cousin's preference. '

'Do you not think Miss Woodbourne very like her mother?' said Mrs. Bouverie. 'I knew her immediately by the resemblance. '

'Very--very like her, a little darker certainly, ' said Sir Edward, 'butshe reminds me of her constantly--there--that smile is my sister'sexactly. '

Elizabeth had just then re-entered the room, and was assuring her mammathat Winifred had been as playful as ever all the remainder of theevening, and was now fast asleep in bed. 

'I am only afraid she is too fragile and delicate a creature, ' saidMrs. Bouverie; 'is her health strong?'

'Strong? no, not very, ' said Sir Edward, 'she requires care, but thereis nothing much amiss with her; I know most people about here are inthe habit of lamenting over her as in a most dangerous state; but Ibelieve the fact is, that Mrs. Woodbourne is a nervous anxious person, and frightens herself more than there is any occasion for. '

'Then I hope she generally looks less delicate than she does to-night, 'said Mrs. Bouverie. 

'Oh! she may well look over-worked to-night, ' said Sir Edward; 'she hasa spirit in her which would not let her rest on such a day asthis. --Come here, Miss Lizzie, ' said he, beckoning to her, 'I want youto account for those two red spots upon your cheeks. Do you think theyought to be there?'

'Yes, if they come in a good cause, Uncle, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Do you mean, then, to wear them any longer than necessary?' said SirEdward; 'pray have you sat still for five minutes together to-day?'

'Yes, while I was at tea, ' said Elizabeth. 

'And why are not you in bed and asleep at this moment?' asked her uncle. 

'That is the very question Mamma has been asking, ' said Elizabeth; 'andI have been promising to depart, as soon as I can make my escape; sogood night, Uncle Edward--good night, ' said she, giving her hand to heruncle and to Mrs. Bouverie with almost equal cordiality. 

'Good night, Lizzie, get you gone, ' said Sir Edward; 'and if you cancarry off my girl with you, I shall be all the better pleased. '

Elizabeth succeeded in touching Anne's arm; and the two cousins flittedaway together, and soon forgot the various delights and annoyances ofthe day in sleep. 

CHAPTER VI. 

The next morning was gloomy and rainy, as Elizabeth informed Anne atabout seven o'clock; 'and I am not sorry for it, ' said she, 'for I wantto have you all to myself at home, so we will turn the incubi over toKate and Helen, and be comfortable together. '

'Will they submit to such treatment?' said Anne. 

'Oh yes, my dear, ' said Elizabeth; 'they want us as little as we wantthem; they only want a little civility, and I will not be so sparing ofthat useful commodity as I was yesterday evening. And now, Anne, I amgoing to beg your pardon for being so excessively rude to Harriet, as Iwas last night. She did not mind it, but you did, and much more thanif it had been to yourself. '

'I believe I did, ' said Anne; 'other people do not know what you meanwhen you set up your bristles, and I do. Besides, I was sorry forLucy, who looks as if she had sensitiveness enough for the wholefamily. '

'Poor Lucy!' said Elizabeth;

 "A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine. "

Yes, Lucy has very deep feeling; you may see it in the painful flushingof her cheek, and the downcast look of her eye, when her mother andsister expose themselves. I really believe that that poor girl hasmore to endure than most people. '

'O Lizzie, ' said Anne, 'how differently you spoke of her yesterday!'

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth, 'but then I was furious with Mrs. Hazleby; andbesides, I believe the truth was, that I was very tired and very cross, not exactly the way in which I intended to conclude the Consecrationday; and now I am in my senses, I am very sorry I behaved as I did. But, Anne, though I hereby retract all I said in dispraise of Lucy, andconfess that I was rude to Harriet, do not imagine that I disavow all Isaid about society last night, for I assure you that I expressed mydeliberate opinion. '

'Your deliberate opinion, my dear?' said Anne, laughing. 

'Yes, my deliberate opinion, my dear, ' repeated Elizabeth. 'Pray whyshould not I have a deliberate opinion, as well as Hannah More, orLocke on the Human Understanding, or anyone else?'

'Because, ' rejoined Anne, 'I think that if the rest of the world wereof your deliberate opinion, there would soon be a lock on the humanunderstanding. '

'I am sure I think there is at present, ' returned Elizabeth; 'did yousee Aunt Anne last night wasted upon Mrs. Dale, obliged to listen tothe dullest stuff that ever was invented, and poor Mamma frightened outof her wits? I should not wonder if she had dreamt of mad dogs allnight. '

'I do not defend Mrs. Dale's powers of intellect, ' said Anne, 'but Ishould have thought that you at least had little reason to complain. You were very well off next to Mrs. Bouverie. '

'Oh! Mrs. Bouverie is a rara avis, an exception to the general rule, 'said Elizabeth; 'but you know, she or my uncle, or aunt, or Papa, aregenerally forced to put a lock on their understanding. Why, Anne, whatare you laughing at?'

'Lizzie, I beg your pardon, ' said Anne, trying to check herself, 'but Icould not help it. Your speech put me in mind of the prints fromAlbano's four elements. Do not you remember Juno's visit to AEolus, where he is opening the door of a little corner cupboard where he keepsthe puff-cheeked winds locked up? Do you mean to say that Mamma keepsher mighty powers of mind locked up in the same way, for fear theyshould burst out and overwhelm everybody?'

Elizabeth heartily joined in her cousin's merriment. 'I will tell youwhat I do mean, Anne, what the great law of society is. Now, do notput on that absurd face of mock gravity, or I shall only laugh, insteadof arguing properly. '

'Well, let us hear, ' said Anne. 

'It is almost more important than the law that you must eat with aknife and fork, ' said Elizabeth. 'There is one level of conversation, fit for the meanest capacity; and whoever ventures to transgress it, isinstantly called blue, or a horrid bore, &c. , &c. '

'Nonsense, Lizzie, ' said Anne, laughing; 'I am sure I have heard plentyof clever people talk, about sensible things too, and never did I hearthem called bores, or blue, or any of your awful et ceteras either. '

'Because people did not dare to do so, ' said Elizabeth, 'but theythought it all the same. '

'What do you mean by people?' said Anne. 

'The dull, respectable, common-place gentry, who make up the mass ofmankind, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Do they?' said Anne. 

'Do not they?' said Elizabeth. 

'I do not know what the mass of mankind may be at Abbeychurch, ' saidAnne, 'but I am sure the people whom we see oftenest at home, are suchas I think it a privilege to know. ' And she began to enumerate thesefriends. 

'Oh! Anne, ' interrupted Elizabeth, 'do not, for pity's sake, make mediscontented; here am I in Abbeychurch, and must make the best of it. Imust be as polite and hypocritical as I can make myself. I must wastemy time and endure dullness. '

'As to waste of time, ' said Anne, 'perhaps it is most usefully employedin what is so irksome as you find being in company. Mamma has alwayswished me to remember, that acquiring knowledge may after all be but aselfish gratification, and many things ought to be attended to first. '

'That doctrine would not do for everybody, ' said Elizabeth. 

'No, ' said Anne, 'but it does for us; and you will see it plainer, ifyou remember on what authority it is said that all knowledge isprofitable for nothing without charity. '

'Charity, yes, ' said Elizabeth; 'but Christian love is a very differentthing from drawing-room civility. '

'Not very different from bearing and forbearing, as Helen said, 'answered Anne. 

'Politeness is not great enough, ' said Elizabeth, 'to belong tocharity. '

'You are not the person to say so, ' said Anne. 

'Because I dislike it so much, ' said Elizabeth, 'but that is because Idespise it. It is such folly to sit a whole evening with your handsbefore you doing nothing. '

'But do you not think, ' said Anne, 'that enduring restraint, andlistening to what is not amusing, for the sake of pleasing others, isdoing something?'

'Passively, not actively, ' said Elizabeth; 'but it is not to pleaseothers, it is only that they may think you well bred, or rather thatthey may not think about you at all. '

'It is to please our father and mother, ' said Anne. 

'Yes, and that is the reason it must be done, ' said Elizabeth; 'it isthe way of the world, and cannot be helped. '

'Rather say it is the trial which has been ordained for us, ' said Anne. 

'Well, ' said Elizabeth, smiling, 'I know all the time that you have thebest of the argument. It would not be so if it was not good for us. '

'And as it is, ' said Anne, 'I believe that there is more enjoyment inthe present order of things, than there would be in any arrangement wecould devise. '

'Oh! doubtless, ' said Elizabeth, 'just as the corn ripens better withall the disasters that seem to befall it, than it would if we had thecommand of the clouds. '

'Of course, ' said Anne, 'you really are a much more reasonable creaturethan you pretend to be, Lizzie. '

'Am I?' said Elizabeth. 'Well, I will just tell you my great horror, and I suppose you will laugh at me. I can endure gossip for old peoplewho cannot employ themselves, and must talk, and have nothing to talkof but their neighbours; but only think of those wretched _fainéants_who go chattering on, wasting their own time and other people's, doingno good on the face of the earth, and a great deal of harm. '

'But these unfortunates are probably quite as unable to talk on anyvery wise subjects, as your beloved old people, to whom you give alicense to gossip, ' said Anne; 'and you do not wish to condemn them toperpetual silence. They are most likely to be estimable people, whoought to be amused. '

'Estimable--yes, perhaps, ' said Elizabeth, 'but then I cannot esteem asilly gossip. '

'Why, Lizzie, ' cried Anne, 'you are still at the old story that it isbetter to be wicked than stupid; at least, you reason upon thatfoundation, though you do not really think so. '

'I believe, ' said Elizabeth, 'that there must be some great crook in mymind; for though I know and believe as firmly as I do any otherimportant thing, that mere intellect is utterly worthless, I cannotfeel it; it bewitches me as beauty does some people, and I supposealways will, till I grow old and stupid, or get my mind into betterorder. '

'Really, ' said Anne, 'I think the strongest proof of your beginning togrow old and stupid, is your doing such a very common-place thing, asto abuse honest gossip. '

There was service at St. Mary's Church on Wednesday and Fridaymornings; but on this day the rain was so violent, that of all theparty at the Vicarage, the Mertons, and Elizabeth, Katherine, andHelen, alone ventured to go to church. 

When they returned, Anne followed her mother to her room, to talk overthe events of the previous day. After much had been said of theConsecration, and also of their wonder and regret at Rupert's absence, Anne said, 'How strange it seems to lose sight of you and Papa as Ihave done ever since I have been here! Mamma, I have scarcely beenwith you at all, and never see Papa but when he is talking to UncleWoodbourne, and everyone else is in the room. '

'But I hope you are enjoying yourself, my dear?' said Lady Merton. 

'Oh yes, Mamma, ' cried Anne; 'Lizzie is more delightful than ever, whenwe are alone. '

'Are you taking a sudden romantic turn?' said Lady Merton, smiling; 'doyou mean in future to keep one friend all to yourself?'

'Oh no, Mamma, ' said Anne, laughing; 'I only meant that Lizzie is morelike herself when we are alone together. Sometimes when the others arethere, she gets vexed, and says things which I do not like to hear, only for the sake of differing from them. '

'I have seen something of the kind about her before, ' said Lady Merton, 'but not enough to be unpleasant. '

'No, Mamma, because you do not talk as Miss Hazleby did yesterday, 'said Anne, smiling. 'She certainly did make a very ridiculous orationabout officers and flirtations; but Lizzie, instead of putting a stopto it quietly and gently, only went into the other extreme, and talkedabout disliking all society. '

'I am very sorry to hear this, ' said Lady Merton; 'I am afraid she willmake herself absurd and disagreeable by this spirit of contradiction, even if nothing worse comes of it. '

'It was not all out of a spirit of contradiction, ' said Anne, 'thoughshe said this morning, that she was very tired and very cross yesterdayevening. But, Mamma, she also said that she thinks the time she spendsin company wasted, and she really believes that no one dares to talksense, or that if he does, everyone dislikes him. '

'That is only a little unconscious affectation of being wiser thanother people, assisted by living in a place where there are the usualcomplement of dull people, and where her father's situation preventshim from associating only with those whom he would prefer, ' said LadyMerton; 'her good sense will get the better of it. I am much moreanxious about this spirit of contradiction. '

'Yes, it certainly led her to be very unjust, as she acknowledged thismorning, ' said Anne, 'and rather unkind to Helen. But then it was nowonder that she was mad with the Hazlebys. '

Anne then told the history of poor Dora's trouble, and was quitesatisfied with her mother's displeasure at Mrs. Hazleby, and heradmiration of little Dora. 

'And what do you think of Helen?' asked she presently. 

'I can hardly tell, ' said Anne, 'she is still very demure, with verylittle of Lizzie's sparkling merriment; indeed, she does not seem inthe least able to enter into a joke. But then she said some verysensible things. Lizzie said she wondered what we should think of her. She thinks her very much improved, but complains that she has lost herhome feelings, and cares only for Dykelands; I scarcely know what shemeans. '

'I think that I can guess, ' said Lady Merton, 'from knowing a littlemore of Mrs. Staunton's character. She is a very amiable person, andhas in reality, I believe, plenty of good sense; but she has allowedherself to fall into an exaggerated style of feeling and expression, which, I dare say, bewitched a girl like Helen, and now makes her findhome cold and desolate. '

'Like the letter which Mrs. Staunton wrote to you about Rupert, andwhich Papa called ecstatic, ' said Anne. 

'That is an instance of Mrs. Staunton's way of expressing herself, 'said Lady Merton; 'now I will give you one of her acuteness of feeling, as she calls it. Your Aunt Katherine was her greatest friend when shewas a girl, though I believe the kind epithets she lavished upon mewould have been enough to stock two or three moderate friendships. Weall used to walk together, and spend at least one evening in the weektogether. One evening, your aunt, who had a good deal of the same highcareless spirit which you observe in Lizzie, chanced to make someobservation upon the rudeness of sailors in general, forgetting thatHelen Atherley's brother was a sailor. '

'Or if she had remembered it, ' said Anne, 'judging by Lizzie, she wouldhave said the same thing; she would have taken it for granted that thepresent company was always excepted. '

'Captain Atherley was not of the present company, ' said Lady Merton, 'he was in the Mediterranean; and it happened that he had not had timeto call at Merton Hall in due form, the last time he had been at home, so that poor Helen thought that this speech was aimed at him. She saidnothing at the time; but next morning arrived a note to me, to entreatme to find out what her darling Henry could possibly have done tooffend dearest Katherine Merton, for she should be wretched till sheunderstood it, and Katherine had forgiven her and him. She assured methat she had lain awake all night, thinking it over, and had at lastcome to the conclusion that it must be this unfortunate omission, andshe promised to write to dear Henry immediately, to make him send allpossible apologies. '

'Poor Captain Atherley!' exclaimed Anne; 'and what could my aunt say?'

'Unfortunately, ' said Lady Merton, 'both she and I had entirelyforgotten the speech, and could not guess what could have given rise toHelen's imaginations. After a consultation, I was deputed to Helenwith many assurances that Katherine was very sorry, she could notexactly tell why, but for whatever had grieved Helen; and after a gooddeal of kissing and lamenting on both sides, which, I believe, Katherine considered as a punishment for her inconsiderate speech, things were set right again. '

'Inconsiderate, Mamma?' said Anne; 'that seems as if you blamed myaunt, when it seems to me that Mrs. Staunton deserved all the blame forher excessive folly, and what I should think want of confidence in herfriend's affection. '

'It was certainly very silly, ' said Lady Merton; 'but you know, Anne, that when people have once accustomed themselves to get into a habit ofmaking mountains of mole-hills, they cannot see anything as it reallyis. I thought Katherine quite in the right, as you do now, but Ibelieve she considered that, knowing as she did the over-sensitivenessof her friend, she should have been more cautious in what she said. '

'That was the right way for her to take it, ' said Anne; 'but I stillthink Mrs. Staunton must be an excessively silly person. Of course onewould wish to keep from hurting people's feelings, but it really ishardly possible to help it, if they will ride out to meet offence insuch a way. '

'Yet, Anne, ' said her mother, 'you may comfort yourself with knowingthat as long as you do what is commanded, set a watch before your lips, you are not likely to wound the feelings of others, however sensitive. '

'I know, Mamma, ' said Anne, 'that would correct every fault of thatkind; but then I hardly know how to do so thoroughly. And I thinksensitiveness is a good thing--at least, it makes people know betterwhat will hurt others. '

'Be sensitive for others, without being ready to take offence foryourself, then, Anne, ' said Lady Merton. 'And now that you have fittedthe moral to my story, I must go down and help Mrs. Woodbourne toentertain Mrs. Hazleby. '

'I pity you, ' said Anne. 'If everyone, or indeed if half the worldwere like her, I should be more violent in my opinions than Lizzie is. '

'And what are you going to do?' asked Lady Merton. 

'I am going to sit in the school-room, ' said Anne; 'I had a specialinvitation from Dora this morning. '

On going down-stairs, Anne found that Katherine and Harriet had gone tospend the morning with the Mrs. Turner mentioned during the walk to St. Austin's, as her daughter, Miss Wilhelmina, had engaged to teachHarriet to make wax flowers. Lucy was up-stairs, writing to MajorHazleby; and Helen was sitting in the school-room, where Elizabeth wasteaching the children. Little Winifred had just finished her lessons, and was skipping off in high glee with her medal round her neck, totell her mamma that she had gained four good marks. Dora was perchedon a high stool, at Elizabeth's desk, with a broadly ruled paper beforeher, on the top of which the words, 'My dear Horace, St. Austin'sChurch was consecrated yesterday, ' were to be seen in fair round hand. No more was visible, for the little girl laughingly laid down her rosycheek, and all her light wavy curls, flat upon the letter, as Anneadvanced and made a stealthy attempt to profit by the intelligence shewas sending to her brother. Edward was standing by Elizabeth, readingMrs. Trimmer's Fabulous Histories, for, though five years old, he madevery slow progress in English literature, being more backward inlearning to read than any of the others had been, excepting Helen. Hedid not like the trouble of spelling, and was in the habit of guessingat every word he did not know; and on his very composedly calling oldJoe the gardener, 'the old gander, ' Anne burst into an irrepressiblegiggle, and Helen, sedate as she was, could not help following herexample. They had just composed themselves, when Edward made anotherblunder, which set them off again, and Elizabeth, who when alone withthe children, could bear anything with becoming gravity, also gave way. 

Edward, finding that he was diverting them, began to make absurdmistakes on purpose, so that Elizabeth was forced to call him to order. Anne thought it best to leave the room, and Helen followed her, saying, 'We had better leave Lizzie to manage him by herself; she always doesbetter without me. '

'You have never shewn me your drawings, Helen, ' said Anne; 'I shouldlike very much to see them, if you will let me. '

'If you please, ' said Helen. 'Will you come up to my room? I keep allmy own things there, out of the way of the critics. '

'What critics?' inquired Anne. 

'Lizzie, to be sure, and Papa, ' said Helen; 'I think them the severestpeople I know. '

'Do you indeed!' said Anne. 

'Do not you?' said Helen; 'does not Lizzie say the sharpest thingspossible? I am sure she does to me, and she never likes anything I do. If there is any little fault in it, she and Papa always look at that, rather than anything else. '

'Well, ' said Anne, 'it is a comfort that if they like anything you do, you are sure it is really very good. Their praise is worth more thanthat of other people. '

Helen sighed, but made no reply, as by this time they had arrived atthe door of the room which she shared with Katherine. It was acomplete contrast to Elizabeth's; it was larger and lighter, and lookedout upon the bright garden, the alms-houses, and the church tower. Theupper part of the window was occupied by Katherine's large cage ofcanary birds, and below was a stand of flower-pots, a cactus whichnever dreamt of blossoming, an ice-plant, and a columnia belonging toKatherine, a nourishing daphne of Helen's, and a verbena, and a fewgeranium cuttings which she had brought from Dykelands, looking verymiserable under cracked tumblers and stemless wine-glasses. On a smallround table were, very prettily arranged, various little knicknacks andcuriosities, which Elizabeth always laughed at, such as a glass ship, which was surrounded with miniature watering-pots, humming-tops, knivesand forks, a Tonbridge-ware box, a gold-studded horn bonbonniere, aBreakwater-marble ruler, several varieties of pincushions, a pen-wiperwith a doll in the middle of it, a little dish of money-cowries, andanother of Indian shot, the seed of the mahogany tree, some sea-eggs, afalse book made of the wreck of the Royal George, and some pieces ofspar and petrifactions which Helen had acquired on an expedition toMatlock with the Stauntons. The book-shelf, however, was to Anne themost attractive object in the room; and whilst Helen was untying thestrings of her portfolio, she went up to it. 

'What a beautiful little Bishop Wilson!' exclaimed she, taking out oneof the books. 

'Yes, ' said Helen with a sigh, 'that was dear Mrs. Staunton's lastpresent to me before I left Dykelands. She said that perhaps sheshould not see me again before I was confirmed, and it was the fittestGodmother's gift she could find. '

'And is this pretty Lady of the Lake yours too?' said Anne; 'what apretty binding, with the Douglas arms on it!'

'Yes, ' said Helen, 'that was Fanny's present; and Jane gave me thepretty forget-me-not brooch I wore yesterday. You see I have plenty ofkeep-sakes from the dear people. '

Anne then turned to the portfolio on the table. Helen shewed her, inthe first place, a rather stiff and formal looking forget-me-not, painted by Fanny Staunton, and a carelessly sketched but neatly shadedhead drawn by Jane, both which specimens of art Anne tried hard toadmire for Helen's sake, but could not find it in her heart to do so. Helen's own drawings, which were landscapes, gave more promise ofimprovement, and displayed a good deal of taste and freedom of hand, though some were by no means correct in the outline. Helen pointed outseveral faults which she candidly acknowledged to be wrong, and someothers which she said 'Lizzie called blunders. '

'There, ' said she, 'is the house at dear Dykelands; there is my windowwith the Banksia roses clustering round it, so that I could gather themas I stood in my room. That room is still to be called Helen's. Butnow, Anne, do you think that line ought to be straight? Lizzie says itshould, but I think the perspective alters it; I am sure I saw it so. '

'Indeed, Helen, ' said Anne, 'I think the shadow must have deceivedyou. ' And with a little trouble she proved that Elizabeth was right. 

'Ah!' said Helen, 'if Lizzie would but have shewn me patiently, insteadof saying, 'Why, Helen, cannot you draw a straight line?' I should haveunderstood her. ' Then she continued, while taking out India-rubber andpencil to rectify the mistake, 'I used to draw a great deal at dearDykelands; we had a sketching master, and used to go out with him twicea week, but it was very delightful when we three went alone, when oneof us used to read while the others drew. I am sure these sketches willfor ever remind me of those happy days. '

'Why, Helen, ' said Anne, smiling, 'you speak as if you never meant tobe happy again. '

'Do I?' said poor Helen; 'I am afraid I do seem rather silly about dearDykelands. The other day I was singing

 "My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands, gone chasing the deer, "

when in came Lizzie, and said, "No, Helen, Your heart is at Dykelands, your heart's in the bogs, Your heart is at Dykelands, gone chasing the frogs, "

for she is always laughing at it for being so damp, dear place. And itwas before Horace went to school, and he would do nothing but sing itat me all day, and make Winifred do so too. '

Anne could not help laughing. 

'Then you too think me absurd, ' said Helen; 'but if you only knew howhappy I was at Dykelands, and how desolate I sometimes feel here, youwould not wonder at me. '

'Then you do not like Abbeychurch?' said Anne incredulously; she couldnot say 'you are not happy at home. '

'Who could prefer a little dismal town to a pleasant house in thecountry?' said Helen; 'you like Merton Hall better than this place, donot you, Anne?'

'Of course, ' replied Anne; 'but then Merton Hall is my home. '

'And Abbeychurch is mine, ' sighed poor Helen. 'I believe it is verywrong to be discontented with home, but I cannot help it. '

'My dear Helen, what do you mean?' exclaimed Anne, quite aghast. 

'Indeed, Anne, ' said Helen, 'I do not wonder that you are shocked, butyou do not know how I feel here. At Dykelands I felt that people likedme and were pleased with me, but at home nobody wants me, nobody caresfor me, I am in the way wherever I go. '

'My dear Helen, ' cried Anne, 'that must be fancy!'

'I wish it was, ' said poor Helen, shaking her head. 

'But only think, ' proceeded Anne, 'what you are accusing them of. Notloving you, and wishing you away. '

'No, I do not say it is as bad as that, ' said Helen; 'but I am sure Iam of no use here, and might as well be away. '

'I suppose, ' said Anne, 'that you have been so long away as to havelost all your old home occupations, and you have not yet had time tomake new ones. '

'Perhaps it is so, ' said Helen; 'but I do not think I had anyoccupations before I went to Dykelands, at least none worth having, andnow I cannot make myself new ones. Lizzie does everything, and willnot let me help her, for fear I should do mischief. '

'Now, Helen, ' said Anne, who had by this time collected her ideas, which had been completely startled by her cousin's avowal of dislike ofhome, 'I will tell you what I think Mamma would say to you. I thinkyou used to be indolent and waste your senses, but now Dykelands hasgiven you a spur, and you are very much improved. '

'Do you really think so?' interrupted Helen, who had lately felt quitestarved for want of praise. 

'Yes, ' said Anne, 'and so does everyone, and so Lizzie told me. '

'Lizzie?' said Helen; 'I thought she considered me as great a baby asever. '

'No, no, my dear, ' said Anne; 'I will tell you what she said of you. She said you were almost all she could wish in a sister, and that youwere quite a reflective creature; and that is high praise from her. '

'Well, if she thinks so, ' said Helen, 'she does not shew it; she isalways making game of my opinions and feelings. '

'So she does of almost everyone's, ' said Anne; 'but that is no proofthat she does not love them. '

'And she will never listen to anything that I say, or take interest inanything I care for, ' continued Helen. 

'Indeed, Helen, you only think so because you do not understand herways, ' said Anne; 'all last month she could think of nothing but theConsecration, and Horace's going to school. Now all that is over andyou are quiet again, after we are gone you will get on capitallytogether. '

'I am sure she contradicts every word I say, ' said Helen. 

'That is not out of unkindness, I assure you, ' said Anne, whounfortunately could not deny that such was the fact. 'She only likesan argument, which sharpens your wits, and does no harm, if both sidesare but good-humoured and cheerful. She will find you out in time, andyou will understand her better. '

'Oh! Lizzie is delightful when she does not contradict, ' said Helen;'she is cleverer than anyone I ever saw, even than Fanny Staunton, andPapa says her patience and diligence with Horace were beyond allpraise; but I can never be clever enough for her to make me her friend. '

'But you do not think people choose their friends only for theircleverness?' said Anne. 

'Why, no, ' said Helen, 'I do not think they ought, but Lizzie does. Youwould not be her friend if you were not clever. '

'Well, ' said Anne, 'but try and convince her that you can be her friendwithout being clever, if you will not allow that you are. '

'Oh!' said Helen, brightening up, 'if Lizzie would but make a friend ofme, how happy we should be! if she would but talk to me of her ownconcerns, and listen to mine! But she never chooses to hear me speakof Dykelands. '

'Then, ' said Anne, 'you must remember that she has never been there, and does not know the people. '

'Yes, ' said Helen; 'but I think that if she had been there, and I athome, I should have listened for her sake, besides that Mrs. Stauntonwas our own mamma's dearest friend. '

Anne had always thought that her own mother had been Aunt Katherine'sdearest friend; but she had forbearance enough to leave the honour toMrs. Staunton in Helen's imagination, and answered, 'And for that veryreason, and for your sake too, Helen, she will delight to hear aboutMrs. Staunton when you are quiet together, if you do not give her toomuch at a time, or talk of Dykelands when she is thinking of somethingelse. Oh yes, Helen, you and Lizzie will be excellent friends, unlessyou are much more silly than I think either of you. '

Anne smiled so cheerfully, that Helen could not help smiling too; butshe would probably have found another sorrow to lament over, if at thismoment Dora had not come up to summon them to their early dinner. 

Helen felt exceedingly grateful to Anne for having listened so kindlyand patiently to her list of grievances. It was the first sympathy, asshe considered, that she had met with since she had left Dykelands, andit atoned in her mind for various little thoughtless ways of Anne's, which had wounded her in former years, and which she had not perhapsstriven sufficiently to banish from her memory; and this was a greatadvantage from this conversation, even if she derived no furtherbenefit from it. 

On her side, Anne had some thoughts of telling Elizabeth what Helen'sfeelings really were, in hopes that she might shew a little regard forthem; but, sisterless herself, she thought the bond of sisterhood toosacred to be rashly interfered with by a stranger's hand; besides, sheconsidered Helen's complaints as really confidential, if not expresslyso, and resolved to mention them to no one but Lady Merton, and tolimit her attempts at being useful to bringing the two sisters beforeeach other in their most amiable light, and at any rate to avoid sayinganything that could possibly occasion a discussion between them, thoughshe could hardly imagine that it was possible to dislike one of themerry arguments that she delighted in. However, remembering hermother's story of Mrs. Staunton, she decided that though it was a greatmisfortune for people to have such strange fancies, yet their friendsought to respect them. 

CHAPTER VII. 

As soon as dinner was over, Elizabeth went up to her own room, and wasfollowed in a few moments by Anne, who found her putting on her bonnetand cloak. 'Can you be going out in such weather as this?' exclaimedshe. 

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth; 'I must

 "Let content with my fortunes fit, Though the rain it raineth every day. "'

'But what are the fortunes which oblige you to go out?' said Anne. 

'The fortunes of an old woman to whom Kate or I read every Friday, 'said Elizabeth, 'and the fortunes of various young school-children, whomust be prepared for Papa or Mr. Walker to catechize in Church onSunday. '

'Why do not you send Kate or Helen, instead of murdering yourself inthe wet?' said Anne. 

'Miss Kitty is three inches deep in the mysteries of a spencer, (I donot mean Edmund, )' said Elizabeth, 'and it will not be out of her headthese three days, at least not till she has made Mamma's old blacksatin gown into one after Harriet's pattern; I heard her asking for itas I came up-stairs. '

'And would not Helen go?' said Anne; 'she does not catch cold as easilyas you do. '

'Helen has contrived, somehow or other, ' said Elizabeth, 'to know nomore about the school-children than if they were so many Esquimaux;besides, anyone with any experience of Helen's ways, had rather walkninety miles in the rain, than be at the pains of routing her out ofthe corner of the sofa to do anything useful. '

'Indeed, ' said Anne, 'I think Helen does wish to make herself useful. '

'I dare say she sits still and wishes it in the abstract, for I thinkit must be a very disagreeable thing to reflect that she might as wellbe that plaster statue for any good that she does, ' said Elizabeth;'but she grumbles at every individual thing you propose for her to do, just as she says she wishes to be a companion to Dora and Winifred, yetwhenever they wish her to play with them or tell them a story, which isall the companionship children of their age understand, she is alwaystoo much at her ease to be disturbed. And now, as she is the onlyperson in the house with whom poor Lucy is tolerably at her ease, itwould be cruel to take her away. '

'That is more of a reason, ' said Anne; 'what a pity it is that Lucy isso shy!'

'Excessive shyness and reserve is what prevents her mother from beingable to spoil her, ' said Elizabeth; 'so do not regret it. '

'Still I do not like to see you going out in this way, ' said Anne. 

'I may truly say that rain never hurts me, ' said Elizabeth; 'and if Ionce let one trifle stop me in these parish matters, I shall be stoppedfor ever, and never do anything. Perhaps I shall not come back thishour and a half, for old Mrs. Clayton must be dying to hear all aboutour Consecration, luncheon, dinner, &c. , and as she is the widow of thelast Vicar, we are in duty bound to be civil to her, and I must go andcall upon her. Oh! you poor thing, I forgot how deserted you will be, and really the drawing-room is almost uninhabitable with that Bengaltiger in it. Here is that delightful Norman Conquest for you to read;pray look at the part about Hereward the Saxon. '

Elizabeth would not trust herself to stay with Anne any longer, and randown-stairs, and might soon be heard putting up her umbrella andshutting the front door after her. 

Anne found the afternoon pass rather heavily, in spite of thecompanionship of William the Conqueror and Hereward the Saxon, ofassisting the children in a wet day game of romps, and of shewing Doraand Winifred the contents of the box they had admired the day before. Helen and Lucy were sitting at work very comfortably in the corner ofthe sofa in the inner drawing-room; Harriet and Katherine very busycontriving the spencer in the front drawing-room, keeping up awhispering accompaniment to the conversation of the elder ladies--ifconversation it could be called, when Mrs. Hazleby had it all toherself, while giving Lady Merton and Mrs. Woodbourne an account of thediscomforts she had experienced in country quarters in Ireland. 

Sir Edward and Mr. Woodbourne were engaged in looking over the accountsof the church in the study, and Fido was trying to settle his disputeswith Meg Merrilies, who, with arching back, tail erect, and eyes likeflaming green glass, waged a continual war with him over her basket inthe hall. 

Anne was very glad to hear her cousin's footstep in the hall as shereturned. Coming straight to the drawing-room, Elizabeth exclaimed, 'Mamma, did you tell Mrs. Clarke that she might have a frock for Susan?'

'Yes, my dear, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne; 'she asked me yesterday when youwere not near, and I told her you would give her one. I thought thechild looked very ragged. '

'I suppose she must have it, ' said Elizabeth, looking much vexed; 'Itold her she should not, a month ago, unless she sent the children toschool regularly, and they have scarcely been there five days in thelast fortnight. '

'I wish I had known it, my dear, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne; 'you know I amalways very sorry to interfere with any of your plans. '

'O Mamma, there is no great harm done, ' said Elizabeth. She then wentto fetch the frock, and gave it to the woman with a more gentle andsensible rebuke than could have been expected from the vehemence of hermanner towards Mrs. Woodbourne a minute before. When this was done, and she had taken off her bonnet, she came to beckon Anne up-stairs. 

'So you have finished your labours, ' said Anne, taking up her work, while Elizabeth sat down to rule a copy-book for Winifred. 

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth, '"we are free to sport and play;" I have read tothe old woman, and crammed the children, and given old Mrs. Clayton acatalogue raisonnee of all the company and all their dresses, and abill of fare of our luncheon and dinner, and where everything camefrom. '

'And yet you profess to hold gossip in abomination, ' said Anne. 

'Oh! but this is old gossip, regular legitimate amusement for the poorold lady, ' said Elizabeth. 'She really is a lady, but very badly off, and most of the Abbeychurch gentility are too fine to visit her, sothat a little quiet chat with her is by no means of the common-placekind. Besides, she knows and loves us all like her own children. Itwas one of the first pleasures I can remember, to gather roses for her, and carry them to her from her own old garden here. '

'Well, in consideration of all that you say, ' said Anne, 'I suppose Imust forgive her for keeping you away all this afternoon. '

'And what did you do all that time?' said Elizabeth. 'Have you readHereward, and do not you delight in him?'

'Yes, ' said Anne, 'and I want to know whether he is not the father ofCedric of Rotherwood. '

'He must have been his grandfather, ' said Elizabeth; 'Cedric lived ahundred years after. '

'But Cedric remembered Torquilstone before the Normans came, ' said Anne. 

'No, no, he could not, though he had been told what it had been beforeFront-de-Boeuf altered it, ' said Elizabeth. 

'And old Ulrica was there when Front-de-Boeuf's father took it, ' saidAnne. 

'I cannot tell how long a hag may live, ' said Elizabeth, 'but she couldnot have been less than a hundred and thirty years old in the time ofRichard Coeur-de-Lion. '

'Coeur-de-Lion came to the throne in 1189, ' said Anne. 'No, I supposeTorquil Wolfganger could not have been dispossessed immediately afterthe Conquest. But then you know Ulrica calls Cedric the son of thegreat Hereward. '

'Her wits were a little out of order, ' said Elizabeth; 'either shemeant his grandson, or Sir Walter Scott made as great an anachronism aswhen he made that same Ulrica compare Rebecca's skin to paper. If shehad said parchment, it would not have been such a compliment. '

'How much interest Ivanhoe makes us take in the Saxons and Normans!'said Anne. 

'And what nonsense it is to say that works of fiction give a distastefor history, ' said Elizabeth. 

'You are an instance to the contrary, ' said Anne; 'no one loves storiesso well, and no one loves history better. '

'I believe such stories as Ivanhoe were what taught me to likehistory, ' said Elizabeth. 

'In order to find out the anachronisms in them?' said Anne; 'I think itis very ungrateful of you. '

'No indeed, ' said Elizabeth; 'why, they used to be the only history Iknew, and almost the only geography. Do not you remember Aunt Anne'slaughing at me for arguing that Bohemia was on the Baltic, becausePerdita was left on its coast? And now, I believe that Coeur de Lionfeasted with Robin Hood and his merry men, although history tells methat he disliked and despised the English, and the only sentence oftheir language history records of his uttering was, "He speaks like afool Briton. " I believe that Queen Margaret of Anjou haunted thescenes of grandeur that once were hers, and that she lived to see thefall of Charles of Burgundy, and die when her last hope failed her, though I know that it was not so. '

'Then I do not quite see how such stories have taught you to likehistory, ' said Anne. 

'They teach us to realize and understand the people whom we find inhistory, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Oh yes, ' said Anne; 'who would care for Louis the eleventh if it wasnot for Quentin Durward? and Shakespeare makes us feel as if we hadbeen at the battle of Shrewsbury. '

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth; 'and they have done even more for history. Theyhave taught us to imagine other heroes whom they have not mentioned. Cannot you see the Black Prince, his slight graceful figure, his fairdelicate face full of gentleness and kindness--fierce warrior as heis--his black steel helmet, and tippet of chain-mail, his clusteringwhite plume, his surcoat with England's leopards and France's lilies?Cannot you make a story of his long constant attachment to hisbeautiful cousin, the Fair Maid of Kent? Cannot you imagine hiscourteous conference with Bertrand du Guesclin, the brave uglyBreton?--Edward lying almost helpless on his couch, broken down withsuffering and disappointment, and the noble affectionate Captal deBuch, who died of grief for him, thinking whether he will ever be ableto wear his black armour again, and carry terror and dismay to thestoutest hearts of France. '

'Give Froissart some of the credit of your picture, ' said Anne. 

'Froissart is in some places like Sir Walter himself, ' said Elizabeth;'but now I will tell you of a person who lived in no days of romance, and has not had the advantage of a poetical historian to light him upin our imagination. I mean the great Prince of Conde. Now, though heis very unlike Shakespeare's Coriolanus, yet there is resemblanceenough between them to make the comparison very amusing. There was muchof Coriolanus' indomitable pride and horror of mob popularity when heoffended Beaufort and his kingdom in the halles, when, though as 'Louisde Bourbon' he refused to do anything to shake the power of the throne, he would not submit to be patronized by the mean fawning Mazarin. Notthat the hard-hearted Conde would have listened to his wife and mother, even if he had loved them as Coriolanus did, or that his arrogance didnot degenerate into wonderful meanness at last, such as Coriolanuswould have scorned; but the parallel was very amusing, and gave me agreat interest in Conde. And did you ever observe what a greatlikeness there is in the characters of the two apostates, Julian andFrederick the Great?'

'Then you like history for the sake of comparing the charactersmentioned in it?' said Anne. 

'I think so, ' said Elizabeth; 'and that is the reason I hateabridgements, the mere bare bones of history. I cannot bear dry facts, such as that Charles the Fifth beat Francis the First, at Pavia, in awar for the duchy of Milan, and nothing more told about them. I amalways ready to say, as the Grand Seignior did about some such greatbattle among the Christians, that I do not care whether the dog bitesthe hog, or the hog bites the dog. '

'What a kind interest in your fellow-creatures you display!' said Anne. 'I think one reason why I like history is because I am searching outall the characters who come up to my notion of perfect chivalry, orrather of Christian perfection. I am making a book of true knights. Icopy their portraits when I can find them, and write the names of thosewhose likenesses I cannot get. I paint their armorial bearings overthem when I can find out what they are, and I have a great red cross inthe first page. '

'And I will tell you of something else to put at the beginning, ' saidElizabeth, 'a branch of laurel entwined with the beautiful whitebind-weed. One of our laurels was covered with wreaths of it lastyear, and I thought it was a beautiful emblem of a pure-hearted hero. The glaring sun, which withers the fair white spotless flower, is likeworldly prosperity spoiling the pure simple mind; and you know howoften it is despised and torn away from the laurel to which it is sobright an ornament. '

'Yes, ' said Anne, 'it clings more safely and fearlessly round thesimplest and most despised of plants. And would you call the littlepink bindweed childish innocence?'

'No, I do not think I should, ' said Elizabeth, 'it is not sufficientlystainless. But then innocence, from not seeing or knowing what iswrong, is not like the guilelessness which can use the world as notabusing it. '

'Yet Adam and Eve fell when they gained the knowledge of good andevil, ' said Anne. 

'Yes, because they gained their knowledge by doing evil, ' saidElizabeth, 'but you must allow that what is tried and not found wantingis superior to what has failed only because it has had no trial. St. John's Day is placed nearer Christmas than that of the Holy Innocents. '

'And St. John knew what evil was, ' said Anne; 'yes you are right there. '

'You speak as if you still had some fault to find with me, Anne, ' saidElizabeth. 

'No, indeed I have not, ' said Anne, 'I quite agree with you; it wasonly your speaking of knowledge of evil us a kind of advantage, thatstartled me. '

'Because you think knowledge and discernment my idol, ' said Elizabeth;'but we have wandered far away from my white convolvulus, and I havenot done with it yet. When autumn came, and the leaves turned brightyellow, it was a golden crown. '

'But there your comparison ends, ' said Anne; 'the laurel ought tovanish away, and leave the golden wreath behind. '

'No, ' said Elizabeth; 'call the golden wreath the crown of glory on thebrow of the old saint-like hero, and remember that when he dies, theimmortality the world prizes is that of the coarse evergreen laurel, and no one dreams of his white wreath. '

'I wish you would make a poem of your comparison, for the beginning ofmy book of chivalry, ' said Anne. 

'It will not do, ' said Elizabeth, 'I am no poet; besides, if I wishedto try, just consider what a name the flower has--con-vol-vu-lus, aprosaic, dragging, botanical term, a mile long. Then bindweed onlyreminds me of smothered and fettered raspberry bushes, and a great hoe. Lily, as the country people call it, is not distinguishing enough, besides that no one ever heard of a climbing lily. But, Anne, do tellme whom you have in your book of knights. I know of a good many in thereal heroic age, but tell me some of the later ones. '

'Lord Exmouth, ' said Anne; 'I am sure he was a true knight. '

'And the Vendeen leaders, I suppose, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Yes, I have written the names of M. De Lescure and of Henri de laRochejaquelein; I wish I knew where to find their pictures, and I wanta Prussian patriot. I think the Baron de la Motte Fouque, who was aKnight of St. John, and who thought so much of true chivalry, wouldcome in very well. '

'I do not know anything about himself, ' said Elizabeth, 'though, certainly, no one but a true knight could have written Sintram. I amafraid there was no leader good enough for you among the Spanishpatriots in the Peninsular war. '

'I do not know, ' said Anne; 'I admire Don Jose Palafox for his defenceof Zaragoza, but I know nothing more of him, and there is no chance ofmy getting his portrait. I am in great want of Cameron of Lochiel, orLord Nithsdale, or Derwentwater; for Claverhouse is the only Jacobiteleader I can find a portrait of, and I am afraid the blood of theCovenanters is a blot on his escutcheon, a stain on his white wreath. '

'I am sorry you have nothing to say to bonnie Dundee, ' said Elizabeth, 'for really, between the Whiggery and stupidity of England, and thewickedness of France, good people are scarce from Charles the Martyr toGeorge the Third. How I hate that part of history! Oh! but there werePrince Eugene and the Vicomte de Turenne. '

'Prince Eugene behaved very well to Marlborough in his adversity, ' saidAnne: 'but I do not like people to take affront and abandon theirnative country. '

'Oh! but Savoy was more his country than France, ' said Elizabeth, 'however, I do not know enough about him to make it worth while tofight for him. '

'And as to Turenne, ' said Anne, 'I do not like the little I know ofhim; he was horribly cruel, was he not?'

'Oh! every soldier was cruel in those days, ' said Elizabeth; 'it wasthe custom of their time, and they could not help it. '

Anne shook her head. 

'Then you will be forced to give up my beloved Black Prince, ' continuedElizabeth piteously; 'you know he massacred the people at Limoges. '

'I cannot do without him, ' said Anne; 'he was ill and very muchexasperated at the time, and I choose to believe that the massacre wascommanded by John of Gaunt. '

'And I choose to believe that all the cruelties of the French were bythe express order of Louis Quatorze, ' said Elizabeth; 'you cannot behard on a man who gave all his money and offered to pawn his plate tobring Charles the Second back to England. '

'I must search and consider, ' said Anne; 'I will hunt him out when I gohome, and if we have a print of him, and if he is tolerablygood-looking, I will see what I can do with him. '

'You have Lodge's portraits, ' said Elizabeth, 'so you are well off forCavaliers; do you mean to take Prince Rupert in compliment to yourbrother?'

'No, he is not good enough, I am afraid, ' said Anne, 'though besidesour own Vandyke there is a most tempting print of him, in Lodge, with abuff coat and worked ruffles; but though I used to think him thegreatest of heroes, I have given him up, and mean to content myselfwith Charles himself, the two Lindsays, Ormond and Strafford, Derby andCapel, and Sir Ralph Hopton. '

'And Montrose, and the Marquis of Winchester, ' said Elizabeth; 'youmust not forget the noblest of all. '

'I only forgot to mention them, ' said Anne, 'I could not leave themout. The only difficulty is whom to choose among the Cavaliers. '

'And who comes next?' said Elizabeth. 

'Gustavus Adolphus and Sir Philip Sydney. '

'Do not mention them together, they are no pair, ' said Elizabeth. 'Whata pity it was that Sir Philip was a euphuist. '

'Forgive him for that failing, in consideration of his speech atZutphen, ' said Anne. 

'Only that speech is so hackneyed and commonplace, ' said Elizabeth, 'Iam tired of it. '

'The deed was not common-place, ' said Anne. 

'No, and dandyism was as entirely the fault of his time as cruelty wasof Turenne's, ' said Elizabeth; 'Sir Walter Raleigh was worse thanSydney, and Surrey quite as bad, to judge by his picture. '

'It is not quite as bad a fault as cruelty, ' said Anne, 'little as youseem to think of the last. '

'Now comes the chivalric age, ' said Elizabeth; 'never mind telling meall the names, only say who is the first of your heroes--neitherOrlando nor Sir Galahad, I suppose. '

'No, nor Huon de Bordeaux, ' said Anne. 

'The Cid, then, I suppose, ' said Elizabeth, 'unless he is too fiercefor your tender heart. '

'Ruy, mi Cid Campeador?' said Anne, 'I must have him in considerationof his noble conduct to the King who banished him, and the speech theballad gives him:

 "For vassals' vengeance on their lord, Though just, is treason still; The noblest blood is his, who best Bears undeserved ill. "

And the loyalty he shewed in making the King clear himself of havingany share in his brother's death, even though Alphonso was silly enoughto be affronted. '

'Like Montrose's feeling towards his lady-love, ' said Elizabeth; 'notbearing the least stain on what he loved or honoured. '

'But he is not our earliest knight, ' said Anne; 'I begin with our ownAlfred, with his blue shield and golden cross. '

'King Alfred!' exclaimed Elizabeth, 'do you consider him a knight?'

'Certainly, ' said Anne; 'besides that I care more for the spirit ofchivalry than for the etiquette of the accolade and golden spurs; weknow that Alfred knighted his grandson Athelstane, so that he must havebeen a knight himself. '

'By-the-bye, ' said Elizabeth, 'I think I have found out the origin ofthe golden spurs being part of a knight's equipment. Do you rememberwhen the Cid's beloved king Don Sancho was killed, that Rodrigo couldnot overtake the traitor Bellido Dolfos, because he had no spurs on, whereupon he cursed every knight who should for the future ride withoutthem. Now that was at the time when the laws of chivalry wereattaining their perfection, but--'

'Not so fast, ' said Anne; 'I have a much earlier pair of golden spursfor you. Do not you remember Edmund, the last King of East Anglia, being betrayed to the Danish wedding-party at Hoxne, by the glitter ofhis golden spurs, and cursing every new married pair who should everpass over the bridge where he was found. I think that makes for myside of the question. Here is Edmund, a knight in golden spurs whenAlfred was a child. Ah ha, Miss Lizzie!'

Before Elizabeth could answer, Winifred came to tell her that her mammawanted her, and she was forced to leave the question of King Alfred'sand King Edmund's chivalry undecided; for, to her praise be it spoken, she was much too useful a person ever to be able to pursue her ownpeculiar diversions for many minutes together. She had to listen tosome directions, and undertake some messages, so that she could notreturn to her own room till after Anne had gone down-stairs. Sheherself was not ready till just as the elders were setting off to thedinner-party at Marlowe Court, and rejoicing in the cessation of therain and the fineness of the evening. 

About half an hour afterwards, the young ladies assembled in the innerdrawing-room to drink tea. Helen, however, remained in the outerdrawing-room, practising her music, regardless of the sounds of mirththat proceeded from the other room, until Elizabeth opened the door, calling out, '"Sweet bird, that shunnest the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy, "

come in to tea, so please your highness. '

'What can you mean?' said Helen; 'I am sure I am not melancholy. '

'I am sure you shun the noise of folly, ' said Elizabeth. 

'I am sorry you consider all our merriment as folly, ' said Anne, hopingto save Helen. 

'Indeed I do not, ' said Elizabeth; 'it was no more folly than akitten's play, and quite as much in the natural course of things. '

'Helen's occupation being out of the natural course of things, ' saidAnne, 'I should think she was better employed than we were. '

'In making a noise, ' said Elizabeth; 'so were we, I do not see muchdifference. '

'O Lizzie, it was not the same thing!' said Helen, exceedinglymortified at being laughed at for what she considered as a heroic pieceof self-denial, and so it was, though perhaps not so great in her as itwould have been in one who was less musical, and more addicted to thenoise of folly. 

'How touchy Helen is this evening!' thought Elizabeth; 'I had betterlet her alone, both for her sake and my own. '

'How foolish I was to interfere!' thought Anne; 'it was the mostawkward thing I ever did; I only roused the spirit of contradiction, and did Helen more harm than good; I never will meddle between sistersagain. '

Presently after, Elizabeth asked Harriet Hazleby whether she had everbeen at Winchester. 

'Yes, ' was the answer, 'and a duller place I would not wish to see. '

'It is a handsome old town, is it not?' inquired Anne, turning to Lucy;but Harriet caught up the word, and exclaimed, 'Handsome, indeed! I donot think there is one tolerable new looking street in the whole place, except one or two houses just up by the railroad station. '

Anne still looked towards Lucy, as if awaiting her answer; Lucyreplied, 'The Cathedral and College and the old gateways are verybeautiful, but there are not so many old looking houses as you wouldexpect. '

'It must be badly off indeed, ' said Elizabeth, 'if it has neither oldhouses nor new; but I wanted to know whether William Rufus' monument isin a tolerable state of preservation. '

'Oh! the monuments are very grand indeed, ' said Harriet; 'everyoneadmired them. There are the heads of some of the old kings mostbeautifully painted, put away in a dark corner. They are very curiousthings indeed; I wonder they do not bring them out. '

'Those are the heads of the Stuart kings, ' whispered Lucy. 

'Why, Harriet, ' exclaimed Dora, 'William Rufus was not a Stuart, he wasthe second of the Normans. '

'Very likely, very likely, Dora, my dear, ' answered Harriet; 'I havedone with all those things now, thank goodness; I only know that seeingthe Cathedral was good fun; I did not like going into the crypts, Isaid I would not go, when I saw how dark it was; and Frank Hollis saidI should, and it was such fun!'

Dora opened her eyes very wide, and Elizabeth said, 'There couldcertainly never be a better time or place. '

Looking up, she saw poor Lucy's burning cheeks, and was sorry she hadnot been silent. No one spoke for a few moments, but presently Annesaid, 'Alfred the Great is not buried in the Cathedral, is he?'

No one could tell; at last Helen said, 'I remember reading that he wasburied in Hyde Abbey, which is now pulled down. '

'There is a street at Winchester, called Hyde Street, ' said Lucy. 

'Yes, I know, ' said Harriet, 'where the Bridewell is, I remember--'

'By-the-bye, Anne, ' said Elizabeth, anxious to cut short Harriet'sreminiscences, 'I never answered what you said about Alfred andAthelstane. I do not think that Alfred did more than present him withhis sword, which was always solemnly done, even to squires, before theywere allowed to fight, and might be done by a priest. '

'But when Athelstane is called a knight, and the ceremony of presentinghim with his weapons is mentioned, ' said Anne, 'I cannot see why weshould not consider him to have been really knighted. '

'Because, ' said Elizabeth, 'I do not think that the old Saxon word, knight, meant the sworn champion, the devoted warrior of noble birth, which it now expresses. You know Canute's old rhyme says, "Row to theshore, knights, " as if they were boatmen, and not gentlemen. '

'I do not think it could have been beneath the dignity of a knight torow Canute, ' said Anne, 'considering that eight kings rowed Edgar thePeaceable. '

'Other things prove that Knight meant a servant, in Saxon, ' saidElizabeth. 

'I know it does sometimes, as in German now, ' said Anne; 'but thequestion is, when it acquired a meaning equivalent in dignity to theFrench Chevalier. '

'Though it properly means anything but a horseman, ' said Elizabeth; 'weought to have a word answering to the German Ritter. '

'Yes, our language was spoilt by being mixed with French before it hadcome to its perfection, ' said Anne; 'but still you have not proved thatKing Alfred was not a knight in the highest sense of the word, a preuxchevalier. '

'I never heard of Alfred on horseback, nor did I ever know him calledSir Alfred of Wessex. '

'Sir is French, and short for seigneur or senior, ' said Anne; 'besides, I suppose, you never heard Coeur-de-Lion called Sir RichardPlantagenet. '

'I will tell you how you may find out all about it, ' interruptedKatherine; 'Mrs. Turner's nephew, Mr. Augustus Mills, is going to givea lecture this evening, at seven o'clock, upon chivalry, and all that. Mrs. Turner has been telling us all day how much she wishes us to go. '

'Mr. Augustus Mills!' said Elizabeth; 'is he the little red-hairedwretch who used to pester me about dancing all last year?'

'No, no, ' said Katherine, 'that was Mr. Adolphus Mills, his brother, who is gone to be clerk to an attorney somewhere. This is Mr. Augustus, a very fine young man, and so clever, Willie says, and he hasmost beautiful curling black hair. '

'It wants a quarter to seven now, ' said Elizabeth, 'and the sky is mostbeautifully clear, at last. Do you like the thoughts of this lecture, Anne?'

'I should like to go very much indeed, ' said Anne; 'but first I must goand seal and send some letters for Mamma, so I must depart while youfinish your tea. ' So saying, she left the room. 

'Pray, Kate, ' said Helen, as Anne closed the door, 'where is thislecture to be given?'

'At the Mechanics' Institute, of course, ' said Katherine. 

'So we cannot go, ' said Helen. 

'And pray why not, my sapient sister?' said Elizabeth; 'what objectionhas your high mightiness?'

'My dear Lizzie, ' said Helen, 'I wish you had heard all that I haveheard, at Dykelands, about Mechanics' Institutes. '

'My dear Helen, ' said Elizabeth, 'I wish you would learn that Dykelandsis no Delphos to me. '

'Nay, but my dearest sister, ' exclaimed Helen, clasping her hands, 'dobut listen to me; I am sure that harm will come of your going. '

'Well, ope your lips, Sir Oracle, ' said Elizabeth impatiently, 'no dogshall bark, only make haste about it, or we shall be too late. '

'Do you not know, Lizzie, ' said Helen, 'that Socialists often holdforth in Mechanics' Institutes?'

'The abuse of a thing does not cancel its use, ' said Elizabeth, 'and Ido not suppose that Mr. Mills preaches Socialism. '

'Captain Atherley says, ' persisted Helen, 'that all sorts of peopleought not to mix themselves up together on equal terms. '

'Oh! then he never goes to church, ' retorted Elizabeth. 

'No, no, that was only my foolish way of expressing myself, ' saidHelen; 'I meant that he says that it is wrong for Church people to putthemselves on a level with Dissenters, or Infidels, or Socialists, foraught they know to the contrary. '

'Since you have been in the north, Helen, ' said Elizabeth, 'you havethought every third man you met a Chartist or a Socialist; but as I donot believe there are specimens of either kind in Abbeychurch, I see noharm in taking our chance of the very few Dissenters there are here, and sitting to hear a lecture in company with our own townspeople. '

'Really, I think we had better not go without asking leave first, ' saidKatherine. 

'In the first place, ' said Elizabeth, 'there is no one to ask; andnext, I know that Mrs. Turner has offered hundreds of times to take usthere, and I suppose Papa would have refused once for all, if he hadbeen so very much afraid of our turning Chartists as Helen seems to be. I can see no reason why we should not go. '

'Then you consider my opinion as utterly worthless, ' cried Helen, losing all command of temper, which indeed she had preserved longerthan could have been expected. 'I might have known it; you never carefor one word I say. You will repent it at last, I know you will. '

'It is not that I never care for what you say, Helen, ' said Elizabeth, 'it is only when you give me Dykelands opinions instead of your own, and talk of what you do not understand. I suppose no one has anyobjection to a walk, at least. Shall we get ready?'

Everyone consented, and they went to prepare. It should be said, inexcuse for Elizabeth, that both she and Helen had been absent from homeat the time of the establishment of the Mechanics' Institute atAbbeychurch, so that they had not known of their father's opposition toit. Helen, who, when at Dykelands, had been nearer the manufacturingdistricts, had heard more of the follies and mischiefs committed bysome of the favourers of these institutions. Unfortunately, however, her temper had prevented her from reasoning calmly, and Elizabeth hadwilfully blinded herself, and shut her ears to conviction, beingdetermined to follow her own course. Anne, who had always lived atMerton Hall, excepting two months of each year, which she spent inLondon, knew nothing of country town cabals, and thinking the lecturewas of the same nature as those she had heard in London, asked noquestions, as she had not heard the debate between Elizabeth and Helen. Katherine, however, hesitated to go without the permission of herfather and mother; or, in other words, she was afraid they wouldreprove her, and she was not unwilling to listen to Helen'srepresentations on the subject, while they were putting on theirbonnets. 

'It is not only, ' said Helen, 'that we are sure that it is not right togo anywhere without leave from Papa or Mamma, but that I know thatthese Mechanics' Institutes are part of a system of--'

'Oh yes, I know, ' said Katherine, 'of Chartism, and Socialism, and allthat is horrible. I cannot imagine how Lizzie can think of going. '

'Then you will not go, ' said Helen. 

'Oh, I do not know, ' said Katherine; 'it will seem so odd and soparticular if Anne and Lizzie and the Hazlebys go, and we do not. Itwould be like setting ourselves up against our elders. '

'You do not always think much of that, Kate, ' said Helen; 'besides, ifour eldest sister thinks proper to do wrong, I do not see that we areforced to do so too. '

'Well, but Lizzie said it was not wrong, and she is the eldest, ' arguedKatherine. 

'Lizzie said it was not wrong, that she might have her own way, andcontradict me, ' said Helen. 

'We shall see what Anne says, ' said Katherine; 'but if they go, I must, you know. It was to me that Mrs. Turner gave the invitation, and sheand Willie would think it so odd to see the others without me; and Mr. Mills too, he said so very politely that he hoped that he should behonoured with my presence and Harriet's, it would be an additionalstimulus to his exertions, he said. '

'My dear Kate, ' exclaimed Helen, 'how could you listen to such affectednonsense?'

'Why, Lizzie says everybody talks nonsense, ' said Katherine, 'but wemust listen and be civil, you know; I am sure I wish people would notbe so silly, it is very disagreeable to hear it; but I cannot help it, and after this I really think I ought to go, it would be very odd if Idid not. '

'Better do what is odd than what is wrong, ' said Helen. 

In her secret soul, Katherine had been of the same opinion the wholetime, and now that she thought she had made a sufficient merit ofgiving up the expedition, she was about to promise to follow Helen'sadvice, when she was interrupted by the entrance of Harriet, with hershawl and bonnet in her hand, coming to gossip with Katherine, and thusescape from Lucy, who had been quietly suggesting that in a doubtfulcase, such as the present seemed to be, it was always best to keep tothe safe side. Harriet had laughed at Lucy for not being able to giveany reasons, told her that it was plain that Helen knew nothing aboutthe matter, and declared that she thanked goodness that if Mr. Woodbourne was ever so angry, he was not her master, and her own mammanever minded what she did. Lucy could make no answer in words, but hersilent protest against her sister's conduct made Harriet so uneasy thatshe quitted her as soon as she could. 

Helen still hoped that Anne would see the folly of the scheme, andpersuade Elizabeth to give it up, and content herself with taking awalk, or that her sister's better sense would prevail; but she wasdisappointed, when, as they left the house, Anne asked where thelecture was to be given, Elizabeth replied, 'At the Mechanics'Institute;' and no further observation was made, Anne's silenceconfirming Elizabeth in her idea that Helen had been talking nonsense. Still, as St. Martin's Street, where Mr. Turner lived, was their wayout of the town, Helen remained in doubt respecting her sister'sintentions until they reached Mr. Turner's house, and Elizabeth walkedup the steps, and knocked at the door. 

Helen immediately wheeled round, and walked indignantly homewards, toofull of her own feelings to make any attempt to persuade Katherine tofollow her example, and every step shewing how grieved and affrontedshe was. 

Lucy laid her hand on her sister's arm, and looked up imploringly inher face. 

'Pooh!' said Harriet pettishly, jerking the ribbon by which she wasleading Fido: 'give me one reason, Lucy, and I will come. '

'What Helen said, ' answered Lucy. 

'Stuff and nonsense!' said Harriet; 'that was no reason at all. '

'What did Helen say?' asked Anne, who had been rather startled by herdeparture. 

'Only some Dykelands fancies about Socialists, ' said Elizabeth; 'thatis the reason she has gone off like a tragedy queen. I did not thinkall Abbeychurch was ready for the French Revolution--that was all. '

'There, Lucy, you see, ' said Harriet; 'come along, there's a good girl. '

Here Mrs. Turner's page opened the door, and answered that his mistresswas at home. 

'Dora, my dear, ' said Elizabeth, 'this is too late an affair for you;we shall not be at home till after you are gone to bed. Good-night--run after Helen. '

Dora obeyed, and Lucy also turned away; Katherine lingered. 'Come, Kate, ' said Harriet, mounting the steps. --'Lucy, you nonsensical girl, come back; everyone can see you out of the window; it is very rude, now; if Mrs. Turner sees you, what will she think? Mamma would be veryangry to see you so silly. Come back, I tell you!'

Lucy only looked back, and shook her head, and then hastened away; butKatherine, fearing that her friends would be irrecoverably offended ifshe turned away from their house, thinking that she had gone too far torecede, and trusting to Elizabeth to shield her from blame, followedthe others up-stairs. 

Helen turned back, much surprised, as Lucy and Dora overtook her; andthey hastened to give explanations. 

'Lizzie said I had better come home, ' said Dora. 

'And I thought it would be the safest thing to do, ' said Lucy. 

'I am very glad of it, ' said Helen; 'I am sure it is not right to go, but when Lizzie has once set her mind on anything, she will listen tono one. '

'Then do you think Papa and Mamma will be displeased?' said Dora; 'I donot think Lizzie thinks so. '

'I cannot be quite sure, ' said Helen; 'but I do not think Lizziechooses to believe that they will. '

'But let me understand you, Helen, ' said Lucy; 'I only know that youthink that Uncle Woodbourne would not approve of your going. What areyour reasons for thinking so? I did not clearly understand you. Church-people and Dissenters put themselves on a level in almost everypublic place. '

'They do not meet in every public place on what they agree to callneutral ground, ' said Helen, 'or profess to lay aside all suchdistinctions, and to banish religion in order to avoid raisingdisputes. You know that no subject can be safely treated of, exceptwith reference to the Christian religion. '

'How do you mean?' said Lucy. 

'Why, ' said Helen, hesitating a little, 'how many people run wild, andadopt foolish and wicked views of politics, for want of reading historyreligiously! And the astronomers and geologists, without faith, question the possibility of the first chapter of Genesis; and somepeople fancy that the world was peopled with a great tribe of wildsavages, instead of believing all about Adam and Eve and thePatriarchs. Now if you turn religion out, you see, you are sure tofall into false notions; and that is what these Mechanics' Institutepeople do. '

'Yes, ' said Lucy, 'I have heard what you say about those things before, but I never saw them in connection with each other. '

'Nor should I have seen them in this light, if it had not been for aconversation between Captain Atherly and another gentleman, one day atDykelands, ' said Helen. 'But, Lucy, did you leave this party, then, only because I said it was wrong, or because you thought so yourself?'

'Indeed, I can hardly tell, ' answered Lucy; 'I scarcely know what tothink right and what wrong, but I thought I might be certain that itwas safer to go home. '

'I do not see, ' said Helen, drawing herself up, and feeling as if shehad done a very wise thing, and known her reasons for doing it, too, 'Ido not see that it is so very hard to know what is right from what iswrong. It is the easiest way to think what Papa and Mamma wouldapprove, and then try to recollect what reasons they would give. '

'But then you are not always sure of what they would say, ' repliedLucy; 'at least I am not, and it is not always possible to ask them. What did you do all the time you were at Dykelands?'

'Oh! dear Mrs. Staunton was quite a mother to me, ' said Helen; 'andbesides, it was as easy to think what would please Papa there as it ishere. You were from home for some time last year, were you not, Lucy?'

'Yes, ' replied Lucy, 'I spent several months at Hastings, withGrandmamma; and I am almost ashamed to say that I felt more comfortablethere than anywhere else. I liked being by the sea, and having agarden, and being out of the way of the officers. Papa and Grandmammatalked of my always living there, and I hoped I should; but then Ishould not have liked to leave Papa and the rest, and not to be at homein my brothers' holidays, so I believe things are best as they are. '

'How you must wish to have a home!' said Helen. 

'Do not you think that home is wherever your father and mother andbrothers and sisters are, Helen?' said Lucy. 

'Oh yes, certainly, ' said Helen, quickly; 'but I meant a settled home. '

'I do sometimes wish we were settled, ' said Lucy; 'but I have been usedto wandering all my life, and do not mind it as much as you would, perhaps. We scarcely stay long enough in one place to get attached toit; and some places are so disagreeable, that it is a pleasure to leavethem. '

'Such as those in Ireland, that Mrs. Hazleby was talking of yesterday?'said Helen. 

'I did not mind those half so much as I do some others, ' said Lucy; 'wecould easily get into the country, and I used to walk with Papa everyday, or ride when Harriet did not want the horse. It was ratheruncomfortable, for we were very much crowded when George and Allan wereat home; but then they had leave to shoot and fish, and enjoyedthemselves very much. '

'Really, Lucy, ' said Helen, 'I cannot think how you can be so verycontented. '

'I did not know there was anything to be discontented with, ' said Lucy, smiling; 'I am sure I am very happy. '

'But what did you say just now you disliked?' said Helen. 

'Did I say I disliked anything?' said Lucy. 'Oh! I know what it was. Ido not like going to a large town, where we can only walk in thestreets, and go out shopping every day, and the boys have nothing toamuse them. And it is worst of all to go to a place where Papa andMamma have been before, and know all the people; we go out to tea halfthe days we are there, or to dinner, or have company at home, and Inever get a quiet evening's reading with Papa, and Allan has a verygreat dislike to company. '

As Lucy finished her speech they came to the Vicarage; and as theyopened the door, Meg Merrilies came purring out to meet Dora. Theylooked round for Fido, in order to keep the peace between the twoenemies, but he was nowhere to be seen, and Dora remembered to haveseen him with Harriet, just as they left the rest of the party at Mr. Turner's door; so dismissing him from their minds, they went to finishtheir walk in the garden, where Helen gave Lucy a full description ofall the beauties of Dykelands, and the perfections of its inhabitants;and finding her an attentive and obliging listener, talked herself intoa state of most uncommon good humour and amiability for the rest of theevening. On her side, Lucy, though she had no particular interest inthe Stauntons, and indeed had never heard their name before Helen'svisit to them, was really pleased and amused, for she had learnt toseek her pleasures in the happiness of other people. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

If Helen had not been too much offended by Elizabeth's disregard of hercounsel to think of anything but her own dignity, and had waited toremind Katherine of her argument with her, the latter might perhapshave taken the safest course, for it was not without many qualms ofconscience that she ascended the stairs to Mrs. Turner's drawing-room. 

There was no one in the room; and as soon as the page had closed thedoor, Elizabeth exclaimed, 'I declare, Anne, there is the bone ofcontention itself--St. Augustine in his own person! Oh! look at KingEthelbert's square blue eye; and, Kate, is not this St. Austin's Hillitself in the distance?'

'Nonsense, Lizzie!' said Katherine, crossly; 'you know it is no suchthing. It was in the pattern. '

'I assure you it is round, and exactly the colour of St. Austin's, 'said Elizabeth; 'there can be no doubt about it. '

Elizabeth's criticisms were here cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Turner and her daughter, ready dressed for the evening's excursion. 

'Mrs. Turner, ' said Elizabeth, with all the politeness she was capableof towards that lady, 'we are come to claim your kind offer of takingus to the Mechanics' Institute this evening. '

'Oh, my dear Miss Lizzie, ' cried Mrs. Turner, 'I am so delighted tohave the honour, you cannot think! It is my nephew, Augustus Mills, who lectures to-night. Most talented young man, poor fellow, isAugustus--never without a book in his hand; quite in your line, MissLizzie. '

At this moment the gentleman quite in Elizabeth's line came into theroom. He had a quantity of bushy black hair, a long gold chain roundhis neck, a plaid velvet waistcoat, in which scarlet was thepredominant colour--and his whole air expressed full consciousness ofthe distinguished part which he was about to act. Poor Elizabeth!little reliance as she usually placed in Katherine's descriptions, shehad expected to see something a little more gentleman-like than whatshe now beheld; and her dismay was increased, when Mrs. Turneraddressed her nephew--'Augustus, Augustus, my dear, you never were soflattered in your life? Here _is_ Miss Merton, and Miss Hazleby, andMiss Lizzie Woodbourne, all come on purpose to hear your lecture!'

Mr. Augustus said something about being very happy, and bowed, butwhether to the young ladies or to his own reflection in thelooking-glass was doubtful. He was then regularly introduced to Anneand Elizabeth; and upon Mr. Turner making his appearance, they arrangedthemselves for the walk to the Mechanics' Institute. Mr. Turner, a fatsilent old gentleman, very ceremoniously offered his arm to MissMerton, who, though by this time exceedingly amazed and disgusted byall she saw and heard, could scarcely refrain from laughing at the airsand graces of her squire, or at the horror she plainly perceived inElizabeth's face, when the talking Mrs. Turner exclaimed, 'Now, Augustus, I must have you take Miss Woodbourne--I know you will be suchfriends!'

Little did Mrs. Turner suspect, as in the overflowing of her pride anddelight she bestowed upon Elizabeth the hero of the night, the mingledfeeling of shame and repugnance which the poor girl had to encounter asshe placed her hand within the offered arm of Mr. Mills, almostgroaning at her own folly, and vainly seeking some possible means ofescape. Mrs. Turner followed with Harriet; and Katherine andWilhelmina brought up the rear. 

'You are very fond of study, I believe, Miss Woodbourne?' said Mr. Mills, as they left the house. 

Elizabeth made some inarticulate answer: she was in the utmost dread ofmeeting either of the curates, or worse still, her cousin RupertMerton, if he should chance to arrive that evening. 

'Most interesting pursuit!' continued Mr. Mills, wishing to shew hisaunt how well he and his companion agreed. 'I am quite devoted to it, always was! You are a classical scholar, I presume?'

Elizabeth was ready to wish she had never learnt to read: she fanciedshe saw a figure like Rupert's at the other end of the street, and wastoo much frightened to reply. 

While they were traversing one street of the old town, crossing thebridge over the little stream which flowed along the valley, andwalking along the principal street of the new town, Mr. Mills continuedto talk, and Elizabeth to echo the last word of each sentence; or whenthat would not serve for a reply, she had recourse to the simpleinterjection 'Oh!' that last refuge of listeners with nothing to say. After a walk, which she thought was at least as many miles in length asit was yards, they arrived at the Mechanics' Institute, outside whichthey found sundry loiterers, and a strong scent of tobacco; and insidesome crowded benches, a table with some chairs ranged round it, and astrong odour of gas. 

After a good deal of pushing and shoving, the ladies were safelydeposited on one of the front benches; while Mr. Turner, who was one ofthe managing committee, seated himself on one of the chairs; and Mr. Augustus Mills stood at the table. 

Elizabeth felt as if the crimson flush called up by vexation andembarrassment, together with her hasty walk, would never leave hercheeks; she held her head down till Katherine touched her to make herlook up, and trusting that her bonnet would screen her heightenedcolour from observation, she obeyed the sign. A flaring gas-light hungopposite to her; and as she raised her face she encountered the gaze ofMr. Higgins, the Radical and Dissenting editor of a newspaper which hadseveral times abused Mr. Woodbourne. The moment he caught her eye, hebowed with something of a triumphant air; and she, doubly ashamed ofherself and provoked with him, bent her head so low that he might wellimagine that she returned the bow. She hoped by looking down to escapeall further observation, but unfortunately for her, Mrs. Turner hadtaken care to find a conspicuous place for her party; and Katherine, who had by this time quite forgotten her doubts and misgivings, wasnodding and smiling to everyone, with what she considered the utmostgrace and affability. Anne, meanwhile, was trying to account forElizabeth's ever having thought of going to such a place, wonderingwhat Sir Edward and Lady Merton would think of the expedition, and fora moment considering whether Mr. Woodbourne could approve of it, yet atthe same time keenly enjoying all that was ludicrous in the scene, andlonging to talk it over with Rupert. She was also much diverted withMr. Augustus Mills's eloquent lecture, in which she afterwards declaredthat she heard the words 'barbarous institution' fifteen timesrepeated, and 'civilized and enlightened age, ' at least twenty-threetimes. She was, however, not a little fatigued before it was nearlyconcluded, and was heartily glad when after an hour and a half it wasterminated by a mighty flourish of rhetoric, upon the universaltoleration, civilization, and liberty enjoyed in the nineteenth century. 

Deafened by the applause of those who had heard little and understoodless, half stifled by the heat of the room, and their heads aching fromthe smell of gas, the girls now hoped to escape; but they were forcedto wait till the crowd nearer the door had dispersed, and then tolisten to the numerous compliments and congratulations which poured inupon Mrs. Turner from all quarters before they could reach the openair; and then, strenuously refusing all invitations to take tea in St. Martin's Street, they happily regained the Vicarage. Helen and Lucy metthem at the door, with hopes that they had had a pleasant evening. 

Elizabeth answered quickly, 'Come, come, say no more about it, it was afoolish affair altogether;' but the inquiry, after the feelings she hadseen expressed in Elizabeth's face, struck Anne as so excessivelyridiculous, that the moment they were in the drawing-room she sank downupon the sofa, giving way to the laughter which, long repressed, nowburst forth louder and more merrily upon every fresh remembrance of thescene; while the other girls, though persisting in declaring that theyhad seen nothing diverting, were soon infected by her joyous merriment, and the room rang again with laughter. 

'Well, Lizzie, ' said Anne, recovering her breath, 'I hope, as Helensays, you have had a pleasant evening; I hope you were very muchedified. '

'How can you be so absurd, Anne?' answered Elizabeth, trying to lookserious, but the corners of her mouth relaxing, in spite of herattempts to control her risible muscles. 

'I hope, ' continued Anne, with a very grave face, 'that Mr. Augustuswas fully sensible of your wisdom, love of erudition, and classicalscholarship, though I cannot say they appeared on the surface. '

'You may be sure he thought me very wise, ' said Elizabeth; 'I onlyechoed his own words--and what would a man have more?'

'And how tenderly you touched him with the tip of your glove!'continued Anne. 'I wish you could have seen yourself!'

'Indeed, I wish you had, Lizzie, ' said Katherine; 'I think you wouldhave been ashamed of yourself. '

'I am ashamed, ' said Elizabeth, gravely and shortly. 

Lucy here asked where Fido was. 

No one knew; no one could recollect anything about him from the timethey had left Mr. Turner's house to go to the Mechanics' Institute. Katherine and Harriet went to the front door, they called, theysearched, they even went to Mr. Turner's to inquire for him, but alltheir researches were fruitless; and Harriet turned angrily upon hersister, saying, 'It is all your fault, Lucy, for running home in such ahurry, and never thinking of him. How was I to be watching him there, did you think?'

'I should have supposed, ' said Elizabeth, 'that the person who wasleading the dog was more likely--'

'No, no, Elizabeth, ' hastily interrupted Lucy, 'it was my fault in somedegree. I know I ought to have thought of him. '

'Well, say no more about him, ' said Elizabeth; 'I dare say he will comehome before morning. '

And Elizabeth left the room to take off her bonnet, and to visit thenursery, where the children were in bed. All were asleep exceptingDora; and as Elizabeth leant over her, kissing her and bidding hergood-night, the little girl put her arm round her neck, and said, 'Lizzie, will you tell me one thing? Was it naughty to--to go whereyou went to-night?'

Elizabeth had felt annoyed and provoked and surprised at herself forher folly, but she had not thought herself in fault; but now Dora'ssoft, sweet, caressing tone sounded in her ears like a serious reproof, and turned her thought upon her sin. She was too upright and sincereto evade such an inquiry as this, even from a younger sister and apupil, and answered, 'Indeed, Dora, I can hardly tell yet how wrong itwas; but I am afraid it was very wrong, for I am sure it is a thing Ihope you will never do. Besides, I know I was very self-willed, andunkind to Helen; I have set you a very bad example, Dora, and I believeI ought to beg your pardon for it. Good-night, my dear!'

Was Elizabeth lowered in her sister's eyes by humbling herself?

Just as the girls were arranging themselves in the drawing-room for theevening, a loud knocking was heard at the front-door, and Harriet andAnne both sprang up--the one exclaiming, 'Someone has brought Fidoback!'--the other, 'Can that be Rupert?'

The last supposition was proved to be right; and in another momentRupert Merton was receiving the affectionate greetings of his sisterand cousins. Elizabeth felt some embarrassment in performing a regularintroduction of Mr. Merton to the Miss Hazlebys; but Rupert's easywell-bred manners rendered the formidable ceremony much easier than shehad expected, and the cousins soon fell into their usual style ofconversation. 

'Well, Mr. Rupert, ' said Elizabeth, 'better late than never; that isall that can be said for you!'

'Am I late?' said Rupert; 'I hope no one has waited for me. '

'I hope not indeed, ' said Elizabeth; 'pray, did you expect the Bishopand Clergy, and the whole town of Abbeychurch, St. Mary and St. Austin, to wait your pleasure and convenience? Anne, did you ever hear thelike? Do you think Prince Rupert himself was ever so favoured andhonoured?

'What do you mean?' said Rupert. 

'That you have come a day too late, you idle boy!' said Anne. 

'I thought next Tuesday was to have been the day of the Consecration, 'said Rupert. 

'Did you never get my letter?' said Anne; 'I wrote to tell you that theday was altered, and you were to meet us here on the Wednesday. '

'Can I ask you to believe a gentleman's word in opposition to alady's?' said Rupert, looking round. 'I did indeed receive a letterfrom my amiable sister, full of--let me see--histories of dogs andcats, and the harvest, and old Dame Philips, and commissions forpencils, which I will produce if I have not lost the key of myportmanteau, but not one word of the Consecration. '

'But indeed I wrote a good many words about it, ' said Anne; 'have youthe letter, Rupert?'

'Have I the letter?' cried Rupert. 'Young ladies, did you ever hear ofsuch overweening presumption? Here is a damsel who expects her scrapsof angular writing to be preserved with as much care as the GoldenBulls of the Pope!'

'That is to say, you burnt it without reading it, ' said Anne. 

'The former part of your supposition is true, sweet sister mine, 'replied Rupert: 'not knowing what spells it might contain, seeing thatMiss Merton's caligraphy is more like the cabalistic characters of asorceress than the Italian-hand of a gentle demoiselle, I exorcisedit--I committed it to the devouring element!'

'Without turning over the second page of the second piece ofnote-paper, I suppose?' said Anne. 

'How was I ever to suppose that anyone would write a letter for thepurpose of giving me an important piece of information, ' said Rupert, 'and then put the pith of it in a place where no one would ever dreamof looking? No, Lady Elizabeth, if by my absence your feast has lostits brightest ornament, its wittiest and wisest cavalier, it is thissister of mine whom you must accuse!'

It was really not a little provoking to be blamed in this manner forRupert's own carelessness; but Anne was used to her brother's ways, andcould bear them with good humour. Elizabeth, however, attacked him. 'Why, Rupert, one would suppose you had never heard where a woman'smind is to be found! These are most futile excuses. '

'I will only attempt one other, ' said the truant--'the utterworthlessness of young ladies' letters, which is such as not toencourage their friends to make any very strict researches into them. '

'Worse and worse!' said Elizabeth; 'you have certainly behaved mostcavalierly, that must be confessed! We are only considering whatpunishment you deserve. '

'I deserve the punishment I have had, Lizzie, ' said Rupert; 'I havemissed the Consecration, and three days of this fair company!'

'Besides that, you will be held up ever after as a warning to Horaceand Edward, ' said Elizabeth. 

'I saw that first-mentioned pupil of yours on Sunday, ' said Rupert. 

'Oh! how pleased Mamma will be!' cried Elizabeth; 'then you went toSandleford?'

'Yes; finding myself too late for the coach on Saturday afternoon, bywhich I had intended to go to Ely, ' said Rupert, 'I made up my mind tospend Sunday at Sandleford, and take a cursory view of the younggentleman, and of my old haunts. '

'Thank you, ' said Elizabeth, her eyes beaming with pleasure; 'I am surethat was very kind of you. And how did he look, poor little fellow, and what did he say, and was not he delighted to see you?'

'I shall leave you to judge of that, ' said Rupert, 'and say that helooked very happy and flourishing, with face and shirt-collar all overink on Saturday afternoon; and he said more than I can remember onSunday evening. '

'And what does Dr. Freeman say of him?' said Elizabeth. 

'Dr. Freeman assured me--what do you think, young ladies?--that MasterHoratio Woodbourne is by far the most promising youth who has enteredhis celebrated academy since--of course you know whom I mean, and willspare my blushes!'

'Unluckily, ' said Anne, 'the evident fabrication of the latter part ofthat speech destroys our belief in the beginning of it. '

'No, no, ' said Elizabeth, 'it is only the most promising, not the mostperforming. No one can doubt of Rupert's promises!'

'Rupert, you always do talk such nonsense, ' said Katherine. 

'Many thanks for the compliment, Lady Kate, ' said Rupert, with a bow;'considering how my intelligence is received, I think I shall spare itin future. I have a letter and parcel from Master Horatio in myportmanteau, and they may speak for themselves, if I have not lost mykeys, as I said before. '

'O Rupert!' cried Anne, 'how could you lose them again, after all thepains Mamma took to save them?'

'Indeed, Anne, I did behave better than usual, ' said Rupert; 'I keptthem safe till yesterday, I assure you. I wish you would come and giveme the carriage keys; perhaps some of them may unlock the portmanteau. '

Anne did not think they would; she said they had all been tried twicebefore; but Rupert would not be satisfied till the experiment had beenrepeated once more; and long after all the other girls were gone tobed, he kept his sister up, looking out some things which had beenbrought from Merton Hall for him, while he sat by recounting all hisadventures in Scotland. Anne was much delighted to listen, and veryglad to have her brother with her again; but perhaps, if he had notbeen quite so much engrossed by his own affairs, he would have seenthat she looked very tired, and have remembered that it was much laterthan her usual bed-time. 

While Katherine and Helen were undressing, the former began:

'Helen, I wish you had gone, it was such fun!'

'Was it?' said Helen. 'I thought Lizzie did not seem much gratified. '

'Lizzie? Oh no, ' said Katherine; 'she only hung her head and lookedvexed, though there were such a number of people, all so civil andbowing--Mr. Wilkins, and the Greens, and Mr. Higgins. '

'Did Mr. Higgins bow to you and Lizzie?' exclaimed Helen. 

'Yes, that he did, ' said Katherine triumphantly; 'and a very polite bowhe made, I assure you, Helen. I was quite glad to see him; I hope heis coming round. '

'How did Lizzie like it?' asked Helen. 

'Oh! she is so odd, you know, ' said Katherine; 'she seemed really quiteangry; I jogged her once or twice to make her look up, but she shook meoff quite crossly; I thought she would have been pleased. '

'I should think few things would vex her much more, ' said Helen. 

'Well, ' said Katherine, 'Willie once told me that some people thinkLizzie very proud and disdainful, and I really begin to believe so too. '

'Oh no, Kate, ' said Helen; 'I am sure she is not proud, it is only--'

'Mercy, Helen!' here interrupted Kate, 'what are you doing to yourhair?'

'Curling it, ' replied Helen, in her composed manner. 

'Why in the world?' said Katherine; 'I thought you liked your plaitsbetter. '

'Lizzie does not, ' said Helen. 

'Well, ' said Katherine, 'I am sure I should never dream of doing such athing, only because Lizzie chooses to make a fuss. '

'Perhaps not, ' said Helen. 

There was a silence. Presently Helen said, 'I suppose Mr. Higgins'snext Sunday's paper will mention that the Mechanics' Institute washonoured by the presence of the Miss Woodbournes!'

'Dear me, do you think so?' said Katherine, who could not guess fromher sister's manner what opinion she intended to express. 

'I think it very probable indeed, ' said Helen; 'such a sanction to theeducation-without-religion system is not to be neglected. '

'System!' said Katherine, looking bewildered; 'how are we to sanctionanything?'

'Our station here, as the daughters of the clergyman, gives us someweight, ' said Helen; 'besides that, what each person does, howevertrifling, is of importance to others. '

This was not very clearly expressed, and Katherine did not troubleherself to understand it. She only said, 'Well, I hope we have not gotinto a scrape; however, you know it was Lizzie's doing, not mine. '

'I thought you went, ' said Helen. 

'Yes, ' said Katherine; 'but that was only because Lizzie said it wasnot wrong. She is the eldest, and you know she is accountable. '

'I should think that poor consolation, ' said Helen. 

'Well, ' said Katherine sleepily, 'good-night. Those horrid gas-lightshave made my head ache. I cannot talk any more. '

CHAPTER IX. 

Although she had sat up so much later than usual the night before, Annewas dressed on Saturday morning in time to go to her mother's room fora little while before breakfast. 

'Mamma, ' said she, after they had spoken of Rupert's arrival, 'where doyou think we went yesterday evening?'

'Where, my dear?'

'To hear a lecture at the Mechanics' Institute, Mamma. '

'I should not have thought that your uncle would have approved of hisdaughters going to such a place, ' said Lady Merton. 

'Do you think we ought not to have gone, Mamma?' said Anne. 

'I do not know the circumstances, my dear, ' said Lady Merton; 'theMechanics' Institute may perhaps be under your uncle's management, andin that case--'

'Oh no, ' said Anne. 'I do not think it is--at least, I do not thinkUncle Woodbourne would have liked the lecture we heard much better thanLizzie and I did; and after it was too late, I found that Helen haddeclared it was very wrong of us to go. She would not go; and I foundthat when I was out of the room, she and Lizzie had had a great debateabout it. '

Anne then gave a full account of all that had occurred, and ended with, 'Now, Mamma, do you think we could have helped going on after we oncecame to Mrs. Turner's, and found what kind of a thing it was likely tobe?'

'People certainly cannot stop themselves easily when they have takenthe first wrong step, ' said Lady Merton. 

Anne sighed. 'Then I am afraid we have done very wrong, ' said she. 

'For yourself, Anne, ' said her mother, 'I do not think you are much toblame, since I cannot see how you were to know that your cousins weregoing without their father's consent. '

'I am glad you think so, Mamma, ' said Anne; 'but I cannot be quitehappy about it, for I might certainly have supposed that there was somereason against our going, when Helen and the youngest Miss Hazlebyturned back and went home. '

'You heard none of Helen's remonstrances?' said Lady Merton. 

'No, Mamma; I was foolish enough to be satisfied with Lizzie's sayingthat she had been talking nonsense, ' said Anne; 'besides, I could seethat Helen was out of temper, and I thought that might account for herobjecting. '

'These are very good reasons, Anne, ' said Lady Merton. 

'Indeed they are not, Mamma, ' said Anne; 'I am afraid the real causewas, that my head was so full of the pleasure I expected in going tothe lecture, that I did not choose to think that we ought not to go. Iam afraid I am growing thoughtless, as you said I should here. '

'No, no, Anne, ' said Lady Merton, smiling, 'I did not say you would, Ionly said you must guard against doing so; and as far as I have seen, you have shewn more self-command than when you and Lizzie were lasttogether. '

'Ah! but when you are not looking on, Mamma, ' said Anne; 'that is thedangerous time, especially now Rupert is come; he and Lizzie will makeus laugh dreadfully. '

'I hope they will, ' said Lady Merton, 'provided it is without flippancyor unkindness. '

'But, Mamma, ' said Anne, presently after, 'what do you think aboutLizzie? was she in the wrong?'

'I cannot tell without knowing more about it, ' said Lady Merton; 'doyou know what she thinks herself?'

'No, Mamma, ' said Anne; 'she was asleep before I went to bed lastnight, and up before I awoke this morning. But I do firmly believe, that if Lizzie had had the slightest idea that she was doing wrong ingoing there, she would as soon have thought of flying as of doing so. '

It was now breakfast-time; and Rupert came up to summon his mother andsister, and to inform them that his portmanteau had just been brokenopen for the seventh time since it had been in his possession. He saidthis with some satisfaction, for he was somewhat vain of hiscarelessness, for of what cannot people be vain?

During breakfast, it was arranged that the three elder ladies should goin the Mertons' carriage to Baysmouth, a large town, which was aboutten miles distant from Abbeychurch, and take Winifred and Edward withthem; Dora was to accompany the other young people in a long walk, to afarm-house, which report said had been a baronial castle in the days ofKing Stephen, and from exploring the antiquities of which some of themexpected great things, especially as it was known by the mysteriousname of Whistlefar. Mr. Woodbourne and Sir Edward expected to beengaged all day in the final settlement of accounts with the architectof the church. 

As soon as the two parties of pleasure had been arranged, Elizabethleft the breakfast-table to tell the children of the treat in store forthem, and to write a little note to Horace, to accompany Dora's letter, which had been finished that morning before breakfast. 

Just after she had quitted the room, Sir Edward asked what thesmart-looking building, at the corner of Aurelia Place, was. 

'You mean the Mechanics' Institute, ' said Mr. Woodbourne. 

'Never was new town without one, ' said Rupert. 

'Is this one well conducted?' inquired Lady Merton. 

'Not much worse than such things usually are, ' replied Mr. Woodbourne;'two or three Socialist lectures were given there, but they werestopped before they had time to do much harm. '

'Were you obliged to interfere?' said Sir Edward. 

'Yes, ' said Mr. Woodbourne; 'I went to some of the managingcommittee--Mr. Green and old Mr. Turner--and after some rather strongrepresentations on my part, they found means to put a stop to them. Higgins, their chief promoter, made several violent attacks upon me inhis newspaper for my illiberality and bigotry; and poor Mr. Turner wasso much distressed, that he came to entreat me to go myself, or atleast to allow my girls to go, to some lectures, which he promisedshould be perfectly harmless. I told him that I disapproved ofMechanics' Institutes in general, and especially of the way in whichthis one is conducted, and that I had resolved long before that none ofmy family should ever set foot in it. Here the matter ended; and Ihave heard no more of it, except that Mrs. Turner is constantlytormenting my wife with offers to take the girls to some peculiarlyinteresting lecture. '

If Elizabeth had been present, she would certainly have immediatelyconfessed her indiscretion of the evening before; but she was notthere, and Katherine, who was on the point of speaking, was checked byan imploring glance from Harriet. The conversation was changed, andnothing more was said on the subject. As soon as they could leave thebreakfast-table, all the young ladies instantly flew to theschool-room, where Elizabeth was sitting alone, writing. 

'Lizzie, Lizzie!' exclaimed three voices at once, 'do you know what youhave done?'

'Is it anything very fatal?' said Elizabeth, looking quite composed. 

'A fine scrape you have got into!' cried Katherine. 

'A pretty kettle of fish you have brought us into!' exclaimed Harriet. 

'But what is the matter, good ladies?' said Elizabeth; 'why do you lookso like the form that drew Priam's curtains at the dead of night?'

'Come, Lizzie, ' said Katherine pettishly, 'do not be so provoking withPriam and all that stuff, but tell us what is to be done about thathorrid Institute. '

'Oh! that is it, is it?' said Elizabeth; 'so I suppose Fido was stolenthere, and you are afraid to tell!'

'I am afraid he was, ' said Katherine; 'but that is not the worst ofit--I know nothing about him. But do you know what Papa says? UncleEdward has been asking about the Institute; and, oh dear! oh dear! Papasaid he could not bear Mechanics' Institutes, and had resolved quitefirmly that none of his family should ever set foot in one!'

Elizabeth really looked quite appalled at this piece of intelligence;and Katherine continued, 'And Chartists, and Socialists, and horriblepeople, have been lecturing there! I remember now, that when you wereat Merton Hall in the spring, there was a great uproar, and theAbbeychurch Reporter behaved very badly to Papa about it. A fineaffair you have made of it, indeed, Lizzie!'

'And pray, Miss Kate, ' said Elizabeth sharply, 'who was the person whofirst proposed this fine expedition? Really, I think, if everyone hadtheir deserts, you would have no small share of blame! What couldprevent you from telling me all this yesterday, when it seems you knewit all the time?'

'I forgot it, ' said Katherine. 

'Exactly like you, ' continued her sister; 'and how could you listen toall Helen said, and not be put in mind of it? And how could you bringme back such a flaming description of Mrs. Turner's august puppy of anephew? If we are in a kettle of fish, as Harriet says, you are at thebottom of it!'

'Well, Lizzie, ' said Katherine, 'do not be so cross; you know Mammasays I have such a bad memory, I cannot help forgetting. '

And she began to cry, which softened Elizabeth's anger a little. 

'I did not mean to throw _all_ the blame upon you, Kate, ' said she; 'Iknow I ought not to have trusted to you; besides that, I led you allinto it, being the eldest. I only meant to shew you that you are notquite so immaculate as you seem to imagine. We have all done verywrong, and must take the consequences. '

Helen was leaving the room, when Harriet died out, 'O Helen, pray donot go and tell of us!'

'Helen has no such intention, ' said Elizabeth; 'I am going to tell Papamyself as soon as he has done breakfast. '

'Oh! Lizzie, dearest Lizzie, ' cried Harriet, 'I beg you will not; youdo not know what Mamma would do to me!'

'Pray, Harriet, ' said Elizabeth scornfully, 'do you think that I amgoing to conceal my own faults from my own father?'

'But, Lizzie, stop one moment, ' said Harriet; 'you know it was you andKate who took me; I did not know it was wrong to go; and now Fido islost, Mamma will be certain to say it was by my going, and she will bedreadfully angry with me; and you would not wish me to be scolded forwhat was your fault!'

'Should not you wish me to tell, Anne, ' said Elizabeth, turning herback upon Harriet. 

'I told Mamma this morning, ' said Anne. 

'Told her!' exclaimed Harriet; 'and what did she say--?'

'She said she wondered that my cousins were allowed to go to such aplace, ' said Anne; 'and she seemed very sorry we had gone. '

'But was she angry with you?' persisted Harriet. 

Anne hesitated; and Elizabeth replied, 'No, of course she could not beangry with Anne, when it was all my doing. She must be displeasedenough with me, though. '

'But will she tell Mamma and Aunt Mildred?' said Harriet. 

'I do not think she will, ' answered Anne. 

'No, because she trusts to me to tell, ' said Elizabeth; 'so that yousee I must, Harriet. '

'Must you?' said Harriet; 'I cannot see why; it will only get us all ascolding. '

'Which we richly deserve, ' said Elizabeth. 

'I am sure, if you like to be scolded, ' said Harriet, 'you are verywelcome; only do not make Mamma scold me too. '

'I am sure, if you like to be insincere and cowardly, ' said Elizabeth, 'you shall not make me so too. '

'I do not want you to tell a fib, ' said Harriet; 'I only want you tosay nothing. '

'L'un vaut bien l'autre, ' said Elizabeth. 

'What?' said Harriet; 'do only wait till we are gone, if you aredetermined to tell--there's a dear girl. '

'Deceive Papa and Mamma for three whole days!' cried Elizabeth; 'Iwonder you are not ashamed of yourself. Besides, Harriet, I do not seewhat you have to fear. It was Kate and I who did wrong; we knewbetter, and cast away Helen's good advice; we shut our eyes and wentheadlong into mischief, but you had no reason to suppose that you mightnot do as we did. '

'No, ' said Harriet, 'I should not care if it was not for Fido. '

'But will my silence find Fido?' said Elizabeth. 

'No, ' said Harriet; 'but if Mamma knows we went there she will scold usfor going, because she will be angry about Fido; and if she once thinksthat it was I who lost him--oh, Lizzie, you do not know how angry shewill be!'

'But, Harriet, ' said Katherine, 'I thought you used to say that youcould do anything with your Mamma, and that she never minded where youwent. '

'Oh! that is when she is in good humour, ' said Harriet; 'she is notoften cross with me, but when she is, you may hear her from one end ofthe house to the other. Cannot you, Lucy? And now she will bedreadfully cross about Fido, and the other thing coming upon it, I donot know what she may say. O Lizzie, you will save me!'

'I will only tell of Kate and myself, ' said Elizabeth; 'or I will askPapa not to mention it to Mrs. Hazleby; though, Harriet, there are somepeople who prefer any suffering, just or unjust, to deceit. '

'Then you mean to tell directly, ' said Katherine, in a piteous tone. 

'Of course I do, ' said Elizabeth; 'there is the dining-room door shut. Come with me, Kate. '

Katherine rather unwillingly followed her sister into the passage; butwhen there, fear making her ingenious, a sudden thought struck her. 'Lizzie, ' whispered she, 'if you tell Papa that you and I went, Mrs. Hazleby will be sure to hear, and if she asks Harriet about it, perhapsshe--you know--may tell a story about it. '

'Fine confidence you shew in your chosen friend!' said Elizabeth. 

'Why, one must be civil; and Harriet is a sort of cousin, ' saidKatherine; 'but I am sure she is not half so much my friend as Willie. '

'Well, never mind defending your taste in friends, ' said Elizabeth;'for as I do think your scruple worth answering, I will tell you that Ihad thought of the same thing; but I do not choose to do evil that goodmay come, or that evil may not come. I shall tell Papa what anexcellent opinion you have of Harriet, and leave him to do as hepleases. '

Elizabeth's hand was on the lock of the door of her father's study, when Katherine exclaimed, 'There is someone there--I hear voices!'

'Uncle Edward, ' said Elizabeth. 'I do not mind his being there; weought to beg his pardon for leading Anne astray. '

'Oh! but do not you see, ' said Katherine, 'here are a hat and a roll ofpapers on the table! Mr. Roberts must be come. '

'Tiresome man!' cried Elizabeth; 'he will be there all day, and I shallnot see Papa I do not know when. It really was a very convenient thingwhen the architects of the old German cathedrals used to take adesperate leap from the top of the tower as soon as it was finished. Well, I must find Mamma now. '

'Cannot you wait till the evening, when you may see Papa?' saidKatherine, hoping to put off the evil day. 

'I cannot have this upon my mind all day unconfessed, ' said Elizabeth;'besides, Harriet will pester me with entreaties as long as it isuntold. Come, Kitty, do not be such a coward. '

'I am sure I do not want you not to tell, ' said Katherine, lookingrather miserable; 'only I am not in such a hurry about it as you are. You do not know where Mamma is. '

'No, but I will find her, ' said Elizabeth. 

The sisters set off on the chase; they looked into the drawing-room, the dining-room, Mrs. Woodbourne's room, without success; they ran upto the nursery, but she was not there; and they were going down again, when Katherine, seeing Elizabeth go towards the kitchen stairs, exclaimed, 'Well, I will go no further; it is so ridiculous, as if itwas a matter of life and death! You may call if you want me. '

Katherine retreated into her own room, and Elizabeth ran down to thekitchen, where she found Mrs. Woodbourne ordering dinner. 

Elizabeth stood by the fire, biting her lip and pinching her finger, and trembling all over with impatience, while Mrs. Woodbourne and thecook were busily consulting over some grouse which Rupert had broughtfrom Scotland. 

'Lizzie, my dear, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne presently, 'would you just runto my room and fetch down the green receipt-book?'

Elizabeth obeyed: running was rather a relief to her, and she wasdown-stairs again in another instant. 

'Why, Lizzie, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne, with a smile, 'you must be wildto-day; you have brought me the account-book instead of--But, my dearchild, what is the matter?' said she, perceiving that Elizabeth's facewas scarlet, and her eyes full of tears. 

'I will tell you presently, ' whispered Elizabeth, breathlessly, 'whenyou have done. ' She darted away again, and returned with the rightbook; but Mrs. Woodbourne was too much alarmed by her manner to spendanother moment in giving directions to the cook, and instantly followedher to her own room. Elizabeth hastily shut the door, and sat down torecover her breath. 

'My dear Lizzie, there is nothing amiss with any of the--' exclaimedMrs. Woodbourne, almost gasping for breath. 

'Oh no, Mamma, ' said Elizabeth, a smile passing over her face in spiteof her distress, 'it is not Winifred who is mad. It is I who have beenmore mad and foolish and self-willed than you would ever believe. Mamma, I have been with Mrs. Turner to the Mechanics' Institute. '

'My dear Lizzie, you do not mean it!' said Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'Yes, Mamma, indeed it is so, ' said Elizabeth mournfully; 'I did notknow what had happened there certainly, but I would not listen toHelen's good advice, and so I have made Papa seem to consent to what heabhors; I have led Kate and Anne and Harriet all wrong. Oh! Mamma, isnot it terrible?'

'Indeed, I wish I had told you what your Papa said to Mr. Turner, ' saidMrs. Woodbourne; 'I am afraid your papa will be very much annoyed; but, my dear, do not distress yourself, you could not know that it waswrong. '

'Yes; but, Mamma, ' said Elizabeth, 'I did know that it was wrong to goout without asking your leave. Simple obedience might have kept mestraight. But now I will tell you all, and you shall judge what hadbest be done about the Hazlebys and Fido. '

Rather incoherently, and with many sobs, Elizabeth told the history ofthe preceding evening. Mrs. Woodbourne listened to her with the utmostkindness, and said all she could to soothe and console her, assuringher that Mr. Woodbourne could not be seriously displeased with her forhaving transgressed a command of which she was ignorant. Elizabeth wasmuch relieved by having been able to talk over her conduct in thismanner; and though she still felt that she had been very much to blame, and by no means sure that Mr. Woodbourne would pass over her fault solightly, was greatly comforted by her mamma's kindness. She went awayto bathe her swollen eyes, before she went down to the school-room toread the Psalms and Lessons with her sisters, as was their regularcustom when there was no service at the church, before they began theirmorning's work; Mrs. Woodbourne undertaking to call the children downin a few minutes, and saying that she would speak to Katherine in thecourse of the day. She willingly promised to say nothing to Mrs. Hazleby, and only wished she was quite sure that there were no symptomsof madness about Fido. 

'What a strange girl Lizzie is!' cried Harriet, just as Elizabethdeparted on her search for her father or Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'But, Harriet, ' said Lucy, drawing her aside to the window, 'whatdifference is her saying nothing to make? Mamma will ask how Fido waslost. '

'I am sure, Lucy, that was more your fault than mine, ' said Harriet; 'Icould not be watching him all the time we were at that place. '

'Then why did you take him there?' said Helen. 

'Because Lucy chose to run away without ever thinking what I was todo, ' said Harriet. 

'But when you were leading him, and it must have been you who let gohis string, ' said Helen; 'I cannot see how you can accuse Lucy ofhaving been the means of losing him, when she was safe at home. '

Harriet was saved from the necessity of finding an answer, by hearingher mother calling her in the passage, and she hastened to obey thesummons. 

'Do you know where Fido is?' was Mrs. Hazleby's question. 

'No, ' said Harriet, finding she had only escaped one dilemma to fallinto another. She avoided any further questions, however, by hasteningpast her mother and running up-stairs. 

'Lucy, Lucy!' then called Mrs. Hazleby; and as Lucy came out of theschool-room, she repeated the inquiry. 

'I do not know, Mamma, ' answered Lucy in a low voice, but standingquite still. 

'Go and ask for him in the kitchen then, ' said Mrs. Hazleby. 

'I am afraid it would be of no use. Ma'am, ' said Lucy, firmly, but notdaring to raise her eyes; 'we missed him when we came in from walking, yesterday evening. '

'Yesterday evening!' cried Mrs. Hazleby; 'and did you never speak ofit? I never knew anyone so careless as you are, in all my life. It isof no use to leave anything in your charge, you care for--'

Here Lucy leant back and shut the door behind her, so that Anne andHelen could distinguish nothing but the sound of Mrs. Hazleby's loudangry voice raised to its highest pitch. 

'Poor Lucy!' sighed Helen. 

'Dreadful!' said Anne. 

'And how can anyone say that Lucy is not one of the noblest, mostself-devoted creatures upon earth?' exclaimed Helen, with tears in hereyes; 'there she is, bearing all that terrible scolding, rather thansay it was Harriet's fault, as everyone knows it was. I am sure no oneis like Lucy. And this is going on continually about something orother. '

'How can she exist?' said Anne. 

'With her acute feelings and painful timidity, ' said Helen, 'it isworse for her than it would be for anyone else, yet how gently andsimply she bears it all! and old Mrs. Hazleby says that she is oftenill after these scoldings, and she would have taken her away to livewith her, as the Major proposed, after Miss Dorothea Hazleby died, butthat she thought it would be taking away all the comfort of herfather's life. Oh! Anne, ' cried Helen, walking up and down the room asMrs. Hazleby's voice became louder and louder, 'I cannot bear it; whatshall I do? Oh! if it was but right, if it would not make it worse forLucy, I could, I would go out and tell Mrs. Hazleby what everybodythinks of her. '

'I do not wonder that Miss Hazleby was ready to do almost anything toavoid such a scene, ' said Anne. 

'Mean selfish creature!' said Helen; 'she ran away on purpose that Lucymight stay and bear all this. Anne, I do believe that if martyrs aremade, and crowns are gained, by daily sufferings and hourlyself-denial, that such a crown will be dear dear Lucy's. '

Anne's answer was--

 'And all the happy souls that rode Transfigured through that fresh abode, Had heretofore in humble trust, Shone meekly 'mid their native dust, The glow-worms of the earth!'

'Thank you, Anne, ' said Helen, wiping away her tears; 'I will think ofLucy as the light, the glow-worm of her family. Thank you; the thoughtof her meek clear light in darkness need not be gloomy, as it has been. '

Anne had never thought of Helen as possessing so much enthusiasm, andwas almost more inclined to wonder at her than at Lucy. While they hadbeen talking, Mrs. Hazleby's voice had ceased, steps were now heard inthe passage, and a letter was brought in and given to Helen. It wasfrom Fanny Staunton, but she had only just time to glance it over, before the three children came in, followed by their mother andElizabeth. Anne went to call her mother to join them in reading thePsalms and Lessons; and Winifred was sent to summon Katherine, who hadpurposely lingered up-stairs till all the rest were assembled. 

Elizabeth's eyes were very red, and she was afraid to trust her voiceto read the first verse of the Psalm, as it was always her part to do;but little Dora, who sat next to her, and who seemed in part to enterinto her feelings, although she said nothing, read the first verse forher; and Elizabeth took Edward, who always looked over her book, uponher knee when the Lessons began, so as to screen her face from heraunt. When they had finished, attention was drawn away from her byEdward, who was eagerly assuring Lady Merton that the Bible andPrayer-book which Uncle Edward, his godfather, had given him, werequite safe, and he was to use them himself when Lizzie thought he couldread well enough. This Dora explained as meaning when he had for aweek abstained from guessing words instead of spelling them; andElizabeth proposed to him to try whether he could read to-day withoutone mistake. Edward objected to reading at that time, as he was to goout at half-past twelve, and there would be no time for lessons. Elizabeth demonstrated that it was now only half-past ten, and that itwas impossible that he could spend two hours in putting on his bestfrock and trowsers, and in settling what to buy with the brighthalf-crown which Uncle Edward had given him; and Winifred assured himthat she meant to do all her lessons to-day. Edward looked round toappeal to his mother, but both she and Lady Merton had left the room, and he was forced to content himself with asking Anne whether shethought there was time. 

'Oh yes, Edward; I hope you will let me hear how well you can read; Iwant to know whether the young robins saw any more monsters, ' said Annegood-naturedly. 

Winifred, rather inopportunely, was ready with the information, thatthe nest was visited by two more monsters; but Anne stopped her ears, and declared she would hear nothing but from Edward himself, and theyoung gentleman was thus persuaded to begin his lesson. 

Helen did not wait to see how the question was decided, but went up toher own room to enjoy Fanny Staunton's letter. She paused however afew moments, to consider whether she should go to Lucy, but thinkingthat it must certainly be painful to her to speak of what had passed, she proceeded to her own room, there to send her whole heart and mindto Dykelands. 

Fanny Staunton's letter was overflowing with affection and with regretsfor Helen's departure; and this, together with her descriptions of herown and her sister's amusements and occupations, made Helen's heartyearn more strongly than ever after the friends she had left. Anne'scheerful manner, and Lucy's quiet content, had, the day before, madeHelen rather ashamed of herself, and she had resolved to leave offpining for Dykelands, and to make herself happy, by being useful andobliging, without thinking about little grievances, such as almosteveryone could probably find in their own home, if they searched forthem. When she had curled her hair, it was with the hope that thesacrifice of her tails would convince Elizabeth that she had someregard for her taste; unfortunately, however, her hair was rather toosoft to curl well, and after having been plaited for the last threemonths, it was most obstinate in hanging deplorably straight, in a wayvery uncomfortable to her feelings and irritating to her temper;besides which, Elizabeth had been too much occupied by her own concernsall the morning, to observe the alteration, and indeed, if she hadremarked it, she was not likely to feel as much flattered by thisinstance of deference to her opinion, as Helen thought she ought to be. Last night, Helen had lamented that her own petulance had prevented herfrom reasoning calmly with Elizabeth, and from setting before her allthe arguments upon which she had discoursed so fluently to Lucy, afterthe imprudent step had been taken; but now, she threw the blame uponElizabeth's impetuosity and unkindness, and felt somewhat aggrieved, because neither of her sisters had expressed a full sense of herfirmness and discretion. She compared Fanny's affectionateexpressions, with Elizabeth's sharp and hasty manner; the admirationwhich her friends had made rather too evident, with the wholesomethough severe criticisms she sometimes met with at home; the quietnessat Dykelands, with the constant bustle at the Vicarage; and ended, bythinking Mrs. Woodbourne the only person of the family who possessedany gentleness or kindness, and making up her mind that Dykelands wasthe only pleasant place in England, and that she herself was a mostill-used person, whose merits were not in the least appreciated. 

Such were the feelings which gradually took possession of her mind, while she was writing her answer to Fanny's letter; and by the time shehad finished, had brought her into that agreeable frame, which isdisposed to be offended with the first person who does not act up toits expectations. 

Katherine's study, through the whole morning, was to avoid a privateinterview with Mrs. Woodbourne; and she really shewed considerableingenuity in evading her. If Mrs. Woodbourne called her, she answered, 'Yes, Mamma, I am coming directly, ' but she took care not to come tillshe knew that her mamma was no longer alone; if Lady Merton wantedanything which she had left up-stairs, Katherine would officiouslyvolunteer to fetch it, when particularly told that she was not wanted;if Mrs. Woodbourne moved to the door, and made signs to Katherine tofollow her, she worked with double assiduity, and never looked upunless to speak to Rupert or to Harriet; and thus she contrived toelude the reproof she expected, until the whole party, except the twogentlemen, met at twelve o'clock for an early luncheon, so that therewas no longer any danger that Mrs. Woodbourne would find an opportunityof speaking to her, at present. 

The three children were to dine late with the rest of the party, andwere in high glee at the prospect of the afternoon's amusement;Elizabeth seemed to have recovered her spirits; Harriet was as noisy asever; and Lucy, if possible, a little quieter than was her wont; Anne, as usual, ready to be amused with anything; and Rupert quite preparedto amuse everyone. 

Fido was again mentioned, and Rupert, who had heard about half of thehistory of his loss, suggested the possibility of his having beendespatched by the railroad to London, there to be converted intosausages. Harriet, after many exclamations of 'O Mr. Merton!' declaredthat if she believed such a thing could ever happen, she would nevereat another sausage in her life, and concluded as usual with, 'wouldyou, Lucy?' Mrs. Woodbourne inquired anxiously after Winifred's hand. Mrs. Hazleby was on the point of taking fire at the implied suspicionof her lamented favourite's sanity, when Rupert averted the threateneddanger, by a grave examination of Winifred and Meg Merrilies, who hadboth been wounded, and concluded by recommending that as soon as pussshewed symptoms of hydrophobia, Winifred should be smothered betweentwo feather-beds, to prevent further mischief. Everyone laughed, except Dora, who thought the proposal exceedingly shocking; and Rupertargued very gravely with her on the expediency of the measure, untilshe was called away to prepare for the walk. 

CHAPTER X. 

Dora re-considered her arguments while putting on her bonnet, and theinstant the walking party were outside the front door, she began again. 'But, Rupert, it would be committing murder to kill Winifred, even ifshe had the Fidophobia. '

'No, no, Dora, ' said Rupert, 'it is your mamma and Lizzie who have theFidophobia. '

'What can you mean?' said Helen; 'how can you frighten the child so, Rupert?'

'Do not you know, Helen, ' said Elizabeth, ''tis his vocation. He is atrue Knight Rupert. '

'Expound, most learned cousin, ' said Rupert; 'you are too deep. '

'You must know, ' said Elizabeth, 'that Knecht Ruprecht is the Germanterrifier of naughty children, the same as the chimney-sweeper inEngland, or Coeur de Lion in Palestine, or the Duke of Wellington inFrance. 

 'Baby, baby, he's a giant, Tall and black as Rouen steeple; And he dines and sups, 'tis said, Every day, on naughty people. '

'I should have thought, ' said Rupert, 'that considering my namesake'sbabe-bolting propensities, and his great black dog, that he would havebeen more likely to be held up in terrorem in England. '

'I suppose there was some old grim Sir Rupert in Germany, ' saidElizabeth; 'but my dictionary is my only authority. '

'You are taking knecht to mean a knight, ' said Anne, 'contrary to yourargument last night. Knecht Ruprecht's origin is not nearly so sublimeas you would make it out. Keightley's Fairy Mythology says he is onlyour old friend Robin Good-fellow, Milton's lubber fiend, the HobGoblin. You know, Rupert, and Robert, and Hob, are all the same name, Rudbryht, bright in speech. '

'And a hobbish fellow means a gentleman as clumsy as the lubber fiend, 'said Elizabeth. 

'No doubt he wore hob-nails in his shoes, ' said Rupert. 

'And chimney hobs were so called, because his cream bowl was duly setupon them, ' said Anne. 

'And he was as familiar as the Robin Redbreast, ' said Elizabeth. 

'And wore a red waistcoat like him, and like Herb Robert, ' said Anne. 

'As shabby as this flower, ' said Elizabeth, gathering a ragged Robinfrom the hedge. 

'Well done, etymology, ' said Rupert; 'now for syntax and prosody. '

'I hope we have been talking syntax all this time, ' said Elizabeth; 'wewill keep prosody for the evening, and then play at Conglomeration. '

They now came to some bright green water-meadows, which bordered thelittle stream as soon as it left the town. There was a broad dry pathby the river side, and as they walked along it, there was no lack oflaughter or merriment in anyone but Helen, and she could find noamusement in anything she saw or heard. At last, however, she washighly delighted at the sight of some plants of purple loose-strife, growing on the bank. 'Oh!' cried she, 'that is the flower that is sobeautiful at Dykelands. '

'What! the loose strife?' said Elizabeth, 'it is common enough in alldamp places. '

Poor Helen! as if this slight to the flower she admired were not asufficient shock to her feelings, Rupert, perfectly unconscious on whattender ground he was treading, said, 'If it is a lover of damp, I amsure it can nowhere be better suited than at Dykelands. Did you growweb-footed there, Helen?'

'O Rupert, ' said Helen, 'I am sure the garden is always quite dry. '

'Except when it is wet, ' said Elizabeth. 

'That was certainly the case when I was there two years ago, ' observedRupert; 'I could not stir two steps from the door without meeting witha pool deep enough to swim a man-of-war. '

'Rupert, ' said Elizabeth, 'I hereby give notice, that whosoever saysone single word against the perfect dryness, cleanliness, and beauty, of dear Dykelands, commits high treason against Miss Helen Woodbourne;and as protecting disconsolate damsels is the bounden duty of a trueknight and cavalier, I advise you never to mention the subject, on painof being considered a discourteous recreant. '

'Lizzie, how can you?' said Helen peevishly. 

'How strange it is, ' said Anne, 'that so many old family houses shouldhave been built in damp places. '

'Our ancestors were once apparently frogs, ' said Rupert; unhappilyreminding Helen of her sister's parody. 

'Well, ' said Elizabeth, 'I can understand why monasteries should havebeen built in damp places, near rivers or bogs, both for the sake ofthe fish, and to be useful in draining; but why any other mortal exceptDutchmen, tadpoles, and newts, should delight in mud and mire, passesmy poor comprehension. '

Rupert pointed to a frog which Dora's foot had startled from itshiding-place, and said, 'Pray, why, according to my theory, should notthe human kind have once been frogs? leap-frog being only a return toour natural means of progression. '

'And bull-frogs in a course of becoming stalwart gentlemen, ' said Anne. 

'Yes, we often hear of a croaking disposition, do not we, Helen?' saidElizabeth; 'you see both that propensity, and a love of marshes, arebut indications of a former state of existence. '

'And I am sure that your respectable neighbour, Mr. Turner, is a toadon his hind legs, ' said Rupert. 

'Minus the precious jewel, ' said Elizabeth. 

'By-the-bye, ' said Rupert, 'is there not some mystery about thatgentleman? This morning I hazarded a supposition, in the drawing-room, that the lost darling we have heard so much of, might have beendissected for the benefit of Mr. Turner's pupils, and thereupon arose amost wonderful whispering between Kate and one of your sweet cousinsthere, Lizzie, about some nephew, an Adolphus or Augustus, or some suchname; but the more questions I asked, the more dark and mysterious didthe young ladies become. '

'I wonder if it is possible!' cried Elizabeth, with a sudden start. 

'What is possible?' asked Anne. 

'That Rupert should be right, ' said Elizabeth; 'was Mrs. Hazleby in theroom when you spoke?'

'Yes, but what of that?' said Rupert. 

'That you, talking at random, ' said Elizabeth, 'very nearly betrayedHarriet's grand secret. '

'Really, the affair becomes quite exciting, ' said Rupert; 'pray do notleave me in suspense, explain yourself. '

'I do not think I can, Rupert, ' said Elizabeth, not wishing to exposeHarriet, for Mrs. Woodbourne's sake. 

'Then I am to understand, ' said Rupert, 'that Miss Hazleby haspresented Fido to this noble Adolphus, as a pledge of the tenderestfriendship, and that you and Kate act as confidants. '

'Nonsense, Rupert, ' said Anne, trying to check him by a look. 

'And I suppose, ' proceeded Rupert, 'that the gentleman is to extractpoor Fido's faithful heart, and wear it next his own. I never shouldhave devised so refined and sentimental a souvenir. It is far beyondforget-me-nots and arrows. So professional too. '

Elizabeth and Anne laughed so much that they could neither of themspeak for some moments; but when Anne recovered, she took her brotherby the arm and whispered, 'Rupert, the less you say about the Turnersor Fido, the better. I will explain it all to you when we have anopportunity. '

Elizabeth thanked her by a look; and at this moment Dora, who had beenfar in advance with Katherine and the Hazlebys, came running back tobeg Rupert to gather for her some fine bulrushes which grew on thebrink of the river. Rupert was very willing to comply with herrequest; but Elizabeth recommended Dora to leave them till they shouldreturn, and not to take the trouble of carrying them to WhistlefarCastle and back again. 

Leaving the river, they began to ascend a steep chalky lane, which hadbeen wet all the winter, and was now full of rough hardened wheel-rutsand holes made by slipping horses. Elizabeth thought that RobertBruce's calthorps could hardly have made the ground more uneven, andshe was just going to say so, when Helen groaned out, 'What a horridplace! I slip and bruise my ancle every minute. ' Upon which sheimmediately took the other side of the question, and answered, 'It isnot nearly so bad as the long lane on the down, and you never complainof that. '

'Oh! but this is all up-hill, ' said Helen. 

'I am not in the least tired, Helen, ' said Dora, who with Rupert'sassistance was taking flying leaps over the ruts. 

'You? no, I should think not, ' said Helen, in so piteous a tone, thatRupert very good-naturedly waited till she came up to him, and thenoffered her his arm. 

On seeing this, Harriet was rather vexed that she had not been firstnoticed by the gentleman, and began to make heavy complaints of thebadness of the road, but no one paid much attention to her. Elizabethhowever gave her arm to Lucy, who never could bear much fatigue. 

After they had gained the top of the hill, they walked on for somedistance between high hedges, and as none of the party knew the wayfurther than the river, except from some directions given them by Mr. Walker, the Curate, they begun to think that they must have missed aturn to the left, which he had told them to take. Harriet and Helenboth declared that they had passed the turning; Katherine was sure theyhad not; and Elizabeth said that she had seen a turn to the right someway behind them, but that to the left was yet to come. As they couldnot agree upon this question, Rupert walked onwards to explore, leavingthe young ladies to rest on the trunk of a tree lying by the side ofthe road. While he was gone, Elizabeth drew Helen aside, saying, 'Helen, you had better take care, I hope Rupert has not observed howmuch out of humour you are. '

'I am not out of humour, ' said Helen, according to the usual fashion ofdenying such a charge. 

'Then why do you look and speak as if you were?' said her sister; 'youhad better watch yourself. '

'I think you are enough to vex anyone, Lizzie, ' said Helen; 'bringingme ever so far out of the way on such a road as this, and then scoldingme for saying I do not like it. '

'I see, ' answered Elizabeth, 'you are not in a fit state to be reasonedwith. '

'No, ' retorted Helen, who had indulged in her ill-humour till shehardly knew what she said, 'you will never condescend to hear what Ihave to say. Perhaps it might be as well sometimes if you would. '

'Yes, Helen, ' said Elizabeth, colouring and turning away, 'it wouldindeed. I know I have given you a right to upbraid me. '

At this moment Rupert came back, cheering the drooping courage of thewearied and heated damsels with intelligence, that 'there is no lanewithout a turning, ' and he had found the one they were seeking. 

Things now went on better; they came to a shady green path by the sideof a wood, and Helen was more silent, her temper having perhaps been alittle improved by the coolness. Soon, however, they had to cross twolong fields, where gleaning was going on merrily; Helen made severalcomplaints of the heat and of the small size of her parasol; andElizabeth had to catch Dora, and hold her fast, to prevent her fromoverheating herself by a race after Rupert through the stubble. At thefirst stile, Harriet thought proper to make a great outcry, and wasevidently quite disposed for a romp, but Rupert helped her over soquietly that she had no opportunity for one. They now found themselvesin a grass field, the length of which made Helen sigh. 

'Why, Helen, how soon you are tired!' said Rupert; 'I am afraidDykelands did not agree with you. '

'Helen is only a little cross, she will be better presently, ' saidDora, in so comical a tone, that Rupert, Katherine, and Harriet alllaughed, and Helen said sharply, 'Dora, do not be pert. '

Rupert was really a very good-natured youth, but it would have requiredmore forbearance than he possessed, to abstain from teazing so temptinga subject as poor Helen was at this moment. 

'And how do you know that Helen is a little cross, Dora, my dear?' saidhe. 

'Because she looks so, ' said Dora. 

'And how do people look when they are a little cross, Dora?'

'I do not know, ' answered Dora. 

'Do they look so, my dear?' said Rupert, mimicking poor Helen'swoe-begone face in a very droll way. 

Dora laughed, and Helen was still more displeased. 'Dora, it is verynaughty, ' said she. 

'What! to look cross?' said Rupert; 'certainly, is it not, Dora?'

Elizabeth and Anne were far in the rear, reaching for some botanicalcuriosity, on the other side of a wet ditch, or they would certainlyhave put a stop to this conversation, which was not very profitable toany of the parties concerned. Dora was rather a matter-of-fact littleperson, and a very good implement for teazing with, as she did not atall suspect the use made of her, until a sudden thought striking her, she stopped short, saying very decidedly, 'We will not talk of this anymore. '

'Why not?' said Rupert, rather sorry to be checked in the fullenjoyment of his own wit. 

'Because Helen does not like it, ' said Dora. 

'But, Dora, ' said Rupert, wishing to try the little girl ratherfurther, 'do not you think she deserves it, for being out of temper?'

'I do not know, ' said Dora gravely, 'but I know it is not right or kindto say what vexes her, and I shall not stay with you any longer, Rupert, if you will do it. '

So saying, Dora, well-named Discreet Dolly, ran away to Lucy, of whomshe was very fond. 

Rupert was both amused and surprised at Dora's behaviour, and perhaps, at the same time, a little ashamed and piqued by a little girl of sevenyears old having shewn more right feeling and self-command than he haddisplayed; and to cover all these sensations, he began to talk nonsenseto Katherine and Harriet as fast as he could. 

In the mean time Helen walked on alone, a little behind the rest of theparty; for by this time Elizabeth and Anne had come up with the others, and had passed her. As they entered a little copse, she began torecollect herself. She had from her infancy been accustomed to giveway to fits of peevishness and fretfulness, thinking that as long asher ill-humour did not burst forth in open name, as Elizabeth's usedformerly to do, there was no great harm in letting it smoulder away, and make herself and everyone else uncomfortable. Some time ago, something had brought conviction to her mind that such conduct was notmuch better than bearing malice and hatred in her heart, and she hadresolved to cure herself of the habit. Then came her visit toDykelands, where everything went on smoothly, and there was littletemptation to give way to ill-humour, so that she had almost forgottenher reflections on the subject, till the present moment, when sheseemed suddenly to wake and find herself in the midst of one of her oldsullen moods. She struggled hard against it, and as acknowledging illtemper is one great step towards conquering it, she soon recoveredsufficiently to admire the deep pink fruit of the skewer-wood, and thewaxen looking red and yellow berries of the wild guelder rose, whensuddenly the rear of the darkness dim which over-shadowed her spiritswas scattered by the lively din of a long loud whistle from Rupert, whowas concealed from her by some trees, a little in advance of her. Shehastened forwards, and found him and all the others just emerged fromthe wood, and standing on an open bare common where neither castle norcottage was to be seen, nothing but a carpet of purple heath, dwarffurze, and short soft grass upon which a few cows, a colt, and adonkey, were browsing. The party were standing together, laughing, some moderately, others immoderately. 

'What is the matter?' asked Helen. 

'I do not know, ' said Elizabeth, 'unless Rupert is hallooing because heis out of the wood. '

'Wait till you have heard my reasons unfolded, ' said Rupert; 'did younever hear how this celebrated fortress came by its name?'

'Never, ' said several voices. 

'Then listen, listen, ladies all, ' said Rupert. 'You must know thatonce upon a time there was a most beautiful princess, who lived in asplendid castle, where she received all kinds of company. Well, oneday, there arrived an old grim palmer, just like the picture ofHopeful, in the Pilgrim's Progress, with a fine striped cockle-shellsticking upright in his hat-band. Well, the cockle-shell tickled thePrincess's fancy very much, and she made her pet knight (for she had asmany suitors as Penelope) promise that he would steal it from him thatvery night. So at the witching hour of midnight, the knight approachedthe palmer's couch, and gently abstracted the cockle hat and staff, placing in their stead, the jester's cap and bells, and bauble. Nextmorning when it was pitch dark, for it was the shortest day, up jumpedthe palmer, and prepared to resume his journey. Now it chanced thatthe day before, the lady had ordered that the fool should be whipped, for mocking her, when she could not get the marrow neatly out of a bonewith her fingers, and peeped into it like a hungry magpie; so that themoment the poor palmer appeared in the court-yard, all the squires andpages set upon him, taking him for the fool, and whipped him round andround like any peg-top. Suddenly, down fell the cap and bells, and hesaw what had been done; upon which he immediately turned into anenchanter, and commanded the Princess and all her train to fall into adeep sleep, all excepting the knight who had committed the offence, whois for ever riding up and down the castle court, repenting of hisdiscourtesy, with his face towards the tail of a cream-coloured donkey, wearing a cap and bells for a helmet, with a rod for a lance, and acockle-shell for a shield, and star-fishes for spurs, and the Princesscan only be disenchanted by her devoted champion doing battle with him. All, however, has vanished away from vulgar eyes, and can only bebrought to light by being thrice whistled for. A slight tradition hasremained, and the place has ever since been known by the mysteriousname of Whistlefar. '

'And has no one ever found it?' said Dora. 

'I cannot say, ' answered Rupert. 

'A deed of such high emprise can only be reserved for the great PrinceRupert himself, ' said Elizabeth. 

'How can such nonsensical traditions be kept up?' said Harriet; 'Ithought everyone had forgotten such absurd old stories, only fit tofrighten children. '

'Oh! you know nobody believes them, ' said Katherine. 

'But, Rupert, ' said Helen, 'this must be a modern story, it cannot be agenuine old legend, it is really not according to the spirit of thosetimes to say that a palmer could be an enchanter, or so revengeful. '

'Oh!' said Rupert, 'you know everything bad is to be learnt among theSaracens. '

'Still, ' said Helen, 'if you consider the purpose for which the Palmersvisited the Holy Land, you cannot think them likely to learn the darkrites of the Infidels, and scarcely to wish to gratify personalresentment. '

'The frock does not make the friar, ' said Rupert, 'and this may havebeen a bad palmer. Think of the Knights Templars. '

'Besides, ' said Helen, 'how could the squires see either palmer orjester when it was pitch dark?'

'I suppose there were lamps in the court, ' said Rupert; 'but

 "I cannot tell how the truth may be, I tell the tale as 'twas told to me. "'

'But who told you, Rupert?' said Helen. 

'Why, the story of Red Mantle, Helen, cannot you see?' said Elizabeth;'it was on the table all the morning. '

'O Lizzie, was there ever anything so cruel?' cried Rupert; 'EdieOchiltree was nothing to you. Everyone was swallowing it so quietly, and you will not even let me enjoy the credit of originality. '

'I am sure I give you credit due, ' said Elizabeth; 'it is really aningenious compound of Red Mantle, the Sleeping Beauty, Robert of Paris, and Triermain, and the cockle-shell shield and star-fish spurs form anagreeable variation. '

'I never will tell another story in your presence, Lizzie, ' saidRupert, evidently vexed, but carrying it off with great good humour;'you are worse than Quarterly, Edinburgh, and Blackwood put together. '

'I really think you deserved it, Rupert, ' said Anne; 'I cannot pityyou, you ought not to laugh at the pilgrims. '

'Oh! I dare not open my lips before such devotees of crusading, ' saidRupert. 

'And pray, Rupert, ' said Elizabeth, 'what did you mean by comparing meto Edie Ochiltree? did you mean to say that you were like Monkbarns? Inever heard that that gentleman fabricated either legends orcuriosities, and made them pass for genuine ancient ones. '

At this moment, happily for Rupert, they came to the top of a smallrising ground, and beheld a farmhouse at about a hundred yards beforethem. Rupert whistled long and loud and shrill, and two or three ofthe young ladies exclaimed, 'Is this Whistlefar Castle?'

'It is only enchanted, ' said Elizabeth; 'clear away the mist ofincredulity from your eyes, and behold keep, drawbridge, tower andbattlement, and loop-hole grates where captives weep. '

It cannot be denied that the young party were a little disappointed bythe aspect of the renowned Whistlefar, but they did ample justice toall that was to be seen; a few yards of very thick stone wall in thecourt, a coat of arms carved upon a stone built into the wall upsidedown, and the well-turned arch of the door-way. Some, putting on DonQuixote's eyes for the occasion, saw helmets in milk-pails, dungeons incellars, battle-axes in bill-hooks, and shields in pewter-plates, called the baby in its cradle the sleeping Princess, agreed that theshield must have been reversed by order of the palmer, and that one ofthe cows was the mischievous knight's cream-coloured donkey; so thatlaughter happily supplied the place of learned lore. 

On the way home the party were not quite so merry, although Helen wasunusually agreeable, and enjoyed a very pleasant conversation withRupert and Anne, who, she was pleased to find, really thought her worthtalking to. Elizabeth was occupied with Dora, who was tired, andwanted to be cheered and amused. She did not however forget herbulrushes, and when they came in sight of them, she ran forwards toclaim Rupert's promise of gathering some for her and her little brotherand sister. This was a service of difficulty, for some of thebulrushes grew in the water, and others on deceitful ground, where apool appeared wherever Rupert set his foot. With two or three stridesand leaps, however, he reached a little dry island, covered with a tuftof sedges, in the midst of the marsh, and was reaching some of thebulrushes with the hook of Anne's parasol, when he suddenly cried out, 'Hollo, what have we here?'

'What?' said some of the girls. 

'A dead dog, I believe, ' said Rupert. 

'Oh! let me see, ' cried Harriet, advancing cautiously over the morass. 

'Are you curious in such matters. Miss Hazleby?' said Rupert, laughing, as Harriet came splashing towards him through the wet, holding up herfrock with one hand, and stretching out the other to him, to be helpedupon the island. He pulled her upon it safely, but it quakedfearfully; and there was hardly room for them both to stand on it, while Harriet, holding fast by Rupert's hand, bent forwards, beheld theobject of her curiosity, uttered a loud scream, lost her balance, andwould have fallen into the river had she not been withheld by Rupert'sstrength of arm. They both slipped down on the opposite sides of theisland, into the black mud, and Harriet precipitately retreated to themainland. 

'Well, what is the matter?' said Elizabeth. 

'Oh! my poor dear little doggie!' cried Harriet. 

'Is it Fido?' said Elizabeth; 'then, Harriet, there is no fear of youreating him in a sausage; you may be at rest on that score. '

'But can it really be Fido?' said Katherine, pressing forwards. 

'Do you wish to see?' said Rupert, 'for if so, I advise you to makehaste, the island is sinking fast. '

'I am splashed all over, so I do not care. Can I have one more look?'said Harriet, in a melancholy voice. 

Rupert handed her back to the island, where she took her last farewellof poor Fido, all his long hair drenched with water, and the very sameblue ribbon which she had herself tied round his neck the day before, floating, a funeral banner, on the surface of the stream. Shecontemplated him until her weight and Rupert's had sunk the island somuch, that it was fast becoming a lake, while Elizabeth whispered toAnne to propose presenting her with a forget-me-not, on Fido's part. 

'I hope, ' said Rupert, as they proceeded with their walk, 'that you arefully sensible of poor Fido's generous self-sacrifice; he immolatedhimself to remove, by the manner of his death, any suspicions ofWinifred's having the Fidophobia. '

'Perhaps, ' said Elizabeth, 'he had some knowledge of the frightfulsuspicions which attached to him, and, like the Irish varmint in St. Patrick's days, "went flop, Slap bang into the water, And thus committed suicide To save himself from slaughter. "'

They now began to consider how Fido could have met with his death. Harriet was sure that some naughty boy must have thrown him in. Lucythought that in that case he would have lost his blue ribbon; Doraindignantly repelled the charge of cruelty from the youth ofAbbeychurch; Elizabeth said such a puppy was very likely to fall offthe bridge; and Rupert decided that he had most probably been attackedby a fit, to which, he said, half-grown puppies were often liable. 

Rupert and Anne then began talking about a dog which they had lost sometime ago in nearly the same manner; and during this dialogue the partydivided, Harriet and Katherine walked on in close consultation, andLucy and Helen began helping Dora to sort and carry her bulrushes, which detained them behind the others. 

'What appears to me the most mysterious part of the story, ' saidRupert, 'is how the beloved Fido, petted and watched and nursed andguarded as he seems to have been, should have contrived to stray fromyour house as far as to the river. '

'Oh! that is no mystery at all, ' said Elizabeth; 'we crossed the bridgetwice yesterday evening, and I dare say we left him behind us there. '

'What could you have been doing on the bridge yesterday evening?' saidRupert. 'Oh! I know; I saw the people coming away from a tee-totalentertainment; you were certainly there, Anne, I hope you enjoyed it. '

'How very near the truth you do contrive to get, Rupert, ' saidElizabeth. 

'Then, ' cried Rupert, with a start, 'I see it all. I thought you alllooked very queer at breakfast. I understand it all. You have been tothe Mechanics' Institute. '

'Yes, Rupert, ' said Elizabeth. 

'No, but you do not mean to say that you really have, Lizzie and Anne, 'cried Rupert, turning round to look into their faces. 

Each made a sign of assent; and Rupert, as soon as he had recoveredfrom his astonishment, burst into a violent fit of laughter, whichlasted longer than either his sister or cousin approved, and it was nottill after he had been well scolded by both, that he chose to listen totheir full account of all that had passed on the subject. 

'The worst of it is, now, ' said Elizabeth, 'that as soon as Mrs. Hazleby hears that Fido has been found in the river, she will ask howhe came near it. '

'And what then?' said Anne. 

'Why, she well knows that the bridge is not a place to which we arelikely to resort; she will ask what took us there; I would not trustHarriet to tell the truth, and I have promised not to betray her, sowhat is to be done if Mrs. Hazleby asks me?' said Elizabeth. 

'I hope she will not ask her youngest daughter, ' said Anne. 

'That she shall not do, ' said Elizabeth: 'I will tell her myself thatFido was found in the river, and answer all her questions as best Ican. '

'It is rather a pity, ' said Anne archly, 'that Miss Hazleby did notactually fall into the river, for the sensation caused by Rupert'srescuing her would quite have absorbed all the interest in Fido'smelancholy fate. '

'Thank you, Anne, ' said Rupert; 'I am sure I only wonder she was notsubmerged. I never could have guessed any fair lady could be so heavy. I am sure I feel the claw she gave my arm at this moment. '

'How very ungallant!' said Anne. 

'Still, ' said Rupert, 'without appearing as the preserver of the fairHarriet from a watery grave, I think I have interest enough with Mrs. Hazleby to be able to break the fatal news to her, and calm her firstagonies of grief and wrath. '

'You, Rupert?' said Anne. 

'Myself, Anne, ' replied Rupert; 'you have no notion what friends Mrs. Hazleby and I have become. We had a tete-a-tete of an hour and a halfthis morning. '

'What could you find to talk about?' said Anne. 

'First, ' said Rupert, 'she asked about my grouse shooting; where Iwent, and with whom, and whether I had seen any of the Campbells ofInchlitherock. Of course we embarked in a genealogy of the wholeCampbell race; then came a description of the beauties ofInchlitherock. Next I was favoured with her private history; how she, being one of thirteen, was forced, at eighteen, to leave the lovelyspot, and embark with her brother for India. '

'On speculation, ' said Elizabeth. 

'And finally, how she came to marry the Major. '

'O Rupert, that is too much; you must have invented it!' cried Anne. 

'Indeed I did not, Anne, ' said Rupert; 'it is a fact that she livedsomewhere in the Mofussil with her brother, and there she encounteredthe Major. You, young ladies, may imagine how she fascinated him, andhow finally her brother seems to have bullied the Major into marryingher. '

'Poor man!' said Elizabeth, 'I always wondered how he chanced to fallinto her clutches. But did you hear no more?'

'No more of her personal history, ' said Rupert; 'she kindly employedthe rest of her time in giving me wise counsels. '

'Oh! pray let us have the benefit of them, ' said Anne, who had by thistime pretty well forgotten her prudence. 

'There were many regrets that I was not in the army, ' said Rupert, 'andmany pieces of advice which would have been very useful if I had, butwhich I am afraid were thrown away upon me, ending with wisereflections upon the importance of a wise choice of a wife, especiallyfor a young man of family, exposed to danger from designing youngladies, with cautions against beauty because of its perishable nature, and learning, because literary ladies are fit for nothing. '

'Meaning to imply, ' said Elizabeth, 'how fortunate was Major Hazleby inmeeting with so sweet a creature as the charming Miss Barbara Campbell, possessed of neither of these dangerous qualities. '

'I do not know, ' said Anne; 'I think she might have possessed some ofthe former when she left Inchlitherock. '

'Before twenty years of managing and scolding had fixed her eyes in oneperpetual stare, ' said Elizabeth. 'But here we are at home. '

They found the hall table covered with parcels, which shewed that Mrs. Woodbourne and her party had returned from their drive, and the girlshastened up-stairs. 

Anne found her mamma in her room, as well as Sir Edward, who wasfinishing a letter. 

'Well, Mamma, had you a prosperous journey?' said she. 

'Yes, very much so, ' said Lady Merton: 'Mrs. Hazleby was in highgood-humour, she did nothing but sing Rupert's praises, and did notscold Mrs. Woodbourne as much as usual. '

'And what have you been doing, Miss Anne?' said Sir Edward; 'you arequite on the qui vive. '

'Oh! I have been laughing at the fun which Rupert and Lizzie have beenmaking about Mrs. Hazleby, ' said Anne; 'I really could not help it, Mamma, and I do not think I began it. '

'Began what?' said Sir Edward. 

'Why, Mamma was afraid I should seem to set Lizzie against herstep-mother's relations, if I quizzed them or abused them, ' said Anne. 

'I do not think what you could say would make much difference inLizzie's opinion of them, ' said Sir Edward, 'but certainly I shouldthink they were not the best subjects of conversation here. '

'But I have not told you of the grand catastrophe, ' said Anne; 'we havefound poor Fido drowned among the bulrushes. '

'I hope Mrs. Woodbourne will be happy again, ' said Lady Merton. 

'And, Mamma, he must have fallen in while we were at the Mechanics'Institute, ' said Anne; 'there is one bad consequence of our follyalready. '

'I cannot see what induced you to go, ' said Sir Edward; 'I thoughtLizzie had more sense. '

'I believe the actual impulse was given by a dispute between Lizzie andme on the date of chivalry, ' said Anne. 

'And so Rupert's friends, the Turners, are great authorities inhistory, ' said Sir Edward; 'I never should have suspected it. '

'Now I think of it, ' said Anne, 'it was the most ridiculous part of theaffair, considering the blunder that Lizzie told me Mrs. Turner madeabout St. Augustine. What could we have been dreaming of?'

'Midsummer madness, ' said Sir Edward. 

'But just tell me, Papa, ' said Anne, 'do you not think Helen quite theheroine of the story?'

'I think Helen very much improved in appearance and manners, ' said SirEdward; 'and I am quite willing to believe all that I see you have totell me of her. '

'Do not wait to tell it now, Anne, ' said Lady Merton, 'or Mrs. Woodbourne will not think us improved in appearance or manners. It isnearly six o'clock. '

'I will keep it all for the journey home, ' said Anne, 'when Papa's earswill be disengaged. '

'And his tongue too, to give you a lecture upon Radicalism, Miss, ' saidSir Edward, with a fierce gesture, which drove Anne away laughing. 

Elizabeth had finished dressing, a little too rapidly, and had gone tofind Mrs. Woodbourne. 'Well, Mamma, ' said she, as soon as she cameinto her room, 'Winifred has lived to say 'the dog is dead'. '

'What do you mean, my dear?' said Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'The enemy is dead, Mamma, ' said Elizabeth; 'we found him drowned bythe green meadow. '

'Poor little fellow! your aunt will be very sorry, ' was kind Mrs. Woodbourne's remark. 

'But now, Mamma, ' said Elizabeth, 'you may be quite easy aboutWinifred; he could not possibly have been mad. '

'How could he have fallen in, poor little dog?' said Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'He must have strayed about upon the bridge while we were at theMechanics' Institute, ' said Elizabeth; 'it was all my fault, and I amafraid it is a very great distress to Lucy. Helen might well saymischief would come of our going. '

'I wish the loss of Fido was all the mischief likely to come of it, mydear, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne, with a sigh; 'I am afraid your papa willbe very much annoyed by it, with so much as he has on his mind too. '

'Ah! Mamma, that is the worst of it, indeed, ' said Elizabeth, coveringher face with her hands; 'if I could do anything--'

'My dearest child, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne, 'do not go on making yourselfunhappy, I am very sorry I said anything about your Papa; you know hecannot be angry with one who grieves so sincerely for what she has doneamiss. I am sure you have learnt a useful lesson, and will be wiser infuture. Now do put your scarf even, and let me pin this piece of lacestraight for you, it is higher on one side than the other, and yourband is twisted. '

On her side, Lucy, trembling as she entered her mother's room, but firmin her purpose of preserving her sister from the temptation toprevaricate, by taking all the blame which Mrs. Hazleby chose toascribe to her, quietly communicated the fatal intelligence to Mrs. Hazleby. Her information was received with a short angry 'H--m, ' andno more was said upon the matter, as Mrs. Hazleby was eager to shewHarriet some wonderful bargains which she had met with at Baysmouth. 

CHAPTER XI. 

As soon as Mrs. Hazleby made her appearance in the drawing-room beforedinner, Rupert began repeating, 'The wound it seemed both sore and sad To every Christian eye, And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the child would die, But soon a wonder came to light, That shewed the rogues they lied, The child recovered of the bite, It was the dog that died. '

'I beg to offer my congratulations, ' continued he, setting a chair forher. 

Mrs. Hazleby looked surprised. 

'On the demonstration we have this day received of your superiorjudgement, Ma'am, ' said Rupert, 'though indeed we could hardly havedoubted it before. '

'Pray let me understand you, Mr. Merton, ' said Mrs. Hazleby. 

'Have you not heard of the circumstance to which I allude?' saidRupert; 'for if you are not already aware of it, I must beg to beexcused from relating it; I could not bear to give so great a shock toa lady's feelings. '

'Oh! you mean about Fido, ' said Mrs. Hazleby, almost smiling; 'yes, Lucy told me that you had found him. Really, my girls are so careless, I can trust nothing to them. '

'Indeed, Madam, ' said Rupert, 'I assure you that nothing could havebeen more heart-rending than the scene presented to our eyes when theMiss Hazlebys first became aware of the untimely fate of theirfavourite. Who could behold it with dry eye--or dry foot?' added he, in an under-tone, with a side glance at Anne. 

Rupert contrived to talk so much nonsense to Mrs. Hazleby, that hecharmed her with his attention, gave her no time to say anything aboutFido, and left Anne much surprised that she had never found out that hewas laughing at her. At dinner, the grouse he had brought came totheir aid; Mrs. Hazleby was delighted to taste a blackcock once more, and was full of reminiscences of Inchlitherock; and by means of theserecollections, and Rupert's newly imported histories, Sir Edward andMr. Woodbourne contrived to make the conversation more entertainingthan Elizabeth thought it ever could be in any party in which Mrs. Hazleby was present. 

Afterwards in the drawing-room, Dora's bulrushes and the otherchildren's purchases were duly admired, and the little people, beingrather fatigued, were early sent to bed, although Edward vehementlyinsisted, with his eyes half shut, that he was not in the least sleepy. The elder girls then arranged themselves round the table. Helen wasworking a bunch of roses of different colours; Anne admired it verymuch, but critics were not wanting to this, as to every otherperformance of Helen's. 

'It is all very pretty except that rose, ' said Katherine, 'but I amsure that is an unnatural colour. --Is it not, Anne?'

'I do not think that I ever saw one like it, ' said Anne; 'but that isno proof that there is no such flower. '

'What do you think, Lizzie?' said Katherine; 'ought not Helen to alterit?'

Anne was rather alarmed by this appeal; but Elizabeth answeredcarelessly, without looking up, 'Oh! you know I know nothing about thatkind of work. '

'But you can tell what colour a rose is, ' persisted Katherine; 'now donot you think Helen will spoil her work with that orange-coloured rose?who ever heard of such a thing?'

Helen was on the point of saying that one of the gable-ends of thehouse at Dykelands was covered with a single rose of that colour, butshe remembered that Dykelands was not a safe subject, and refrained. 

'Come, do not have a York and Lancaster war about an orange-colouredrose, Kate, ' said Elizabeth, coming up to Helen; 'why, Anne, where areyour eyes? did you never see an Austrian briar, just the the colour ofHelen's lambs-wools?'

Though this was a mere trifle, Helen was pleased to find that Elizabethcould sometimes be on her side of the question, and worked on in a morecheerful spirit. 

'Why, Anne, ' said Elizabeth, presently after, 'you are doing that oldwreath over again, that you were about last year, when I was at MertonHall. '

'Yes, ' said Anne; 'it is a pattern which I like very much. '

'Do you like working the same thing over again?' said Katherine; 'Ialways get tired of it. '

'I like it very much, ' said Anne; 'going over the same stitches puts mein mind of things that were going on when I was working thembefore. --Now, Lizzie, the edge of that poppy seems to have written init all that delightful talk we had together, at home, about growing up, that day when Papa and Mamma dined out, and we had it all to ourselves. And the iris has the whole of Don Quixote folded up in it, because Papawas reading it to us, when I was at work upon it. '

'There certainly seems to be a use and pleasure in never sitting downthree minutes without that carpet-work, which I should never havesuspected, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Anne thinks as I do, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne; 'I find carpet-work quitea companion to me, but I cannot persuade Lizzie to take any pleasure init. '

'I have not time for it, ' said Elizabeth, 'nor patience if I had time. It is all I can persuade myself to do to keep my clothes from beingabsolute rags. '

'Yes, ' said Katherine; 'you always read with Meg in your lap, when youhave no mending to do; you have been six months braiding that frock. '

'Oh! that is company work, ' said Elizabeth; 'I began it at Merton Hallfor Dora, but I believe Winifred must have it now. But now it is sonearly done, that I shall finish while you are here. '

Elizabeth did not however long continue working, for as soon as tea wasover she proposed to play at the game of Conglomeration, as she hadtalked of doing in the course of the walk. 'I give notice, however, 'said she, 'that we are likely to laugh more than will suit the gravityof the elders, therefore I recommend adjourning to the innerdrawing-room. --Mamma, may we have candles there?'

Consent was given, and while the candles were being brought, andElizabeth was looking out some paper, Anne whispered to her brother, 'Rupert, pray say nothing about Fido, or the Mechanics' Institute, orsomething unpleasant will surely come of it. '

'Oh! Anne, ' was the answer, 'you have robbed me of my best couplet--

 Weeping like forsaken Dido, When she found the slaughtered Fido. 

Where is the use of playing if there is to be no fun?'

''Where is the use of fun?' said the cockchafer to the boy who wasspinning it, ' said Anne. 

'Impertinence, impertinence, impertinence, ' said Rupert, shaking hishead at her. 

By this time all was ready, and Elizabeth called the brother and sisterto take their places at the table in the inner drawing-room. She thenwrote a substantive at the upper end of a long strip of paper, andfolding it down, handed it on to Lucy, who also wrote a noun, turned itdown, and gave the paper to Helen, who, after writing hers and hidingit, passed it on to Rupert. Thus the paper was handed round till itwas filled. It was then unrolled, and each player was required towrite a copy of verses in which these words were to be introduced asrhymes in the order in which they stood in the list. Rupert was ratherput out by his sister's not allowing him to turn the poem in the way hewished, and he thought proper to find fault with half the words in thelist. 

'HARROGATE, ' said he, 'what is to be done with such a word?'

'You can manage it very well if you choose, ' said Elizabeth. 

'But who could have thought of such a word?' said he, holding up thelist to the candle, and scrutinizing the writing. 'Some one with awatery taste, doubtless. '

'You know those things are never divulged, ' said Anne. 

'FRANCES, too, ' continued Rupert, 'there is another impossible case; Iwill answer for it, Helen wrote that, a reminiscence of dear Dykelands. '

'No, indeed I did not, ' said Helen; 'it is FRANCIS, too, I believe. '

'Oh yes, ' said Harriet, 'it is FRANCIS, I wrote it, because--do not youremember, Lucy?--Frank Hollis--'

'Well, never mind, ' said Elizabeth, who wished to hear no more of thatgentleman; 'you may make it whichever you please. And Rupert, pray donot be so idle; put down the list, no one can see it; write your ownverses, and tell me the next word to witch. '

'EYES, ' said Rupert, 'and then BOUNCE. I do not believe that word isEnglish. '

'BOUNCE, no, ' said Katherine; 'it is BONNET, I wrote it myself. '

'Then why do you make your 't' so short?' said Rupert; 'I must give youa writing lesson, Miss Kitty. '

'I must give you a lesson in silence, Mr. Rupert, ' said Elizabeth. 

'I obey, ' said Rupert, with a funny face of submission, and taking uphis paper and pencil; but in a minute or two he started up, exclaiming, 'What are they saying about Oxford?' and walked into the next room, intending to take part in the conversation between his father anduncle. Mr. Woodbourne, however, who was no great admirer of Rupert'sforwardness, did not shew so much deference to his nephew's opinion asto make him very unwilling to return to the inner drawing-room, whenAnne came to tell him that all the poems were finished, and Elizabethready to read them aloud. 

'So this is all that you have to shew for yourself, ' said Elizabeth, holding up a scrap of paper; 'what is all this?'

'A portrait of Miss Merton, ' said Rupert; 'do not you see the poet'seye in a fine frenzy rolling?'

'Is it?' said Elizabeth; 'I took it for Miss Squeers in the agonies ofdeath, as I see that is the subject of the poem--all that there is ofit, at least. 

 Did ever you see a stupider POEM? Pray who is the author? I know him, I know him, He went to school to Mr. Squeers, Who often made the youth shed TEARS. 

Now for the next, which is nearly as short. 

 I will write a POEM, Clear and flowing, It will make you shed TEARS, And excite your fears. 'Tis about a witch, Drowned in a ditch, Your tears come from your EYES. If you are wise, Don't make a BOUNCE, Or you'll tear your flounce, And upset the sugar JAR, Which I cannot spare, I must give some to FRANCIS, So well he dances; Sugar canes packed up in LEAVES, The canes are tied up like wheat sheaves; Francis wears a scarlet JACKET, He made a dreadful racket At HARROGATE, Because he had to wait, In a field of BARLEY, To hold a parley, About a bone of marrow; His heart was transfixed by an ARROW, By a lady in VELVET, And he was her pet. '

All laughed heartily at this poem, which perhaps diverted them morethan a better would have done; Harriet was highly delighted with whatshe considered their applause, though she knew that of all the rhymes, scarcely three had been found by herself. 

'Why, Mr. Merton, what are you doing?' asked Harriet; 'are you writingany more?'

'Oh! I hope he will tell us about Mr. Squeers, ' said Katherine. 

No one could doubt that the next which Elizabeth read was her own. 

 I'm afraid you expect a beautiful POEM, Though I make a long and tedious proem, But great and dreadful are my fears, No poem of mine will put you in TEARS. My genius suggests neither fairy nor witch, My tales to adorn with cauldrons of pitch, Alarm the world with fiery EYES, And from the hero snatch his prize, Leap out from her den with a terrible BOUNCE, And on the trembling damsel pounce, And bottle her up in a close corked JAR, Or whirl her away in a flaming car; Then her knight, the brave Sir FRANCIS, Upon his noble steed advances, All his armour off he LEAVES, Preserves alone his polished greaves, His defence is a buff JACKET, Nor sword nor axe nor lance can crack it, It was made at HARROGATE, By a tailor whose shop had a narrow gate; The elves attack with spears of BARLEY, But he drives them off, oh! rarely, Then they shoot him with an ARROW, From bow-strings greased with ear-wigs' marrow, The feathers, moth-wings downy VELVET, The bow-strings, of the spider's net: Thousands come, armed in this PATTERN, Which proves their mistress is no slattern; Some wear the legs and hoof of PAN, And some are in the form of man; But the knight is armed, for in his POCKET He has a talismanic locket, Which once belonged to HERCULES, Who wore it on his bunch of keys; The fairy comes, quite old and fat, Mounted upon a monstrous BAT; Around the knight a web she weaves, And holds him fast, and there she LEAVES Sir Francis weeping for his charmer, And longing for his knightly ARMOUR. But his sword was cast in the self-same forge As that of the great champion GEORGE; Thus he defies the witch's ARMY, He breaks his bands; 'Ye elves, beware me, I fear not your LEVIATHAN, No spells can stop a desperate man. ' Away in terror flies the REAR-GUARD, He seizes on the witch abhorred, Confines her in a COCKLE SHELL, And breaks all her enchantments fell, Catches her principal LIEUTENANT, Makes him of a split pine the tenant; Carries away the lady, nimble, As e'er Miss Merton plied her THIMBLE; Oh! this story would your frowns unbend. Could I tell it to the END. 

'Oh!' said Rupert, glad to seize an opportunity of retaliating uponElizabeth; 'I give you credit; a very ingenious compound of Thalaba, Pigwiggin, and the Tempest, and the circumstance of the witch whirlingaway the lady is something new. '

'No, it is not, ' said Elizabeth; 'it is the beginning of the story ofthe Palace of Truth, in the Veillees du Chateau. I only professed toconglomerate the words, not to pass off my story as a regular oldtraditional legend. '

'Well, well, ' said Rupert; 'go on; have you only two more?'

'Only two, ' said Elizabeth; 'Kate and Lucy behaved as shabbily as youdid. Helen, I believe you must read yours. I can never read yourwriting readily, and besides, I am growing hoarse. '

Helen obeyed. 

 How hard it is to write a POEM, Graceful and witty, plain and clear, Harder than ploughing--'tis, or sowing, So hard that I should shed a TEAR. 

 Did I not know the highest pitch Of merit, in the poet's EYES Is but to laugh, a height to WHICH 'Tis not so hard for me to rise. 

 For badness soon is gained, forth BOUNCE My rhymes such as they are; Good critics, on my lines don't pounce, Though on the ear they JAR. 

 I've had a letter from dear FRANCES, Who says, through the light plane tree LEAVES, Upon the lawn the sun-beam glances, The wheat is bound up in its sheaves

 By Richard, in the fustian JACKET His mistress bought at HARROGATE, And up in lofty ricks they stack it, There for the threshing will it wait. 

 Then will they turn to fields of BARLEY, Bearded and barbed with many an ARROW, Just where the fertile soil is marly, And in the spring was used the harrow. 

 Drawn by the steeds in coats of VELVET, Old Steady, Jack, and Slattern, Their manes well combed, and black as jet, Their tails in the same PATTERN. 

 While Richard's son, with pipe of PAN, His hands within his POCKETS, Walks close beside the old plough-man, Dreaming of squibs and rockets. 

 That youth, he greatly loves his ease, He's growing much too fat, And though as strong as HERCULES, He'll only use his BAT. 

 He won't sweep up the autumn LEAVES, The tree's deciduous ARMOUR, No scolding Dickey's spirit grieves Like working like a farmer, Or labouring like his cousin GEORGE, With arms all bare and brawny, Within the blacksmith's glowing forge; He would be in the ARMY. 

 But no, young Dick, you're not the man Our realms to watch and ward, For worse than a LEVIATHAN You'd dread the foe's REAR-GUARD, And in the storm of shot and SHELL, You'd soon desert your pennant, Care nought for serjeant, corporal, Or general LIEUTENANT, But prove yourself quite swift and nimble, And thus would meet your END; No, better take a tailor's THIMBLE And learn your ways to mend. 

'Capital, Helen!' said Elizabeth. 

'How very pretty!' said Lucy. 

'And very well described, ' said Anne; 'you have brought in thoseungainly words most satisfactorily. '

'Now, Helen, here is Anne's, ' said Elizabeth; 'it is a choice one, andI have kept it for the last. '

'Let me read Anne's, ' said Rupert; 'no one can decypher her writing aswell as I can. '

'As was proved by the thorough acquaintance you shewed with thecontents of her last letter, ' said Elizabeth. 

Rupert began as follows:

 Now must I write in numbers flowing Extemporaneously a POEM?

'Why, Rupert, ' cried Anne, 'you must be reading Kate's. Mine beganwith--'

'I declare that I have yours in my hand, Anne, ' said Rupert. 

'And I did not write one, ' said Katherine. 

 Now must I write in numbers flowing Extemporaneously a POEM? One that will fill your eyes with TEARS, While I relate how our worst fears Were realized in yonder ditch. Conveyed there by some water-WITCH, We found, sad sight for longing EYES! Fido, much loved, though small in size. Hard fate, but while our tears bemoan it, Let us take up the corpse and BONE it, Then place the mummy in a JAR, Keep it from sausage-makers far, Extract his heart to send to FRANCIS; This gift from HER, his soul entrances, Within his scarlet gold-laced JACKET His heart makes a tremendous racket; Visions of bliss arise, a surrogate, Ay, and a wedding tour to HARROGATE. 

When Rupert came to Fido, Anne uttered one indignant 'Rupert!' but ashe proceeded, she was too much confounded to make the slightestdemonstration, and yet she was nearly suffocated with laughter in themidst of her vexation, when she thought of the ball at Hull, and 'FrankHollis. ' Elizabeth and Katherine too were excessively diverted, thoughthe former repented of having ever proposed such a game for soincongruous a party. There was a little self-reproach mingled evenwith Anne's merriment, for she felt that if she had more carefullyabstained from criticising the Hazlebys, or from looking amused by whatwas said of them, Rupert would hardly have attempted this piece ofimpertinence. Helen, who considered it as a most improper proceeding, sat perfectly still and silent, with a countenance full of demuregravity, which made Elizabeth and Anne fall into fresh convulsions asthey looked at her; Lucy only blushed; and as for Harriet, the last twolines could scarcely be heard, for her exclamations of, 'O Mr. Merton, that is too bad! O Mr. Merton, how could you think of such a thing? OMr. Merton, I can never forgive you! Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall neverstop laughing. Oh dear! Mr. Merton, what would Frank Hollis say toyou? how ridiculous!'

'Now for Anne's real poem, Rupert, ' said Elizabeth, not choosing tomake any remarks, lest Rupert should consider them as compliments. 

'Have you not heard it?' said Rupert. 

'Nonsense, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Why, I told you I had it in my hand, ' said Rupert. 

'And you have it still, ' said Elizabeth; 'deliver it up, if you please;it is the best of all, I can tell you, I had a cursory view of it. '

'No, no, ' said Anne, who saw that her brother meant to teaze her, andnot to restore her verses; 'it was a very poor performance, it is muchbetter for my fame that it should never be seen. Only think what asublime notion the world will have of it, when it is said that even thegreat Rupert himself is afraid to let it appear. '

Elizabeth made another attempt to regain the poem, but without effect, and Anne recalled the attention of all to Helen's verses. 

'What is a pennant?' said Elizabeth; 'I do not like words to be twistedfor the sake of the rhyme. '

A flag, ' said Helen. 

'I never doubted that you intended it for a flag, ' said Elizabeth; 'butwhat I complain of is, that it is a transmogrified pennon. '

'I believe a pennant to be a kind of flag, ' said Helen. 

'Let us refer the question to Papa, ' said Anne, 'as soon as he hasfinished that interminable conversation with Uncle Woodbourne. '

'Really, in spite of that slight blemish, ' said Elizabeth, 'your poemis the best we have heard, Helen. '

'And I can testify, ' said Rupert, 'that the description of thecart-horses at Dykelands is perfectly correct. But, Helen, is it truethat your friend Dicky has been seized with a fit of martial ardoursuch as you describe?'

'Yes, ' said Helen, 'he was very near enlisting, but it made his mothervery unhappy, and Mrs. Staunton--'

'Went down upon her knees to beseech him to remain, and let her roastbeef be food for him, not himself be food for powder, ' said Rupert, 'never considering how glad the parish would be to get rid of him. '

'No, ' said Helen, 'her powder became food for him; she made himunder-gamekeeper. '

'Excellent, Helen, you shine to-night, ' cried Elizabeth; 'such a bit ofwit never was heard from you before. '

'Your poem is a proof that the best way of being original is todescribe things as you actually see them, ' said Anne. 

'Is not mine original? I do not think it was taken from any book, 'said Harriet, willing to pick up a little more praise. 

'Not perhaps from any book, ' said Elizabeth, with a very grave face;'but I am afraid we must convict you of having borrowed from the motherof books, Oral tradition. '

'Oral tradition!' repeated Harriet, opening her mouth very wide. 

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth; 'for I cannot help imagining that the formerpart of your ode is a parody upon

 "I'll tell you a story About Jack A'Nory, And now my story's begun; I'll tell you another About Jack and his brother, And now my story is done. "

And that your friend Francis must have been the hero who complains sogrievously of Taffy the Welshman, whose house was doubtless situated ina field of barley, while his making a dreadful racket is quiteaccording to the ancient notions of what he did with the marrow-bone. '

'Oh! there is Papa looking in at us, ' said Anne; 'now for the questionof pennon and pennant. '

'Oh! Anne, it is all nonsense, ' cried Helen; 'do not shew it. '

But Anne, with Helen's paper in her hand, had already attacked SirEdward, who, to the author's great surprise, actually read the poem allthrough, smiling very kindly, and finished by saying, 'Ah ha! Helen, itis plain enough that your friends are naval. I can see where yourpennant came from. '

'But is it not a flag, Uncle Edward?' asked Helen. 

'A flag it is, ' said Sir Edward, 'and properly called and speltpendant. '

'There, Helen, you are an antidote to the hydrophobia, ' said Rupert;'everything becomes--'

'Do not let us have any more of that stale joke, ' said Elizabeth; 'itis really only a poetical license to use a sea-flag for a land-flag, and Helen had the advantage of us, since we none of us knew thatPennant signified anything but the naturalist. '

'And pray, Helen, ' said Sir Edward, 'am I to consider this poem as anequivalent for the music you have cheated us of, this evening?'

'I hope you will consider that it is, ' said Elizabeth; 'is it notpositively poetical, Uncle Edward?'

Helen was hardly ever in a state of greater surprise and pleasure thanat this moment, for though she could not seriously believe that herlines were worthy of all the encomiums bestowed on them, yet she wasnow convinced that Elizabeth was not absolutely determined todepreciate every performance of hers, and that she really possessed alittle kindness for her. 

When Mr. Woodbourne rang the bell, Elizabeth gathered up all thepapers, and was going to put them into a drawer, when Harriet came upto her, saying in a whisper, evidently designed to attract notice, 'Lizzie, do give me that ridiculous thing, you know, of Mr. Merton's; Icould not bear you to have it, you would shew it to everyone. '

'Indeed I should do no such thing, ' said Elizabeth; 'I never wish tosee it more, you are very welcome to it. '

Harriet received the precious document with great satisfaction, carefully folded it up, and placed it in her bag, very much to Rupert'sdelight, as he silently watched her proceedings. 

When they went up to bed, Anne followed Lady Merton to her room, inorder to ask some question about the dress which she was to wear thenext day, Sunday, and after remaining with her a few minutes, shereturned to Elizabeth. She found her looking full of trouble, quite acontrast to the bright animated creature she had been a few minutesbefore. 

'My dear Lizzie, ' exclaimed Anne, 'has anything happened? what hasgrieved you?'

'Why, Anne, ' said Elizabeth, with almost a groan, 'has not enoughhappened to grieve me? is it not terrible to think of what I have done?'

Anne stood still and silent, much struck by her cousin's sorrow; forshe had considered their expedition to the Mechanics' Institute as afoolish girlish frolic, but by no means as serious a matter as it nowproved to be. 

'I want you to tell me, Anne, ' continued Elizabeth; 'was I not quiteout of my senses yesterday evening? I can hardly believe it was myselfwho went to that horrible place, I wish you could prove that it was mydouble-ganger. '

Anne laughed, 'But does it not seem incredible, ' said Elizabeth, 'that I, ElizabethWoodbourne, should have voluntarily meddled with a radical, levellingaffair, should have sought out Mrs. Turner and all the set I mostdislike, done perhaps an infinity of mischief, and all because Katewanted to go out on a party of pleasure with that foolish Willie. Oh!Anne, I wish you would beat me. '

'Would that be any comfort to you?' said Anne, smiling. 

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth; 'I should feel as if I was suffering a littlefor my madness. Oh! how I hope Papa will speak to me about it. If hedoes not, I shall see his displeasure in his eyes, and oh! I could bearanything better than the silent stern way in which he used to look atme, once before, when I had behaved very ill. And then, to-morrow isSunday, and I shall scarcely see him all day, and he will have no timeto speak to me; and how can I get through a Sunday, feeling that he isangry with me? how shall I teach the children, or do anything as usual?Anne, what do you think was the first sound in my ears when I awokethis morning, and has been returning upon me all day?--the words, "Itwas a tree to be desired to make one wise. "'

'Little wisdom we have gained from it, ' said Anne. 

'Eve's wisdom, ' said Elizabeth, 'the knowledge of evil, and the wisdomof vanity and vexation of spirit. But was it not curious, Anne? whenfirst I woke, before I had opened my eyes, those words were sounding inmy ears, like a dream of Papa's voice, reading the Lesson at church; Ialmost fell asleep again, and again those words came back in Papa'svoice, and then I woke entirely, and before I had seen what kind of dayit was, before I knew whether it was Saturday or Sunday, I was surethere was something wrong, and then there was all this black Mechanics'Institute business before me. And all through this day those wordshave been ringing in my ears, and coming upon me like the pressure ofKing James's iron belt. '

'Have they indeed?' said Anne, 'I could hardly have believed it. I havenot seen your "look o'ercast and lower, " like his. '

'Perhaps not, ' said Elizabeth; 'but yet I was like him. 

 "Forward he rushed with double glee Into the tide of revelry. "

And I believe that having anything on my mind puts me in wilderspirits, apparently, than usual, but I am sure that my merriment to-daywas no proof that I was happy. It was partly, I believe, from a madspirit, like what drives wicked men to drinking, and partly from follyand levity. It was the same when Mamma's sister, Miss DorotheaHazleby, died; I am sure I was very sorry for Aunt Dorothy, for she wasa most amiable person, and had always been particularly kind to me, andI was very sorry too for Mamma and old Mrs. Hazleby, who werebroken-hearted about it; yet would you believe it? the very day thatPapa was gone to Hastings, to the funeral, and Mamma was at home, tooill and too wretched to go, even to her mother, I was out in the gardenwith Horace and Dora, forgot all about her distress, and began a noisygame with them close under her window. She sent Kate to tell them notto make such a noise; and when we came in, and she found that it was mydoing, she gave me such a kind, grieved, reproachful look, that I thinkI shall never forget it. And now it is most strange to think howwildly and merrily I laughed at all Rupert's jokes, when I knew I wasin disgrace, and after having behaved so very ill. '

'Indeed, I did not think it would have distressed you so much, ' saidAnne; 'I never thought it was more than a very foolish affair. '

'It is a very different thing for you, ' said Elizabeth; 'you havenothing to do with the town, and you need not have known that it wasnot a fit place to go to. '

'But you did not know that it was not fit for us, ' said Anne. 

'I did know that I ought not to go where I had not been told I mightgo, ' said Elizabeth. 'It was relying on my own judgement that led meastray. But, oh! I wish I had been here at the time the Socialistlectures were given; I should as soon have thought of climbing up thekitchen-chimney, as of going to that den, and giving the ragamuffinssuch a victory over Papa. '

'It was very silly of us not to ask a few more questions, ' said Anne. 

'Ah! that is the worst part of my behaviour, ' said Elizabeth; 'thatabominably unfair account which I gave you, at Mr. Turner's door, ofHelen's objections. It was in fact almost deceit, and the only thingthat can take off from the blackness of it, is that I was sufficientlysenseless to believe it myself at the time I spoke. '

'Oh yes, of course you did, ' said Anne. 

'Yet there must have been a sort of feeling that your hearing herarguments would put a stop to the beautiful scheme, ' said Elizabeth;'you do not know, perhaps, that Kate was nearly convinced by Helen'sgood sense, and I do believe that the reason I was not, was, what Itremble to think of, that I have been indulging in a frightful spiritof opposing and despising Helen, because I was angry with her forloving Dykelands better than home. I do believe she hardly dares toopen her lips. I heard her telling Lucy afterwards that there was arose at Dykelands of the colour of her pattern, and I dare say she didnot say so, when it would have been to the purpose, for fear I shouldsay that damp turns roses orange-coloured; and I could see she did notdefend her pendant with Captain Atherley for fear I should tell her hewas not infallible. No wonder she pines for Dykelands; a fine sort ofsister and home she has found here, poor child. '

'Oh! now you think so--' Anne began, but here she stopped short, checked by her dread of interfering between sisters; she could not bearto add to Elizabeth's bitter feelings of self-reproach, and she couldnot say that her conduct on the preceding evening had been by any meanswhat it ought to have been, that she had treated Helen kindly, or thatHelen had not suffered much from her want of consideration for her. She only kissed her cousin, and wished her good night veryaffectionately, and nothing more was said that evening. 

But Anne's silence was often very expressive to those who couldunderstand it, and of these Elizabeth was one. 

The toilette of Katherine and Helen passed in a very different mannerthat evening; Katherine did nothing but giggle and chatter incessantly, about the game they had been playing at, in order to prevent Helen fromsaying anything about the result of their excursion the evening before, and to keep herself from thinking of the cowardly part she had beenacting all day. Helen only wished to be left in peace, to think overher share in all these transactions, and to consider how she mightbecome a tolerably useful member of society for the future; and on hermaking no reply to one of Katherine's speeches, the latter suddenlybecame silent, and she was left to her own reflections. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Elizabeth was always fully employed on a Sunday, and on that whichfollowed the Consecration she had perhaps more on her hands even thanusual, so that she had little opportunity for speaking, or even forthinking, of her troubles. 

Mr. Woodbourne was going to assist Mr. Somerville in the services atSt. Austin's, leaving Mr. Walker to do the duty at St. Mary's, as theold church was now to be always called. 

Mr. Somerville had asked Mrs. Woodbourne to bring all her party toluncheon at his house, and had added a special invitation to thechildren to be present at the opening of the new Sunday-school, whichwas to take place between the services. It was however necessary thatsomeone should stay and superintend what the young people called, rather contemptuously, 'the old school;' and this Elizabeth undertook, saying that she did not like to lose one Sunday's teaching of her ownclass. Anne was about to offer to remain with her and assist her, buton Helen's making the same proposal, she thought it better to give thesisters an opportunity of being alone together, and, as she was moredesirous of doing right than of appearing eager to be useful, she saidnothing of what she had intended. Elizabeth was much gratified by hersister's voluntary proffer of assistance, for the head and front ofHelen's offences on her return from Dykelands, had been, that she hadloathed the idea of helping to train the screaming school-girls to singin church, and had altogether shewn far less interest in parish mattersthan Elizabeth thought their due. 

'I am sure, ' said Elizabeth, as they were walking from school tochurch, 'it is worth while to stay to see the aisle now it is clear ofthe benches, and there is breathing room left in the dear old church. And listen to the bells! does not it seem as if the two churches wereexchanging greetings on St. Austin's first Sunday? Yes, St. Mary's isour home, our mother church, ' added she, as she walked under the heavystone porch, its groined roof rich with quaint bosses, the support ofmany a swallow's nest, and came in sight of the huge old square font, standing on one large column and four small ones, where she herself andall her brothers and sisters had been christened. 

The three little children were not to go to St. Austin's in themorning, but Katherine had promised to come back to fetch them in timefor the luncheon at Mr. Somerville's, and thus Dora had the fulladvantage of studying the Puddington monument before the service began. 

Katherine and Harriet came back whilst Elizabeth and Helen were atluncheon, and after giving them a list of half the people who were atchurch, they called the children to come to Mr. Somerville's with them. 

'Why do not you put on your bonnet, Dora?' said Winifred. 

'I am not going, ' said Dora. 

'Why not?' asked Winifred. 

'Because I had rather not, ' was the answer. 

'Why, you silly little child, ' said Katherine; 'are you shy of Mr. Somerville? look there, Edward and Winifred are not shy, and you arequite a great girl. How Horace would laugh!'

'I cannot help it, ' said Dora; 'I had rather not go. '

'If you are thinking of your little class, Dora, ' said Elizabeth, 'Iwill hear them for you; you will trust them with me, will you not? andI will remember who is first. '

'Thank you, ' said Dora; 'I had rather go to church and school with you. '

'Nonsense, Dora, ' said Katherine; 'I wish you would come. '

'Now do, ' said Harriet; 'you cannot think what a nice luncheon Mr. Somerville will have for you. '

'There is a very nice luncheon here, ' said Dora. 

'Oh! but not like a company luncheon, ' said Harriet; 'besides, Mr. Somerville will be so disappointed if you do not come. Poor Mr. Somerville, won't you be sorry for him, Dora?'

'Oh no, he does not want me--does he, Lizzie?' said Dora. 

'No, I do not suppose he does, ' said Elizabeth; 'he only asked you outof good nature. '

'Well, if Dora will not come, ' said Katherine, 'there is no use instaying. --Come, Winifred and Edward. '

Elizabeth was sure that Dora had reasons of her own for choosing toremain with her, but she thought it best to ask no questions; and thereasons appeared, when, as they came into the Alms-house Court afterevening service, Dora pressed her hand, saying, in a low mysterioustone, 'Lizzie, will you shew me what you promised?'

Elizabeth knew what she meant, and returning through the church intothe church-yard, led the way to the east end, where, close beside aprojecting buttress, Dora beheld a plain flat white stone, with threesmall crosses engraven on it, and with a feeling between awe andwonder, read the simple inscription. 

 KATHERINE, WIFE OF THE REV. HORATIO WOODBOURNE, VICAR OF ABBEYCHURCH ST. MARY'S, MAY 14TH, 1826, AGED 28. 

It was the first time that Elizabeth and Helen had stood together attheir mother's grave, for Helen was but three years old at the time shehad been deprived of her, and, after their father's second marriage, akind of delicacy in Elizabeth, young as she was, had prevented her fromever mentioning her to her younger sisters. 

After a few minutes, during which no one spoke, the three sistersturned away, and re-entered the church. Helen and Dora had reached thenorth door, and were leaving the church, when they missed Elizabeth, and looking round, saw her sitting in one of the low pews, in thecentre aisle, her face raised towards the flamboyant tracery of theeast window. Dora, who seemed to have a sort of perception that herpresence was a restraint upon her sisters, whispered, 'I am going tofeed the doves, ' and hastened across the quadrangle, while Helen cameback to Elizabeth's side. Her sister rose, and with her own brightsmile, said, 'Helen, I could not help coming here, it was where I satat the day of the funeral, and I wanted to look at that flame-shapedthing in the top of the window, as I did all through the reading of theLesson. Do you see? What strange thoughts were in my head, as I satlooking at that deep blue glass, with its shape like an angel's headand meeting wings, and heard of glories celestial! I never hear thosewords without seeing that form. '

With these words Elizabeth and Helen left the church; Helen put her arminto her sister's, a thing which Elizabeth very seldom liked anyone todo, even Anne, but now the two girls walked slowly arm-in-arm, throughthe quadrangle, and along the broad gravel path in the Vicarage garden. 

'Then you were at her funeral?' was the first thing Helen said. 

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth; 'Papa wished it, and I am sure I am very gladthey let me go. '

No more was spoken till Helen began again. 'When I was at Dykelands, Mrs. Staunton used often to talk to me about our mother, and I began totry to recollect her, but I had only an impression of something kind, some voice I should know again, but I could not remember her in theleast. '

'Ah! I wish you could, ' said Elizabeth thoughtfully. 

'I suppose you remember her quite well, ' said Helen, 'and all thathappened?'

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth, 'I remember some things as well as if they hadhappened yesterday, and others are all confusion in my mind; I quiteremember going to kiss her, the last day, and how strange and silentand sad all the room looked, and Aunt Anne keeping quite calm andcomposed in the room, but beginning to cry as soon as she had led meout. I shall never forget the awful mysterious feelings I had then. '

'And could she speak to you?' said Helen; 'did she know you?'

'Yes, she gave me one of her own smiles, and said something in a verylow voice. '

'Tell me a little more, Lizzie, ' said Helen, 'for I have thought verymuch about her lately. Can you remember her before she was ill?'

'Oh yes, ' said Elizabeth, speaking slowly, and pausing now and then; 'Iremember her well; I sometimes fancy I can hear her voice and her stepat night, when she used to come up to the nursery to see us in bed. Ialways used to listen for her; and when she began to grow weak, andcould not come up so many stairs, I used to lie and cry for half anhour. And now, when I am reading the same books with the children thatI read with her, things that she said to me come back upon me. '

'Do you think, ' said Helen, 'that you are as like her as Uncle Edwardonce said you were?'

Elizabeth paused; 'possibly, ' said she, 'in eyes, nose, and mouth; but, Helen, I do not think there ever could be anyone really like ourmother; I was much too young to know all that she was whilst she wasalive, but as I have grown older, and compared what I have seen ofother people with what I recollect of her, I have grown certain thatshe must have been the most excellent, sensible, clever, kind, charmingperson that ever lived. '

'So Mrs. Staunton says, ' replied Helen; 'she used to tell me that I wasa good deal like her, and should be more so; but I do not think shewould have said so, if she had seen you. I am so slow and so dull, andso unlike to you in your quick active ways. '

'Do you know, Helen, ' said Elizabeth, who had been pursuing her ownthoughts, rather than listening to her sister's words, 'I do believethat we should all have been more like her if she had lived; at least, I am sure I should. '

Helen did not answer; and Elizabeth continued in her usual rapidmanner, 'I do not mean to lay all my faults at Mamma's door, for Ishould have been much worse without her, and I have spurned away mostof the good she would have done me in her kind gentle way; but I dobelieve no one but my own mother ever knew how to manage me. You neverwere so wild, Helen, and you will do far far better. '

'O Lizzie, what do you mean?' cried Helen. 

'I mean, my dear Helen, ' exclaimed Elizabeth, hardly knowing what shewas saying, 'that I have been using you shamefully ever since you camehome. I have done nothing but contradict you, and snap at you, whetherright or wrong; and a pretty spectacle we must have made of ourselves. Now I see that you have twice the sense and understanding that I have, and are so unpretending as to be worth a hundred times more. I wishwith all my heart that I had taken your advice, and that the Mechanics'Institute was at the bottom of the sea. '

Before Helen had recovered from her astonishment at this incoherentspeech, sufficiently to make any sort of reply, the rest of the partywere seen returning from St. Austin's, and Winifred and Edward hastenedtowards the two sisters, to tell them all the wonders they had seen. 

During the remainder of that day, a few words in her mother's feeblevoice rung in Elizabeth's ears more painfully even than the text shehad mentioned the day before. It was, 'Lizzie, I know you will be akind sister to Kate and poor little Helen. '

In the course of the evening, Lady Merton found Anne and Helen alonetogether in the drawing-room. Helen was reclining on the sofa, in adreamy state, her book half closed in her hand, and Anne was sitting atthe window, reading as well as she could by the failing light. 

'So you are alone here, ' said Lady Merton, as she entered the room. 

'Yes, ' said Helen, starting up; 'I rather think the Hazlebys arepacking up--you know they go by the one o'clock train to-morrow--and Ibelieve Kate is helping them; and Mamma is hearing the little ones saythe Catechism. '

'So I thought, ' said Lady Merton. 'I was surprised to find you here. '

'Oh!' said Helen, 'we generally say the Catechism to Papa every Sundayevening, and he asks us questions about it; and we are to go on withhim till we are confirmed. '

'And when will that be?' said her aunt. 

'Next spring, ' said Helen; 'we shall all three of us be confirmed atthe same time. But if Mrs. Hazleby had not been here, Papa would haveheard us all down-stairs. I should have liked for you to hear howperfect Edward is now, and how well Dora answers Papa's questions;though perhaps before you she would be too shy. '

'And I should have been glad for Anne to have joined you, ' said LadyMerton; 'it is long since your godfather has heard you, Anne. '

'Not since we were here last, ' said Anne, 'and that is almost two yearsago. '

'And where is Lizzie?' said Lady Merton; 'is she with your Mamma?'

'No, ' said Helen, 'her other work is not over yet. On Sunday evening, she always reads with four great girls who have left school, and haveno time to learn except on Sunday evenings. I am sure I cannot thinkhow she can; I should have thought morning and afternoon school quiteenough for anyone!' And she threw herself back on the sofa, and gave avery long yawn. 

Her aunt smiled as she answered, 'You certainly seem to find it so. '

'Indeed I do, ' said Helen; 'I think teaching the most tiresome work inthe world. '

'O Helen, is it possible?' cried Anne. 

'Helen is not much used to it, ' said her aunt. 

'No, ' said Helen, 'there used to be teachers enough without me, but nowLizzie wants me to take a class, I suppose I must, because it is myduty; but really I do not think I can ever like it. '

'If you do it cheerfully because it is your duty, you will soon besurprised to find yourself interested in it, ' said her aunt. 

'Now, Aunt Anne, ' said Helen, sitting up, and looking rather morealive, 'I really did take all the pains I could to-day, but I was nevermore worried than with the dullness of those children. They could notanswer the simplest question. '

'Most poor children seem dull with a new teacher, ' said Lady Merton;'besides which, you perhaps did not use language which they couldunderstand. '

'Possibly, ' said Helen languidly; 'but then there is another thingwhich I dislike--I cannot bear to hear the most beautiful chapters inthe Bible stammered over as if the children had not the leastperception of their meaning. '

'Their not being able to read the chapter fluently is no proof thatthey do not enter into it, ' said Lady Merton; 'it often happens thatthe best readers understand less than some awkward blunderers, who readwith reverence. '

'Then it is very vexatious, ' said Helen. 

'You will tell a different story next year, ' said Lady Merton, 'whenyou have learnt a little more of the ways of the poor children. '

'I hope so, ' said Helen; 'but what I have seen to-day only makes mewonder how Papa and Lizzie can get the children to make such beautifulanswers as they sometimes do in church. '

'And perhaps, ' said Lady Merton, smiling, 'the person who taught MissHelen Woodbourne to repeat Gray's Elegy, would be inclined to wonderhow at fourteen she could have become a tolerably well-informed younglady. '

'Oh, Aunt, ' said Helen, 'have not you forgotten that day? Howdreadfully I must have tormented everybody! I am sure Mamma's patiencemust have been wonderful. '

'And I am very glad that Lizzie saves her from so much of the labour ofteaching now, ' said Lady Merton. 

'I see what you mean, ' said Helen; 'I ought to help too. '

'Indeed, my dear, I had no intention of saying so, ' said Lady Merton;'yourself and your mamma can be the only judges in such a matter. '

'I believe Mamma does think that Lizzie has almost too much to do, 'said Helen; 'but there has been less since Horace has been at school. '

'But Edward is fast growing up to take his place, ' said her aunt. 

'Edward will never take Horace's place, ' said Helen; 'he will be fivetimes the trouble. Horace could learn whatever he pleased in aninstant, and the only drawback with him was inattention; but Edward isso slow and so dawdling, that his lessons are the plague of theschool-room. His reading is tiresome enough, and what Lizzie will dowith his Latin I cannot think; but that can be only her concern. AndWinifred is sharp enough, but she never pays attention three minutestogether; I could not undertake her, I should do her harm and myselftoo. '

'I am rather of your opinion, so far, ' said Lady Merton; 'but you havesaid nothing against Dora. '

'Dora!' said Helen; 'yes, she has always been tolerably good, but sheknows nearly as much as I do. Lizzie says she knows the reasons of amultiplication sum, and I am sure I do not. '

'Perhaps you might learn by studying with her, ' aaid Lady Merton. 

'Yes, Lizzie says she has learnt a great deal from teaching thechildren, ' said Helen; 'but then she had a better foundation than mostpeople. You know she used to do her lessons with Papa, and he alwaysmade her learn everything quite perfect, and took care she shouldreally understand each step she took, so that she knows more aboutgrammar and arithmetic, and all the latitude and longitude puzzlingpart of geography than I do--a great deal more. '

'I am sorry to find there is some objection to all the lessons of allthe children, ' said Lady Merton. 

'I suppose I might help in some, ' said Helen; 'but then I have verylittle time; I have to draw, and to practise, and to read French andItalian and history to Mamma, and to write exercises; but then Mammahas not always leisure to hear me, and it is very unsatisfactory to goon learning all alone. At Dykelands there were Fanny and Jane. '

'I should not have thought a person with four sisters need complain ofhaving to learn alone, ' said her aunt. 

'No more should I, ' said Helen; 'but if you were here always, you wouldsee how it is; Lizzie is always busy with the children, and learns herGerman and Latin no one knows when or how, by getting up early, andreading while she is dressing, or while the children are learning. Shepicks up knowledge as nobody else can; and Kate will only practise orread to Mamma, and she is so desultory and unsettled, that I cannot goon with her as I used before I went to Dykelands; and Dora--I see Iought to take to her, but I am afraid to do so--I do not like it. '

'So it appears, ' said Lady Merton. 

'I should think it the most delightful thing!' cried Anne. 

'You two are instances of the way in which people wish for theadvantages they have not, and undervalue those they have, ' said LadyMerton, smiling. 

'Advantages!' repeated Helen. 

'Why, do not you think it an advantage to have sisters?' said Anne; 'Iwish you would give some of them to me if you do not. '

'Indeed, ' said Helen warmly, 'I do value my sisters very much; I amsure I am very fond of them. '

'As long as they give you no trouble, ' said Lady Merton. 

'Well, ' said Helen, 'I see you may well think me a very poor selfishcreature, but I really do mean to try to improve. I will offer toundertake Dora's music; Lizzie does not understand that, and it isoften troublesome to Mamma to find time to hear her practise, and Ithink I should pay more attention to it than Kate does sometimes. Ithink Dora will play very well, and I should like her to play duetswith me. '

'I am glad you can endure one of your sisters, ' said Anne, laughingrather maliciously. 

'Pray say no more of that, Anne, ' said Helen; 'it was only my foolishindolence that made me make such a speech. '

As Helen finished speaking, Elizabeth came into the room, lookingrather weary, but very blithe. 'I have been having a most delightfultalk about the Consecration with the girls, ' said she, 'hearing whatthey saw, and what they thought of it. Mary Watson took her master'schildren up the hill to see the church-yard consecrated, and the eldestlittle boy--that fine black-eyed fellow, you know, Helen--said he nevercould play at ball there again, now the Bishop had read the prayersthere. I do really hope that girl will be of great use to those littlethings; her mistress says no girl ever kept them in such good orderbefore. '

'I was going to compliment you on the good behaviour of your childrenat St. Austin's, Lizzie, ' said Lady Merton; 'I thought I never saw amore well conducted party. '

'Ah! some of our best children are gone to St. Austin's, ' saidElizabeth; 'I quite grudge them to Mr. Somerville; I hate the girls toget out of my sight. '

'So do I, ' said Anne, 'I am quite angry when our girls go out toservice, they _will_ get such horrid places--public houses, or at bestfarm houses, where they have a whole train of babies to look after, andnever go to church. '

'And very few of the most respectable fathers and mothers care wheretheir children go to service, ' said Elizabeth; 'I am sure I often wishthe children had no parents. '

'In order that they may learn a child's first duty?' said Lady Merton. 

'Well, but is it not vexatious, Aunt Anne, ' said Elizabeth, 'when thereis a nice little girl learning very well in school, but forgetting assoon as she is out of it, her mother will not put herself one inch outof the way to keep her there regularly; when the child goes to churchcontinually, the mother never comes at all, or never kneels down whenshe is there. If you miss her at school on the Sunday morning, hermother has sent her to the shop, and perhaps told her to tell afalsehood about it; if her hand is clammy with lollipops, or there is aperfume of peppermint all round her, or down clatters a halfpenny inthe middle of church, it is all her father's fault. '

'Oh! except the clatter, that last disaster never happens with us, 'said Anne; 'the shop is not open on Sunday. '

'Ah! that is because Uncle Edward is happily the king of the parish, 'said Elizabeth; 'it has the proper Church and State government, likeDante's notion of the Empire. But you cannot help the rest; and we arestill worse off, and how can we expect the children to turn out wellwith such home treatment?'

'No, Lizzie, ' said Lady Merton; 'you must not expect them to turn outwell. '

'O Mamma! Mamma!' cried Anne. 

'What do you teach them for?' exclaimed Helen. 

'I see what you mean, ' said Elizabeth; 'we can only cast our bread uponthe waters; we must look to the work, and not to the presentappearance. But, Aunt Anne, the worst is, if they go wrong, I must beafraid it is my fault; that it is from some slip in my teaching, somewant of accordance between my example and my precept, and no one cansay that it is not so. '

'No one on earth, ' said her aunt solemnly; 'and far better it is foryou, that you should teach in fear. '

'I sometimes fancy, ' said Elizabeth, 'that the girls would do better ifwe had the whole government of them, but I know that is but fancy; theyare each in the place and among the temptations which will do them mostgood. But oh! it is a melancholy thing to remember that of the girlswhom I myself have watched through the school and out into the world, there are but two on whom I can think with perfect satisfaction. '

'Taking a high standard, of course?' said Lady Merton. 

'Oh yes, and not reckoning many who I hope will do well, like this oneof whom I was talking, but who have had no trial, ' said Elizabeth;'there are many very good ones now, if they will but keep so. One ofthese girls that I was telling you of, has shewn that she had rightprinciple and firmness, by her behaviour towards a bad fellow-servant;she is at Miss Maynard's. '

'And where is the other?' asked Anne. 

'In her grave, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Ah!' said Helen, 'I missed her to-day, in the midst of her littleclass, bending over them as she used to do, and looking in their faces, as if she saw the words come out of their mouths. '

'Do you mean the deaf girl with the speaking eyes?' said Anne; 'youwrote to tell me you had lost her. '

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth; 'she it was whose example shewed me that aninfirmity may be a blessing. Her ear was shut to the noises of theworld, the strife of tongues, and as her mother said, "she did not knowwhat a bad word was, " only it was tuned to holy things. She alwaysknew what was going on in church, and by her eager attention learnt todo everything in school; and when her deafness was increased by herfever, and she could not hear her mother's and sisters' voices, shecould follow the prayers Papa read, the delirium fled away from them. Oh! it is a blessing and a privilege to have been near such a girl; butthen--though the last thing she said was to desire her sisters to begood girls and keep to their church and school--she would have been thesame, have had the same mind, without our teaching--our mereschool-keeping, I mean. Aunt Anne, you say you have kept school inyour village for thirty years; you were just in my situation, theclergyman's daughter; so do tell me what effect your teaching has hadas regards the children of your first set of girls. Are they bettermanaged at home than their mothers?'

'More civilized and better kept at school, otherwise much the same, 'said Lady Merton. 'Yes, my experience is much the same as yours;comparatively few of those I have watched from their childhood havedone thoroughly well, and their good conduct has been chiefly owing totheir parents. Some have improved and returned to do right, perhapspartly in consequence of their early teaching. '

'Sad work, sad work, after all!' said Elizabeth, as she left the roomto finish hearing the little ones, and release Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'And yet, ' said Helen, as the door closed, 'no one is so happy atschool as Lizzie, or delights more in the children, or in devisingpleasure for them. '

'I never shall understand Lizzie, ' said Anne, with a kind of sigh; 'whowould have suspected her of such desponding feelings? and I cannotbelieve it is so bad an affair. How can it be, taking those dearlittle things fresh from their baptism, training them with holy thingsalmost always before them, their minds not dissipated by all kinds ofother learning, like ours. '

'I do not know that that is quite the best thing, though in a degree itis unavoidable, ' said her mother. 

'So I was thinking, ' said Helen; 'I think it must make religiousknowledge like a mere lesson; I know that is what Lizzie dreads, andthey begin the Bible before they can read it well. '

'But can it, can it really be so melancholy? will all thosebright-faced creatures, who look so earnest and learn so well, willthey turn their backs upon all that is right, all they know so well?'said poor Anne, almost ready to cry. 'O Mamma, do not tell me to thinkso. '

'No, no, you need not, my dear, ' said Lady Merton; 'it would begrievous and sinful indeed to say any such things of baptizedChristians, trained up by the Church. The more you love them, and themore you hope for them, the better. You will learn how to hope and howto fear as you grow older. '

'But I have had as much experience as Lizzie, ' said Anne; 'I am but amonth younger, and school has been my Sunday delight ever since I canremember; Mamma, I think the Abbeychurch people must be very bad--yousee they keep shop on Sunday; but then you spoke of our own people. Itmust have been my own careless levity that has prevented me fromfeeling like Lizzie; but I cannot believe--'

'You have not been the director of the school for the last few years, as Lizzie has, ' said Lady Merton; 'the girls under your own protectionare younger, their trial is hardly begun. '

'I am afraid I shall be disheartened whenever I think of them, ' saidAnne; 'I wish you had not said all this--and yet--perhaps--ifdisappointment is really to come, I had better be prepared for it. '

'Yes, you may find this conversation useful, Anne, ' said Lady Merton;'if it is only to shew you why I have always tried to teach youself-control in your love of the school. '

'I know I want self-control when I let myself be so engrossed in it asto neglect other things, ' said Anne; 'and I hope I do manage now not toshew more favour to the girls I like best, than to the others; but inwhat other way do you mean, Mamma?'

'I mean that you must learn not to set your heart upon individualgirls, or plans which seem satisfactory at first, ' said Lady Merton;'disappointment will surely be sent in some form or other, to try yourfaith and love; and if you do not learn to fear now that your hopes arehigh, you will hardly have spirit enough left to persevere cheerfullywhen failure has taught you to mistrust yourself. '

'I know that I must be disappointed if I build upon schemes orexertions of my own, ' said Anne; 'but I should be very conceited--verypresumptuous, I mean--to do so, and I hope I never shall. '

'I cannot think how you, or anybody who thinks like you, can everundertake to keep school, ' said Helen; 'I never saw how awful a thingit is, before; not merely hearing lessons, and punishing naughtychildren, I am sure I dread it now; I would have nothing to do with itif Papa did not wish it, and so make it my duty. '

'Nobody would teach the children at all if they thought like you, Helen, ' said Anne; 'and then what would become of them?'

'People who are not fit often do teach them, and is not that worse thannothing?' said Helen; 'I should think irreverence and false doctrineworse than ignorance. '

'Certainly, ' said Lady Merton; 'and happy it is, that, as in your case, Helen, the duty of obedience, or some other equally plain, teaches uswhen to take responsibility upon ourselves and when to shrink from it. '

'I must say, ' said Anne, 'I cannot recover from hearing Mamma andLizzie talk of their "little victims, " just in Gray's tone. '

'No, ' said Lady Merton; 'I only say, "If thou wouldst reap in love, First sow in holy fear. "'

CHAPTER XIII. 

On Monday morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Elizabeth andKatherine went to the school to receive the penny-club money, and tochange the lending library books. They were occupied in this mannerfor about half an hour; and on their return, Elizabeth went to Mrs. Woodbourne's dressing-room, to put away the money, and to give her anaccount of her transactions. While she was so employed, her father cameinto the room with a newspaper in his hand. 

'Look here, Mildred, ' said he, laying it down on the table before hiswife, 'this is what Walker has just brought me. '

Mrs. Woodbourne glanced at the paragraph he pointed out, and exclaimed, 'O Lizzie! this is a sad thing!'

Elizabeth advanced, she grew giddy with dismay as she read as follows:

'On Friday last, a most interesting and instructive lecture on the Riseand Progress of the Institution of Chivalry was delivered at theMechanics' Institute, in this city, by Augustus Mills, Esq. This younggentleman, from whose elegant talents and uncommon eloquence we shouldaugur no ordinary career in whatever profession may be honoured withhis attention, enlarged upon the barbarous manners of the wilduntutored hordes among whom the proud pageantry of pretended faith, false honour, and affected punctilio, had its rise. He traced itthrough its gilded course of blood and carnage, stripped of thefantastic and delusive mantle which romance delights to fling over itsnative deformity, to the present time, when the general civilizationand protection enjoyed in this enlightened age, has left nought but thegrim shadow of the destructive form which harassed and menaced ourtrembling ancestors. We are happy to observe that increasingattendance at the Mechanics' Institute of Abbeychurch, seems to provethat the benefits of education are becoming more fully appreciated byall classes. We observed last Friday, at the able lecture of Mr. Mills, among a numerous assemblage of the distinguished inhabitants andvisitors of Abbeychurch, Miss Merton, daughter of Sir Edward Merton, ofMerton Hall, Baronet, together with the fair and accomplished daughtersof the Rev. H. Woodbourne, our respected Vicar. '

'I shall certainly contradict it, ' continued Mr. Woodbourne, whileElizabeth was becoming sensible of the contents of the paragraph; 'Idid not care what Higgins chose to any of my principles, but this is aplain fact, which may be believed if it is not contradicted. '

'O Mamma, have not you told him?' said Elizabeth faintly. 

'What, do you mean to say that this is true?' exclaimed Mr. Woodbourne, in a voice which sounded to Elizabeth like a clap of thunder. 

'Indeed, Papa, ' said she, once looking up in his face, and then bendingher eyes on the ground, while the colour in her checks grew deeper anddeeper; 'I am sorry to say that it is quite true, that we did so verywrong and foolishly as to go. Helen and Lucy alone were sensible andstrong-minded enough to refuse to go. '

Mr. Woodbourne paced rapidly up and down the room, and Elizabethplainly saw that his displeasure was great. 

'But, Mr. Woodbourne, ' said her mamma, 'she did not know that it waswrong. Do you not remember that she was not at home at the time thatSocialist was here? and I never told her of all that passed then. Yousee it was entirely my fault. '

'Oh! no, no, Mamma, do not say so!' said Elizabeth; 'it was entirelymine. I was led away by my foolish eagerness and self-will, I was benton my own way, and cast aside all warnings, and now I see what mischiefI have done. Cannot you do anything to repair it, Papa? cannot you saythat it was all my doing, my wilfulness, my carelessness of warning, myperverseness?'

'I wish I had known it before, ' said Mr. Woodbourne, 'I could at leasthave spoken to Mr. Turner on Saturday, and prevented the Mertons' namefrom appearing. '

'I did not tell you because I had no opportunity, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne; 'Lizzie came and told me all, the instant she knew that shehad done wrong; but I thought it would harass you, and you were so muchoccupied that I had better wait till all this bustle was over, but shetold me everything most candidly, and would have come to you, but thatMr. Roberts was with you at the time. --My dear Lizzie, do not distressyourself so much, I am sure you have suffered a great deal. '

'O Mamma, ' said Elizabeth, 'how can I ever suffer enough for such atissue of ill-conduct? you never will see how wrong it was in me. '

'Yet, Lizzie, ' said her father kindly, 'we may yet rejoice over theremembrance of this unpleasant affair, if it has made you reflect uponthe faults that have led to it. '

'But what is any small advantage to my own character compared with theinjury I have done?' said Elizabeth; 'I have made it appear as if youhad granted the very last thing you would ever have thought of; I haveled Kate and Anne into disobedience. Oh! I have done more wrongly thanI ever thought I could. '

At this moment Katherine came into the room with some message for Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'Come here, Kate, ' said her father; 'read this. '

Katherine cast a frightened glance upon Elizabeth, who turned away fromher. She read on, and presently exclaimed, 'Fair and accomplisheddaughters! dear me! that is ourselves. ' Then catching Elizabeth by thearm, she whispered, 'Does he know it?'

'Yes, Katherine, ' said Mr. Woodbourne sternly; 'your sister has shewn afull conviction that she has done wrong, a feeling of which I am sorryto see that you do not partake. '

'Indeed, indeed, Papa, ' cried Katherine, bursting into tears, 'I amvery sorry; I should never have gone if it had not been for the others. '

'No excuses, if you please, Katherine, ' said Mr. Woodbourne; 'I wish tohear exactly how it happened. '

'First, Papa, ' said Elizabeth, 'let me beg one thing of you, do nottell Mrs. Hazleby that Harriet went with us, for she could not knowthat it was wrong of us to go, and she is very much afraid of hermother's anger. '

Mr. Woodbourne made a sign of assent; and Elizabeth proceeded to give afull account of the indiscreet expedition, taking the blame so entirelyupon herself, that although Katherine was on the watch to contradictanything that might tell unfavourably for her, she could not find aword to gainsay--speaking very highly of Helen, not attempting to makethe slightest excuse, or to plead her sorrow for what had happened as ameans of averting her father's displeasure, and ending by askingpermission to go to Mrs. Turner the instant the Hazlebys had leftAbbeychurch, to tell her that the excursion had been entirely withoutMr. Woodbourne's knowledge or consent. 'For, ' said she, 'that is theleast I can do towards repairing what can never be repaired. '

'I am not sure that that would be quite a wise measure, my dearLizzie, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne. 

'Certainly not, ' said Mr. Woodbourne; 'it would put Lizzie in a veryunsuitable situation, and in great danger of being impertinent. '

'Yes, ' said Elizabeth; 'I see that I do wrong whichever way I turn. '

'Come, Lizzie, ' said her father, 'I see that I cannot be as muchdispleased with you as you are with yourself. I believe you aresincerely sorry for what has passed, and now we will do our best tomake it useful to you, and prevent it from having any of the badconsequences to my character which distress you so much. '

Elizabeth was quite overcome by Mr. Woodbourne's kindness, she sprungup, threw her arms round his neck, kissed him, and taking one more lookto see that his eyes no longer wore the expression which she dreaded, she darted off to her own room, to give a free course to the tears withwhich she had long been struggling. 

Katherine, who had been studying the newspaper all this time, seeingElizabeth's case so easily dismissed, and not considering herself asnearly so much to blame, now giggled out, 'Mamma, did you ever seeanyone so impertinent as this man? "Fair and accomplished daughters, "indeed! was there ever anything so impertinent?'

'Yes, Katherine, ' said Mr. Woodbourne, 'there is something far moreimpertinent in a young lady who thinks proper to defy my anger, and tolaugh at the consequences of her giddy disobedience. '

'Indeed, Papa, ' said Katherine, 'I am very sorry, but I am sure it wasnot disobedience. I did not know we were not to go. '

'Not when you had heard all that was said on the subject last year?'said Mr. Woodbourne; 'I am ashamed to see you resort to such a foolishsubterfuge. '

'I did not remember it, ' said Katherine; 'I am sure I should never havegone if I had, but Lizzie was so bent upon it. '

'Again throwing the blame upon others, ' said Mr. Woodbourne; 'yoursister has set you a far better example. She forbore from saying whatI believe she might have said with perfect truth, that had you notchosen to forget my commands when they interfered with your fancies, she would not have thought of going; and this is the return which youmake to her kindness. '

'Well, ' sobbed Katherine, 'I never heard you say we should not go, I donot remember it. You know Mamma says I have a very bad memory. '

'Your memory is good enough for what pleases yourself, ' said Mr. Woodbourne; 'you have been for some time past filling your head withvanity and gossipping, without making the slightest attempt to improveyourself or strengthen your mind, and this is the consequence. However, this you will remember if you please, that it is my desirethat you associate no more with that silly chattering girl, MissTurner, than your sisters do. You know that I never approved of yourmaking a friend of her, but you did not choose to listen to anywarnings. '

Katherine well knew that her father had often objected to herfrequently going to drink tea with the Turners, and had checked her fortalking continually of her friend; and anyone not bent on her own waywould have thought these hints enough, but as they were not given witha stern countenance, or in a peremptory manner, she had paid noattention to them. Now, she could not be brought to perceive what herfault really had been, but only sobbed out something about its beingvery hard that she should have all the scolding, when it was Lizzie'sscheme, not hers. Again forgetting that she had been the originalproposer of the expedition. 

'Pray, my dear, do not go on defending yourself, ' said Mrs. Woodbourne, 'you see it does no good. '

'But, Mamma, ' whined Katherine, in such a tone that Mr. Woodbournecould bear it no longer, and ordered her instantly to leave the room, and not to appear again till she could shew a little more submission. She obeyed, after a little more sobbing and entreating; and as sheclosed the door behind her, Harriet came out of the opposite room. 

'What is the matter?' whispered she; 'has it all come out?'

'Yes, it is in the paper, and Papa is very angry, ' sighed Katherine. 

'Is there anything about me?' asked Harriet eagerly, paying no regardto poor Katherine's woful appearance and streaming eyes. 

'Oh no, nothing, ' said Katherine, hastening away, as Mrs. Hazleby andLucy came into the passage. 

'Hey-day! what is all this about?' exclaimed the former, encounteringMr. Woodbourne, as he came out of his wife's dressing-room; 'what isthe matter now?'

'I believe your daughter can explain it better than I can, ' answeredMr. Woodbourne, giving her the paper, and walking away to his study assoon as he came to the bottom of the stairs. 

As soon as Mrs. Hazleby found herself in the drawing-room she calledupon her eldest daughter to explain to her the meaning of what she sawin the newspaper. 

'Why, Mamma, ' Harriet began, 'you know Miss Merton and LizzieWoodbourne care for nothing but history and all that stuff, and do notmind what they do, as long as they can talk, talk, talk of nothing elseall day long. So they were at it the day you dined out, and they hadsome question or other, whether King Arthur's Round Table were knightsor not, till at last Kate said something about the Institute, and theywere all set upon going, though Helen told them they had better not, soout we went, we walked all together to Mrs. Turner's, and she tookthem. I suppose Fido must have fallen into the river while they wereat the Institute. '

'Poor dear little fellow, I dare say that was the way he was lost, 'said Mrs. Hazleby; 'when once young people take that kind of nonsenseinto their head, there is an end of anything else. Well, and how wasit we never heard of it all this time?'

'I think no one would wish to tell of it, ' said Harriet; 'you would nothave heard of it now, if it had not been in the paper. '

'Well, I hope Miss Lizzie will have enough of it, ' said Mrs. Hazleby;'it will open her papa's eyes to all her conceit, if anything will. '

'I am sure it is time, ' said Harriet; 'she thinks herself wiser thanall the world, one cannot speak a word for her. '

'O Harriet!' said Lucy, looking up from her work with some indignationin her eyes. 

'I believe you think it all very grand, Lucy, ' said her mother; 'youcare for nothing as long as you can dawdle about with Helen. Pray didyou go to this fine place?'

'No, Mamma, ' said Lucy. 

'H--m, ' said Mrs. Hazleby, rather disappointed at losing an opportunityof scolding her. 

Anne had gone to write a letter in her mother's room, whilst Elizabethwas busy. She had just finished it, and was thinking of going to seewhether anyone was ready to read in the school-room, when Rupert camein, and making a low bow, addressed her thus: 'So, Miss Nancy, Icongratulate you. '

'What is the matter now?' said Anne. 

'Pray, Anne, ' said he, 'did you ever experience the satisfaction offeeling how pleasant it is to see one's name in print?'

'You were very near having something like that pleasure yourself, ' saidAnne; 'it was only your arrival on Friday that saved the expense of anadvertisement at the head of a column in the Times--

 "R. M. , return, return, return to your sorrowing friends. "'

'Pray be more speedy next time, ' said Rupert, 'for then I shall be evenwith you. '

'I am sure you have some wickedness in your head, or all your speecheswould not begin with "Pray, "' said Anne; 'what do you mean?'

'What I say, ' answered Rupert; 'I have just read Miss Merton's name inthe paper. '

'Some other Miss Merton, you foolish boy!' said Anne. 

'No, no, yourself, Anne Katherine Merton, daughter of Sir Edward, ' saidRupert. 

'My dear Rupert, you do not mean it!' said Anne, somewhat alarmed. 

'I saw it with my eyes, ' said Rupert. 

'But where?'

'In the Abbeychurch Reporter, or whatever you call it. '

'Oh!' said Anne, looking relieved, 'we are probably all there, ashaving been at the Consecration. '

'The company there present, are, I believe, honoured with due mentionof Sir Edward Merton and family, ' said Rupert; 'but I am speaking ofanother part of the paper where Miss Merton is especially noted, alonein her glory. '

'In what paper did you say, Rupert?' said Lady Merton. 

'The Abbeychurch Reporter, ' said he. 

'Mr. Higgins's paper!' said Anne. 'O Mamma, I see it all--thathorrible Mechanics' Institute!'

'Why, Anne, ' said her brother, 'I thought you would be charmed withyour celebrity. '

'But where have you seen it, Rupert?' said Anne; 'poor Lizzie, has sheheard it?'

'Mr. Walker came in just now in great dismay, to shew it to Mr. Woodbourne, ' said Rupert; 'and they had a very long discussion on thebest means of contradicting it, to which I listened with gravity, quiteheroic, I assure you, considering all things. Then my uncle carried itoff to shew it to his wife, and I came up to congratulate you. '

'I am sure it is no subject of congratulation, ' said Anne; 'where wasPapa all the time?'

'Gone to call on Mr. Somerville, ' said Rupert. 

'But I thought Lizzie had told her father, ' said Lady Merton. 

'She told Mrs. Woodbourne directly, ' said Anne; 'but she could not getat my uncle, and I suppose Mrs. Woodbourne had not told him. What anannoyance for them all! I hope Mr. Woodbourne is not very muchdispleased. '

'He was more inclined to laugh than to be angry, said Rupert; 'and itis indeed a choice morceau, worthy of Augustus Mills, Esquire, himself. I hope Mr. Woodbourne will bring it down-stairs, that you may explainto me the rare part which describes the decrepid old Giant Chivalry, sitting in his den, unable to do any mischief, only biting his nails atthe passers by, like the Giant Pope in the Pilgrim's Progress. '

Anne could not help laughing. 'But, Rupert, ' said she, 'pray do not saytoo much about it in the evening. I am not at all sure that Papa willnot be very much displeased to see his name figuring in the paper as ifhe was a supporter of this horrid place. I wish, as Lizzie says, thatI had cut my head off before I went, for it has really come to besomething serious. Papa's name will seem to sanction theirproceedings. '

'My dear, ' said Lady Merton, 'you may comfort yourself by rememberingthat your Papa's character is too well known to be affected by such anassertion as this; most people will not believe it, and those who do, can only think that his daughter is turning radical, not himself. '

'Ay, this is the first public decisive act of Miss Merton's life, ' saidRupert; 'no wonder so much is made of it. '

'But, Rupert, ' said Anne, 'I only beg of you not to say anything aboutit to Lizzie. '

'You cut me off from everything diverting, ' said Rupert; 'you aregrowing quite impertinent, but I will punish you some day when you donot expect it. '

'I do not care what you do when we are at home, ' said Anne; 'I defy youto do your worst then; only spare Lizzie and me while we are here. '

'Spare Lizzie, indeed!' said Rupert; 'she does not want yourprotection, she is able enough to take care of herself. '

'I believe Rupert's five wits generally go off halting, from the sharpencounter of hers, ' said Lady Merton. 

'And therefore he wants to gain a shabby advantage over a woundedenemy, ' said Anne; 'I give you up, you recreant; your name should havebeen Oliver, instead of Rupert. '

'There is an exemplification of the lecture, ' said Rupert; 'impotentchivalry biting its nails with disdain and despite. '

'Well, Mamma, ' said Anne, 'since chivalry is impotent, I shall leaveyou to tame that foul monster with something else; I will have no moreto do with him. '

She went to fetch her work out of her bed-room, but on seeing Elizabeththere, her pocket-handkerchief in her hand, and traces of tears on herface, was hastily retreating, when her cousin said, 'Come in, ' andadded, 'So, Anne, you have heard, the murder is out. '

'The Mechanics' Institute, you mean, ' said Anne, 'not Fido. '

'Not Fido, ' said Elizabeth; 'but the rest of the story is out; I mean, it is not known who killed Cock Robin, and I do not suppose it everwill be; but the Mechanics' Institute affair is in the newspaper, andit is off my mind, for I have had it all out with Papa. And, Anne, hewas so very kind, that I do not know how to think of it. He made lightof the annoyance to himself on purpose to console me, and--but, ' addedshe, smiling, while the tears came into her eyes again, 'I must nottalk of him, or I shall go off into another cry, and not be fit for thereading those unfortunate children have been waiting for so long. Tellme, are my eyes very unfit to be seen?'

'Not so very bad, ' said Anne. 

'Well, I cannot help it if they are, ' said Elizabeth; 'come down andlet us read. '

They found Helen alone in the school-room, where she had been sittingever since breakfast-time, thinking that the penny club was occupyingElizabeth most unusually long this morning. 

'Helen, ' said Elizabeth, as she came into the room, 'Papa knows thewhole story, and I can see that he is as much pleased with your conductas I am sure you deserve. '

All was explained in a few words. Helen was now by no means inclinedto triumph in her better judgement, for, while she had been waiting, alone with her drawing, she had been thinking over all that had passedsince the unfortunate Friday evening, wondering that she could everhave believed that Elizabeth was not overflowing with affection, andfeeling very sorry for the little expression of triumph which she hadallowed to escape her in her ill-temper on Saturday. 'Lizzie, ' saidshe, 'will you forgive me for that very unkind thing I said to you?'

Elizabeth did not at first recollect what it was, and when she did, sheonly said, 'Nonsense, Helen, I never consider what people say when theyare cross, any more than when they are drunk. '

Anne was very much diverted by the idea of Elizabeth's experience ofwhat drunken people said, or of drunkenness and ill-temper beingallied, and her merriment restored the spirits of her cousins, and tookoff from what Elizabeth called the 'awfulness of a grand pardoningscene. ' Helen was then sent to summon the children to their lessons, which were happily always supposed to begin later on a Monday than onany other day of the week. 

The study door was open, and as she passed by, her father called herinto the room. 'Helen, ' said he, 'Elizabeth tells me that you actedthe part of a sensible and obedient girl the other evening, and I ammuch pleased to hear it. '

Helen stood for a few moments, too much overcome with delight andsurprise to be able to speak. Mr. Woodbourne went on writing, and shebounded upstairs with something more of a hop, skip, and jump, thanthose steps had known from her foot since she had been an inhabitant ofthe nursery herself, thinking 'What would he say if he knew that I onlyrefused to go, out of a spirit of opposition?' yet feeling the truth ofwhat Anne had said, that her father's praise, rarely given, and onlywhen well earned, was worth all the Stauntons' admiration fifty timesover. 

When Mrs. Woodbourne came down, she advised Helen not to callKatherine, saying that she thought it would be better for her to beleft to herself, so that she was seen no more till just before theHazlebys departed, when she came down to take leave of them, lookingvery pale, her eyes very red, and her voice nearly choking, but stillthere was no appearance of submission about her. 

'Helen, ' said Lucy, as they were standing in the window of the innerdrawing-room, 'I should like you to tell Aunt Mildred how very much Ihave enjoyed this visit. '

'I wish you would tell her so yourself, ' said Helen; 'I am sure youcannot be afraid of her, Lucy. '

'Oh no, I am not afraid of her, ' said Lucy, 'only I do not like to saythis to her. It is putting myself too forward almost, to say it to youeven, Helen; but I have been wishing all the time I have been here, tothank her for having been so very kind as to mention me especially, inher letter to Papa. '

'But have you really enjoyed your visit here?' said Helen, thinking howmuch she had felt for Lucy on several occasions. 

'Oh! indeed I have, Helen, ' answered she; 'to say nothing of theConsecration, such a sight as I may never see again in all my life, andwhich must make everyone very happy who has anything to do with yourPapa, and Aunt Mildred; it has been a great treat to be with you allagain, and to see your uncle and aunt, and Miss Merton. I hardly eversaw such a delightful person as Miss Merton, so clever and so sensible, and now I shall like to hear all you have to say about her in yourletters. '

'Yes, I suppose Anne is clever and sensible, ' said Helen musingly. 

'Do not you think her so?' said Lucy, with some surprise. 

'Why, yes, I do not know, ' said Helen, hesitating; 'but then, she doeslaugh so very much. '

Lucy could not make any answer, for at this moment her mother calledher to make some arrangement about the luggage; but she pondered alittle on the proverb which declares that it is well to be merry andwise. 

Mrs. Hazleby had been condoling with Mr. Woodbourne upon his daughter'smisbehaviour, and declaring that her dear girls would never dream oftaking a single step without her permission, but that learning was theruin of young ladies. 

Mr. Woodbourne listened to all this discourse very quietly, withoutattempting any remark, but as soon as the Hazlebys had gone up-stairsto put on their bonnets, he said, 'Well, I wish Miss Harriet joy of herconscience. '

'I wish Barbara had been more gentle with those girls, ' replied Mrs. Woodbourne, with a sigh. And this was all that passed between theelders on the subject of the behaviour of Miss Harriet Hazleby. 

Mr. Woodbourne and Rupert accompanied Mrs. Hazleby and her daughters tothe railroad station, Rupert shewing himself remarkably polite to Mrs. Hazleby's pet baskets, and saving Lucy from carrying the largest andheaviest of them, which generally fell to her share. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

'Well, ' said Elizabeth, drawing a long breath, as she went out to walkwith Anne and Helen, 'there is the even-handed justice of this world. Of the four delinquents of last Friday, there goes one with flyingcolours, in all the glory of a successful deceit; you, Anne, who, tosay the best of you, acted like a very great goose, are considered aswise as ever; I, who led you all into the scrape with my eyes wilfullyblinded, am only pitied and comforted; poor Kitty, who had less idea ofwhat she was doing than any of us, has had more crying and scoldingthan anybody else; and Lucy, who behaved so well--oh! I cannot bear tothink of her. '

'It is a puzzle indeed, ' said Helen; 'I mean as far as regards Harrietand Lucy. '

'Not really, Helen, ' said Elizabeth; 'it is only a failure in storybook justice. Lucy is too noble a creature to be rewarded in astory-book fashion; and as for Harriet, impunity like hers is inreality a greater punishment than all the reproof in the world. '

'How could she sit by and listen to all that Papa and Mrs. Hazleby weresaying?' said Helen. 

'How could she bear the glance of Papa's eye?' said Elizabeth; 'did youwatch it? I thought I never saw it look so stern, and yet thatcontemptible creature sat under it as contentedly as possible. Oh! itmade me quite sick to watch her. '

Are you quite sure that she knew whether my uncle was aware of hershare in the matter?' said Anne. 

'She must have seen it in that glance, or have been the most insensiblecreature upon earth, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Ah!' said Anne, 'I have some notion what that eye of your Papa's canbe. '

'You, Anne?' said Elizabeth; 'you do not mean that you could ever havedone anything to make him look at you in that way?'

'Indeed I have, ' said Anne; 'do not you remember?'

'No, indeed, ' said Elizabeth. 

'However, it was not quite so bad as this, ' said Anne. 

'But do tell us what it was, ' said Elizabeth, 'or I shall think itsomething uncommonly shocking. '

'I never spoke of it since, because I was too much ashamed, ' said Anne;'and it was very silly of me to do so now. '

'But when was it?' said Elizabeth. 

'Two years ago, ' said Anne, 'when you were all staying at Merton Hall, just before that nice nursery-maid of yours, Susan, married our manEvans. '

'Yes, I remember, ' said Elizabeth; 'but what has that to do with yourcrime, whatever it may be?'

'A great deal, ' said Anne; 'do not you recollect our hunting all overthe garden one day for Winifred and Dora, and at last our asking oldAmbrose whether he had seen them?'

'Oh yes, I think I do, ' said Elizabeth; 'and he said that he had seenSusan and the children go down the blind walk. Then I said Dora hadtalked of seeing a blackbird's nest there, and he answered, with a mostcomical look, 'Ah! ha! Miss Woodbourne, I fancy they be two-leggedblackbirds as Susan is gone to see. ''

'Why, blackbirds have but two legs, ' said Helen, looking mystified;'what did he mean'?'

'That is exactly what Kate said, ' said Elizabeth; 'but really I thoughtyou were sharper, Helen. Cannot you guess?'

'Not in the least, ' said Helen. 

'That Evans was clipping the hedges, ' said Anne. 

Elizabeth and Anne indulged in a good laugh at Helen, as much as atAmbrose, and presently Elizabeth said, 'Well, but, Anne, where is yourcrime?'

'Oh! I thought you had remembered, and would spare me, ' said Anne. 

'But we have not, ' said Elizabeth; 'so now for it. '

'Then if I am to tell, ' said Anne, 'do not you recollect that I beganto tell Rupert the story in the middle of dinner, when all the servantswere there?'

'O Anne, I never fancied you such a goose!' said Elizabeth. 

'My delinquencies made very little impression on you, then, ' said Anne;'I went on very fluently with the story till just as I had pronouncedthe words, "two-legged blackbirds, " I saw Uncle Woodbourne's eye uponme, as he sat just opposite, with all its cold heavy sternness ofexpression, and at the same moment I heard a strange suppressed snortbehind my chair. '

'Poor creature!' said Elizabeth; 'but you certainly deserved it. '

'I was ready to sink under the table, ' said Anne; 'I did not dare tolook up to Papa or Mamma, and I have been very much obliged to Mammaever since for never alluding to that terrible dinner. '

'It is a regular proof that Fun is one of the most runaway horses inexistence, ' said Elizabeth; 'very charming when well curbed, but if yougive him the rein--'

'Yes, I have been learning that by sad experience all my life, ' saidAnne, with a sigh. 

'You will never be silly enough to give him up, though, ' said Elizabeth. 

'Silly, do you call it?' said Helen. 

'People think so differently on those matters, ' said Anne. 

'Yes, but a "spirit full of glee" is what I think the most delightfulthing in the world, ' said Elizabeth, 'and so do you. '

'Yes, in old age, when its blitheness has been proved to be somethingbeyond animal spirits, ' said Anne. 

'And it is right that people should have animal spirits in theiryouth, ' said Elizabeth, 'not grey heads on green shoulders, like somepeople of my acquaintance. --Do not be affronted, Helen; I dare say yourhead will grow greener all your life, it is better to-day than it wason Saturday morning. '

'But the worst of it is, ' said Anne, 'that I believe it is very sillyof me, but I am afraid Uncle Woodbourne has always thought me a mostfoolish girl ever since, and I do not like the idea of it. '

'Who would?' said Elizabeth; 'I am afraid I cannot tell you what hethinks of your sense, but of this I am sure, that he must think you thechoicest damsel of his acquaintance, and wish his daughters were morelike you. '

'And there could not have been the same meaning in his eye when helooked at you, as when he looked at Harriet, ' said Helen. 

'Oh no, I hope not, ' said Anne. 

'And you understood it a little better than one who can only feelpersonal inconvenience, ' said Elizabeth; 'but how can I blame Harrietwhen I was the occasion of her fault? it is a thing I can never bear tothink of. '

As Elizabeth said this, they came to a shop where Anne wished to buysome little presents for some children in the village at home, who, shesaid, would value them all the more for not being the production of thetown nearest them. They pursued their search for gay remnants ofcoloured prints, little shawls, and pictured pocket-handkerchiefs, intothe new town, and passed by Mr. Higgins's shop, the window of which wasadorned with all the worst caricatures which had found their way toAbbeychurch, the portraits of sundry radical leaders, embossed within ahalo of steel-pens, and a notice of a lecture on 'PersonalRespectability, ' to be given on the ensuing Friday at the Mechanics'Institute, by the Rev. W. Pierce, the Dissenting preacher. 

Mr. Higgins appeared at the shop door, for the express purpose, as itseemed, of honouring Miss Merton and Miss Woodbourne each with a verylow bow. 

'There, Helen, is my punishment, ' said Elizabeth; 'since you aredesirous of poetical justice upon me. '

'Not upon you, ' said Helen, 'only upon Harriet. '

'Harriet has lost Fido, ' said Elizabeth. 

Here Rupert came to meet them, and no more was said on the subject. 

Rupert obeyed his sister tolerably well during most of the day, thoughhe was sorely tempted to ask Elizabeth to send Anne an abstract, inshort-hand, of the lecture on Personal Respectability; but herefrained, for he was really fond of his cousin, and very good-natured, excepting when his vanity was offended. 

Anne however was in a continual fright, for he delighted in tormentingher by going as near the dangerous subject as he dared; and often, whenno one else thought there was any danger, she knew by the expression ofhis eye that he had some spiteful allusion on his lips. Besides, hethought some of the speeches he had made in the morning too clever tobe wasted on his mother and sister, when his cousins were there to hearthem, and Anne could not trust to his forbearance to keep them tohimself all day, so that she kept a strict watch upon him. 

In the evening, however, Mr. Woodbourne called her and Helen to playsome Psalm tunes from which he wanted to choose some for the Church. Hespoke to her in a way which made her hope that he did not think herquite foolish, but she would have been glad to stay and keep Rupert inorder. However, she was rejoiced to hear Elizabeth propose to him toplay at chess, and she saw them sit down very amicably. 

This proposal, however, proved rather unfortunate, for Elizabeth wasvictorious in the first battle, the second was a drawn game, and Rupertlost the third, just as he thought he was winning it, from forgettingto move out the castle's pawn after castling his king. He could notbear to be conquered, and pushed away the chess-board rather pettishly. 

'Good morning to you, Prince Rupert, ' said Elizabeth triumphantly; 'doyou wish for any more?'

Rupert made no answer, but pulled the inkstand across the table, openedthe paper-case, and took up a pen. 

'Oh!' said Elizabeth, 'I suppose we may expect a treatise on the art offortification, salient angles, and covered ways, not forgetting thesurrender of Bristol. '

No reply, but Rupert scratched away very diligently with his pen, theinkstand preventing Elizabeth from seeing what he was about. 

'Anne, ' said Elizabeth, leaning back, and turning round, 'I am thinkingof making a collection of the heroes who could not bear to be beaten atchess, beginning with Charlemagne's Paladins, who regularly beat outeach other's brains with the silver chess-board, then the Black Prince, and Philippe of Burgundy. Can you help me to any more?'

Anne did not hear, and Rupert remained silent as ever; and Elizabeth, determining to let him make himself as silly as he pleased, took up herwork and sewed on her braid very composedly. Katherine had come downagain at dinner-time, and was working in silence. She had beenstanding by the piano, but finding that no one asked her to play, ortook any notice of her, she had come back to the table. 

'Dear me, Prince Rupert, ' said she, looking over his shoulder, 'whatstrange thing are you doing there?'

'A slight sketch, ' said he, 'to be placed in Lizzie's album as acompanion to a certain paragraph which I believe she has studied. '

Rupert threw his pen-and-ink drawing down before Elizabeth. It wasreally not badly done, and she saw in a moment, by the help of thenames which he had scribbled below in his worst of all bad writing, that it represented the Giants, Pope and Pagan, as described in thePilgrim's Progress, while, close to Pope, was placed a delineation verylike Don Quixote, purporting to be the superannuated Giant Chivalry, biting his nails at a dapper little personification of 'Civil andReligious Liberty. ' A figure whose pointed head, lame foot, and stoutwalking-stick, shewed him to be intended for Sir Walter Scott, wasthrowing over him an embroidered surcoat, which a most striking andludicrous likeness of Mr. Augustus Mills was pulling off at the otherend; and the scene was embellished by a ruined castle in the distance, and a quantity of skulls and cross-bones in the fore-ground. Elizabethcould not but think it unkind of him to jest on this matter, while hereye-lids were still burning and heavy from the tears it had caused herto shed; but she knew Rupert well enough to be certain that it was onlya sign that he was out of temper, and had not yet conquered his oldboyish love of teazing. She put the paper into her basket, saying, in alow tone, 'Thank you, Rupert; I shall keep it as a memorial of severalthings, some of which may do me good; but I fear it will always put mein mind that cavaliers of the present day would have little objectionto such battles as I was speaking of, even with women, if this poor oldgentleman did not retain a small degree of vitality. '

Rupert was vexed, both at being set down in a way he did not expect, and because he was really sorry that his wounded self-conceit bad ledhim to do what he saw had mortified Elizabeth more than he had intended. 

'What is it? what is it?' asked Katherine. 

'Never mind, Kate, ' said Rupert. 

'Well, but what fun is it?' persisted Katherine. 

'Only downright nonsense, ' said Rupert, looking down, and unconsciouslydrawing very strange devices on the blotting paper, 'unworthy theattention of so wise a lady. '

'Only the dry bones of an ill-natured joke, ' said Lady Merton, who hadseen all that passed, from the other end of the table. She spoke solow as only to be heard by her son; but Elizabeth saw his colourdeepen, and, as he rose and went to the piano, she felt sorry for him, and soon found an opportunity of reminding him that he had promised todraw something for Edward's scrap-book, and asked him if he would do sonow. 

'Willingly, ' said Rupert, 'but only on one condition, Lizzie. '

'What?' said Elizabeth. 

'That you give me back that foolish thing, ' said Rupert, fixing hiseyes intently on the coach and horses which he was drawing. 

'There it is, ' said Elizabeth, restoring it to him. 'No, no, Rupert, do not tear it up, it is the cleverest thing you ever drew, Sir Walteris excellent. '

Yet, in spite of this commendation, Rupert had torn his performanceinto the smallest scraps, before his sister came back to the table. 

Anne had been in some anxiety ever since the conclusion of the games;but Sir Edward and Mr. Woodbourne were standing between her and thetable, so that she could neither see nor hear, and when at length shehad finished playing, and was released, she found Rupert and Elizabethso quiet, and so busy with their several employments, that she greatlydreaded that all had not gone right. She bethought herself of thesketches Rupert had made in Scotland, asked him to fetch them, and bytheir help, she contrived to restore the usual tone of conversationbetween the cousins, so that the remainder of the evening passed awayvery pleasantly. 

When Anne and Elizabeth awoke the following morning, Anne said that shehad remembered, the evening before, just when it was too late to doanything, that the last Sunday Rupert had left his Prayer-book behindhim at St. Austin's; and as they were to set off on their journeyhomewards immediately after breakfast, she asked Elizabeth whetherthere would be time to walk to the new church and fetch it beforebreakfast. 

'I think it would be a very pleasant walk in the freshness of themorning, if you like to go, ' said she. 

'Oh yes, ' said Elizabeth, 'there is plenty of time, and I should likethe walk very much; but really, Anne, you spoil that idle boy in aterrible way. '

'Ah! Rupert is an only son, ' said Anne; 'he has a right to be spoilt. '

'Then I hope that Horace and Edward will save each other from the samefate, ' said Elizabeth; 'I do not like to see a sister made such a slaveas you have been all your life. '

'Wait till Horace and Edward are at home in the holidays before youtalk of slavery, ' said Anne; 'there will be five slaves and twomasters, that will be all the difference. '

'Well are the male kind called barons in heraldry, ' said Elizabeth;'there is no denying that they are a lordly race; but I think I wouldhave sent Mr. Rupert up the hill himself, rather than go beforebreakfast, with a day's journey before me. '

'Suppose he would not go?' said Anne. 

'Let him lose his Prayer-book, then, ' said Elizabeth. 

'But if I had rather fetch it for him?' said Anne. 

'I can only answer that there are no slaves as willing as sisters, 'said Elizabeth. 

The two cousins had a pleasant morning walk up the hill, enjoying thefreshness of the morning air, and watching the various symptoms ofwakening in the town. They carried the keys of the church with them, as no clerk had as yet been appointed, and they were still in Mr. Woodbourne's possession, so that it was not necessary to call anyone toopen the doors for them. 

Whilst Anne was searching for the Prayer-book, Elizabeth stood in theaisle, her eyes fixed on the bright red cross in the centre window overthe Altar. The sun-beams were lighting it up gloriously, and from it, her gaze fell upon the Table of Commandments, between it and the Altar. Presently, Anne came and stood by her side in silence. 'Anne, ' saidElizabeth, after a few minutes, 'I will tell you what I have beenthinking of. On the day when Horace laid the first stone of thischurch, two years ago, something put me, I am sorry to say, into one ofmy old fits of ill temper. It was the last violent passion I ever wasin; I either learnt to control them, or outgrew them. And now, maythis affair at the Consecration be the last of my self-will andself-conceit; for indeed there is much that is fearfully wrong in me tobe corrected, before I can dare to think of the Confirmation. '

Perhaps we cannot take leave of Elizabeth Woodbourne at a bettermoment, therefore we will say no more of her, or of the otherinhabitants of the Vicarage, but make a sudden transition to theconversation, which Anne had hoped to enjoy on the journey back toMerton Hall. 

She had told her father of nearly all her adventures, had given Fido'shistory more fully, informed Rupert of all that he had missed, and wasproceeding with an account of Helen. 'Really, ' said she, 'I have muchmore hope of her being happy at home, than I had at first. '

'I will answer for it that she will be happy enough, ' said Rupert; 'shehas been living on flummery for the last half-year, and you cannotexpect her to be contented with mutton-chops just at first. '

'Helen does not find so much fault with the mutton-chops as with thepepper Lizzie adds to them, ' said Anne. 

'I should be sorry to live without pepper, ' said Rupert. 

'I am not so sure of that, ' said Lady Merton. 

'At least you do not wish to have enough to choke you, ' said Anne; 'youmust have it in moderation. '

'I think Lizzie is learning moderation, ' said Lady Merton; 'she isacquiring more command of impulse, and Helen more command of feeling, so that I think there is little danger of their not agreeing. '

'Is it not curious, Mamma, ' said Anne, 'that we should have beentalking of the necessity of self-control, just before we set out onthis visit, when I told you that line of Burns was your motto; and nowwe find that the want of it is the reason of all that was wrong betweenthose two sisters. I wonder whether we could make out that any more ofthe follies we saw in this visit were caused by the same deficiency inanyone else. '

'Beginning at home?' said Sir Edward. 

'Of course, Papa, ' said Anne; 'I know that my failure in self-controlhas done mischief, though I cannot tell how much. I laughed at theHazlebys continually, in spite of Mamma's warning, and encouragedLizzie to talk of them when I had better not have done so; and Iallowed myself to be led away by eagerness to hear that foolishlecture. I suppose I want control of spirits. '

'And now having finished our own confession, how merrily we begin uponour neighbours!' said Rupert; 'whom shall we dissect first?'

'Indeed, Rupert, ' said Anne, 'I do not want to make the most of theirfaults, I only wish to study their characters, because I think it is auseful thing to do. Now I do not see that Kate's faults are occasionedby want of self-control; do you think they are, Mamma?'

'Do you think that piece of thistle-down possesses any self-control?'said Rupert. 

'You mean that Kate does not control her own conduct at all, but isdrifted about by every wind that blows, ' said Anne; 'yes, it was MissHazleby's influence that made her talk so much more of dress thanusual, and really seem sillier than I ever saw her before. '

'And what do you say of the fair Harriet herself?' said Rupert. 

'Nothing, ' said Anne. 

'And Mrs. Hazleby is her daughter in a magnifying glass, ' said Rupert;'a glorious specimen of what you all may come to. And Mrs. Woodbourne?'

'Oh! I have nothing to do with the elders, ' said Anne; 'but if you wantme to find you a fault in her, I shall say that she ought to controlher unwillingness to correct people. And now we have discussed almosteveryone. '

'From which discussion, ' said Rupert, 'it appears that of all thecompany at Abbeychurch, the sole possessor of that most estimablequality, the root of all other excellencies, is--your humble servant. '

On this unfortunate speech of poor Rupert's, father, mother, andsister, all set up a shout of laughter, which lasted till Rupert beganto feel somewhat enraged. 

'Oh! I did not say that I had done with everybody, ' said Anne; 'but, perhaps, whatever I might think, I might not have presumed--'

'O Rupert!' said Lady Merton, 'Could some fay the giftie gie us To see oursels as others see us--'

'Mamma's beloved Burn's Justice again, ' interrupted Rupert. 

'No, no, we do not mean to let our mouths be stopped, ' said LadyMerton; 'such a challenge must be answered. '

'Shew him no mercy, Anne, ' said Sir Edward; 'he likes pepper. '

'Pray, Rupert, ' said Anne, 'what would you have been withoutself-control, if, possessing such a quantity of it, you still allowedso much spirit of mischief to domineer over you, that you frightenedDora out of her wits about Winifred, and tormented Helen all the way toWhistlefar, and worst of all, that you could not help writing thatwicked poem, and then pretending that it was mine; why, it was anoutrage upon us all, it would have been bad enough if the name hadbelonged to no one, but when you knew that he was a real man--'

'And that Miss Hazleby wrote his name on purpose that something of thekind might be done, ' said Rupert; 'I gratified her beyond measure, andthen was so kind and disinterested as to give you the credit of it, ifyou would have accepted it. You may be sure that she will shew thepoem to her hero, and tell him what a charming fellow that young RupertMerton is. '

'Now just listen, Mamma, ' said Anne; 'I begged of Mr. Rupert not towrite anything about Fido in the Conglomeration on Saturday evening;and because I did so, he would write nothing on his own account, butpretending to read my verses, he brings out a horrible compositionabout a certain Mr. Francis Hollis, who, Miss Hazelby had been tellingus, had been the means of her going to an officers' ball, at Hull, andwhom she had danced with--'

'Capital, capital!' cried Rupert; 'I never heard all this; I did notknow how good my poem was, I knew the truth by intuition. '

'But having heard this made it all the worse for me, ' said Anne; 'andMamma, this dreadful doggerel--'

'Anne, I declare--' cried Rupert. 

'And, Mamma, this dreadful doggerel, ' proceeded Anne, 'proposed to sendFido's heart to this Mr. Hollis, and so put him in raptures with a giftfrom Miss Hazleby, and fill his mind with visions of a surrogate, and awedding tour to Harrogate. Now was it not the most impertinentungentlemanlike thing you ever heard of?'

'How can you talk such nonsense, Anne?' said Rupert; 'do you think Ishould have written it, if I had not known it would please her?'

'I believe you would not have dared to behave in such a manner toLizzie, or to anyone else who knew what was due to her, ' said Anne; 'ifMiss Hazleby is vain and vulgar, she is still a woman, and ought to berespected as such. '

Rupert laughed rather provokingly. 'It is just as I say, ' said Anne;'now is it not, Mamma?'

'Oh yes, Anne, ' said Rupert, 'perfectly right, you have caught Helen'ssententious wisdom exactly; I have no doubt that such were the thoughtswhich passed through her mind, while she sat like proprietypersonified, wondering how you could have so little sense of decorum asto laugh at anything so impudent. '

'I know I ought not to have laughed, ' said Anne; 'that was one of theoccasions when I did not exert sufficient self-control. But there wasreally very little to laugh at, it was quite an old joke. Rupert haddisposed of Fido's heart long before, but he is so fond of his own wit, that he never knows when we have had enough of a joke. '

'I could tell you of something much worse, Anne, ' said Lady Merton, 'which quite proves the truth of what you say. '

Rupert coloured, made an exclamation about something in the road, andseemed so much discomposed by this hint, that Anne forbore to ask anyquestions. 

'Rupert fitted himself to a T, that we must say for him, ' said SirEdward. 

'What do you mean, Papa?' said Anne. 

'There is another word which begins with self-con--' said Lady Merton, 'which suits him remarkably well. '

'Ah! ha!' cried Anne. 

'At any rate, ' cried Rupert vigorously, 'do not make it appear as if Iwere the only individual with a tolerable opinion of my ownadvantages--when Helen looks like the picture of offended dignity ifyou presume to say a syllable contrary to some of her opinions, or indisparagement of dear Dykelands; and Kate thinks herself the mostlovely creature upon earth, and the only useful person in the house;and Harriet believes no one her equal in the art of fascination; andMrs. Woodbourne thinks no children come within a mile of hers in beautyand excellence; and Lizzie--'

'I am sure few people are more humble-minded than Lizzie, ' interruptedAnne indignantly. 

'What, when she would take no one's advice but her own, if it were tosave her life?' said Rupert. 

'But she thinks everyone better than herself, and makes no paradeeither of her talents or of her usefulness, ' said Anne. 

'Still she has a pretty high opinion of her own judgement, ' said Rupert. 

'Well she may, ' said Anne. 

'When it leads her to go to Mechanics' Institutes, ' said Rupert; 'thatis the reason Anne respects her so much. '

'I advise you to throw no stones at her, Sir, ' said Sir Edward; 'itwould be well if some people of my acquaintance were as upright inacknowledging deficiencies in themselves, as she is. '

'Besides, I cannot see that Helen is conceited, ' said Anne; 'if shewas, she would not be made unhappy by other people's criticisms. '

'Helen wants a just estimate of herself, ' said Lady Merton; 'she caresmore for what people say of what she does, than whether it is good initself. '

'But, Anne, ' said Sir Edward, 'why do not you claim to be the onlyperson in the world devoid of conceit?'

'Because I am conceited in all the ways which Rupert has mentioned, 'said Anne; 'I believe myself witty, and wise, and amiable, and useful, and agreeable, and I do not like taking advice, and I am very angrywhen my friends are abused, and I do believe I think I have the mostexquisite brother in the world; and besides, if I said I was notconceited it would be the best possible proof of the contrary. --But, Mamma, there is a person whom we have not mentioned, who has no conceitand plenty of self-control. '

'Do you mean little Dora?' said Lady Merton. 

'No, not Dora, though I am pretty much of Mrs. Woodbourne's opinionrespecting her, ' said Anne; 'I meant one who is always overlooked, MissLucy Hazleby. '

'She may have every virtue upon earth for aught I know, ' said Rupert;'I can only testify that she has un grand talent pour le silence. '

'I only know her from what my cousins told me, ' said Anne; 'they seemto have a great respect for her, though Helen is the only person sheever seems to talk to. I never could make her speak three words to me. '

'She has a fine countenance and very sweet expression, certainly, ' saidLady Merton. 

'Poor girl, ' said Sir Edward; 'she blushes so much, that it was almostpainful to look at her. '

'You seem to be utterly deficient in proofs of her excellence, ' saidRupert; 'you will leave her a blank page at last. '

'Pages are not always blank when you see nothing on them, ' said LadyMerton; 'characters may be brought out by the fire. '

'Yes, Mamma, the fire of temptation, ' said Anne; 'and I have heard Lucytried by her mother's violence, and she never concealed any part of thetruth as far as only regarded herself, even to avoid those terribleunjust reproofs, and put herself forward to bear her sister's share ofblame; and she was firm in turning back from the Mechanics' Institutewhen her sister scolded her. '

'Firmness, which, in so timid a person, proved that she had moreself-control than any of you, ' said Sir Edward. 

'Then let us wind up the history of our visit in a moral style, ' saidAnne, 'and call it a lesson on Self-control and Self-conceit. '

'Nonsense, ' said Rupert; 'do you think that if anyone read its history, they would learn any such lesson unless you told them beforehand?'

'Perhaps not, ' said Sir Edward, 'as you have not learnt it from yourwhole life. '

'No, ' said Lady Merton; 'that lesson is not to be learnt by anyone whois not on the watch for it. '

'So we conclude with Mamma's wisdom, ' said Rupert. 

'And Rupert's folly, ' said Anne. 

THE END