[Transcriber's Note: The form of this e-text is predicated upon an assumption about the editorial practices that obtained in Canadian publishing around the year 1874. It is presumed that the authoress had the opportunity to review pre-publication galley proofs and make any changes or corrections she deemed appropriate, and that the published book is therefore an accurate reflection of her wishes and intentions. ]

 ISABEL LEICESTER, A ROMANCE, by

 MAUDE ALMA. 

 "Twist ye, twine ye, even so, Mingled threads of joy and woe, Hope and fear, peace and strife, In the cord of human life. "

 HAMILTON: SPECTATOR PRINTING HOUSE. 1874. 

ISABEL LEICESTER. 

CHAPTER I. 

In a spacious apartment superbly furnished, and surrounded by everyluxury that could please the most fastidious taste, sat IsabelLeicester, attired in deep mourning, with her head resting upon herhand, her face almost as white as the handkerchief she held. Isabel'sFather had failed in business, and the misfortune had so preyed upon hismind, that he sank under it and died. The funeral had taken place thatday, and she was to leave the house on the day following--the housewhere she was born and had always lived, except when at school. Theservants had all been discharged but two, who were to leave next day. A friend had offered Isabel a home until she could procure a situationas a governess, which that friend Mrs. Arnold was endeavouring to obtainfor her, in the family of a lady who had been one of Mrs. Arnold'sschool-fellows. Mrs. Arnold was the widow of a clergyman, with a verylimited income, and Isabel was unwilling to trespass upon the kindnessof one whose means she knew to be so small. But she had no alternativeat the time and trusted that it would not be long before she would beable to procure the situation she had in view, or some other. The tearemained untasted on the table, for Isabel was absorbed by themelancholy thoughts that filled her heart. She tried to feel resigned, but her pride was wounded at the idea of becoming a 'governess. ' She hadbeen the spoiled petted daughter of a wealthy merchant of the city ofNew York, whose chief delight had been to indulge her in every way. Butstill Mr. Leicester had been a truly good and christian man, and hadtaught his daughter not to set her affections on earthly things, and toremember that wealth was given to us for the benefit of others, as wellas for our own enjoyment. And he was rewarded as she grew up to findthat her chief aim was to do good to the many poor families whosenecessities came to her knowledge. Great also was his satisfaction tofind that after two seasons in New York, where she had been the Belle, she was still the same loving, unassuming, pure-minded girl she had everbeen, tho' the admiration and attention her beauty and accomplishmentshad excited, had she been less carefully trained, might have renderedher haughty and vain. 

During her Father's illness, when her time and thoughts were occupiedwith attending upon him, and in anxiety for his recovery she had thoughtand felt that the loss of property was an evil of little moment, andtried to persuade her Father not to think so much about the reverse, urging that he could get some employment, and they would still live veryhappily together in a cottage. 

But now that he was gone, and she had no one left to look too, herlonely and self-dependant position was felt severely, and the tears shecould not restrain, fell unheeded. The fire sank low, and finally wentout, and still Isabel sat thinking of the miserable prospect the futurepresented. At last she rose with a shudder, and rang for the tea-thingsto be removed, then retiring to her own room, she threw herself upon thebed in an agony of grief. 

She had remained there some time, when she felt a kind hand laid uponher shoulder, and turning her head she saw the old housekeeper, Mrs. Stewart, with a cup of hot tea. "Come my dear young lady, " said she, while the tears streamed down her aged cheeks, "You must take this, it will never do for you to go without your tea. "

"I know you attach great virtue to a cup of tea" replied Isabel, "so toplease you I will take it. "

"Oh dear, dear, " muttered the old woman as she descended the stairs, "how pale and ill she looks, and no wonder poor lamb, if she goes onlike this she will be laid up. Oh, how I wish Mrs. Mornington had notgone to Europe. Poor child, poor child. "

After Mrs. Stewart had left her, Isabel knelt down and prayed forstrength to do her duty, however trying she might find it, and for theholy spirit to comfort her in affliction, after which she retired torest, and was soon in a calm sleep. 

Next morning she arose much refreshed, and having sought divine aid andprotection, she commenced to arrange for her departure. Her Father'screditors knowing him to be a man of strict integrity, and that hisfailure was not attributable to any want of prudence on his part, hadkindly arranged that she should retain whatever she particularly wished. This was a great gratification to Isabel, tho' she was too honorable totake an undue advantage of this benevolent intention, indeed she wasalmost too conscientious upon this point. 

The task before her was a sad one, and although she strove very hard shecould not restrain her tears as she made her selections. She was soonjoined by Mrs. Arnold, who told her she had come to help her to pack, and that she should not leave until Isabel accompanied her. "Come" shesaid, kissing her affectionately, "the sooner this painful task is overmy love the better. I have good news for you. I have heard from Mrs. Arlington, and she says that she shall be most happy to obtain theservices of any one recommended by me. The salary I find is only twohundred dollars a year, it is indeed less than I expected, but you mustremember that this is your first engagement, no doubt if you remainthere a year or two, you will be able to obtain a much more remunerativeone. "

This announcement of Mrs. Arnold's brought to Isabel's mind in fullforce all the annoyances to which she would be subjected in her newposition, and clasping her hands, she gave way to uncontrollableemotion. 

"I do not wonder, dear, at your being disappointed, after what you havebeen used to, two hundred dollars must seem a very paltry sum. I daresay you gave nearly as much to your maid Harris, but my dear, as agoverness your requirements will be less, so with the wardrobe you nowpossess, you will be able to manage very nicely. "

"Oh, Mrs. Arnold, I was not thinking about the salary, I am sure I canmake that do very well, " sobbed Isabel. "You are very kind indeed totrouble yourself so much about me. "

"You need not go to Elm Grove at present, my love, you are quite welcometo stay with me until you get over your loss a little, and feel betterable to conform to circumstances, " said Mrs. Arnold kindly. 

Isabel made an effort to respond gratefully to her kind friend, andexpressed a hope that she would shortly be able to undertake the dutiesof her new situation. 

"I have no doubt you will be very comfortable at Elm Grove, it is alovely place. Of course it will seem strange at first, but people soonget used to a place you know if they only try. I am very happy now, butI am sure at one time, I thought I never should be again, " continuedMrs. Arnold, "but we will say no more on that subject now, we must geton with our work. " And she began to give advice about what Isabel shouldtake, and said that whatever she did not like to take with her to hernew home, she could leave at her house. 

Fortunately the housekeeper then came to ask if she should pack. 

"Certainly, " exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, "the very person I wanted, " and offthey went to Isabel's great relief. 

Being left to herself, Isabel soon concluded her selection, and orderingMary to take them to be packed, she went into the library to get alittle rest, and time to think, tho' the latter she could scarcely do, as her temples throbbed violently. Laying her head on the old familiarcouch, she endeavoured to calm the tumult of her feelings, the brightsunshine, and the merry sound of the sleigh bells outside, only made herfeel her desolation more acutely. 

"Luncheon is ready dear, and the packing all done, " said Mrs. Arnold, throwing herself in an easy chair. 

"You have indeed been quick, " replied Isabel, heartily wishing they hadbeen longer. 

"It is all due to Mrs. Stewart, she is really the most clever person atpacking I ever saw, tho' poor soul she was nearly blinded with tears. Come love, we must have luncheon now, and after that we will send for asleigh. "

"Indeed, dear Mrs. Arnold, I cannot go until evening, I am sure Mr. Macdermott will be here presently, for he knows that I am going to-day. "

"Ah, I know, you want to be alone to muse of things in your dreamy way, but my love, it is better not to do so, it only makes things harder tobear. Try to banish disagreeable subjects as much as possible, that ismy maxim. But I cannot refuse you anything just now, so after luncheon Iwill go home, and will come back for you in the evening. "

Soon after Mrs. Arnold's departure, Mr. Macdermott the clergyman, calledas Isabel had expected, and his sympathy, and advice, tended greatly tosoothe the pain she felt at leaving the home she loved so well. He saidthat Mrs. Macdermott was still too ill to visit her, but that if shefelt able she would try to see her at Mrs. Arnold's. He told her alsothat he had that morning received a letter from Louis, in which hedesired to be kindly remembered. Mr. Macdermott remarked the richcrimson that suffused her cheeks, at the mention of his nephew's name, but the remotest idea of their engagement never entered his mind. Heremained with her about an hour, then after enquiring if he could be ofany service to her, he took his leave. 

At last the dreaded hour arrived, and Mrs. Arnold with it. After biddingthe housekeeper and Mary a kind farewell, (they had both been with her agreat many years, ) Isabel accompanied her friend to Rose Cottage. 

CHAPTER II. 

The setting sun shed its bright tints over the snow which lay thick uponthe ground, making it glisten like diamonds, the cold was intense, and abitter wind howled through the leafless trees, when the train arrived atM----, and Isabel almost benumbed with cold, procured a conveyance fromthe station to the Rock Hotel, where Mrs. Arlington had promised to sendfor her. 

On arriving at the hotel, she found the sleigh waiting punctual to thetime appointed. Isabel would gladly have partaken of some refreshment, but Mrs. Arnold had informed her, that Mrs. Arlington was veryparticular, and to have kept the horses standing, Isabel felt would haveoffended her, which she was very anxious to avoid although she wasshivering with cold. 

It was a long drive of twelve miles to Elm Grove, but the horses went ata great speed, and in less than an hour they arrived at theirdestination. As they drew up at the door, it was opened by a footman, and a woman who seemed to be an upper servant met her in the hall, andconducted her to her room. 

"I suppose you would like some tea Miss, " she said "I will order itwhile you are taking off your things, and then I will show you theschool-room. Mrs. Arlington and the young ladies are dressing for aball, so they cannot see you to-night. "

When Norris had left the room, Isabel sat down with a sigh, and lookedabout to see what kind of accommodation she was to have. It was a nicesized room, with a bay window having an eastern aspect, at which thewind was now howling with great violence. It was neatly, but plainlyfurnished, the fire had burnt low, and the room was cold. She took offher things as quickly as possible, and sincerely hoped that theschool-room would be more comfortable. 

Norris soon returned, and Isabel desiring her to have more fuel put uponthe fire descended to the school-room, which she found very bright andpleasant looking, the large fire and lamp making it look quiteattractive. 

The tea was on the table, and Norris after saying "if you want anythingMiss, please ring for Susan, " left the room. Isabel was very glad tohave some refreshment after her cold drive, and when she rang to havethe things removed, the bell was answered by a neat, pleasant lookinggirl, who had such a sunny face that it did one good to look at her, andpresently a sweet little girl of about seven years old came running intothe room, and going up to Isabel, said "you are our new governess areyou not. I think I shall like you very much, but I can't stay now, forEliza is waiting to put me to bed, but I did so want to see youto-night. Good night!" and throwing her arms round Isabel's neck, shegave her a hearty kiss, and disappeared as quickly as she came. WhenIsabel returned to her room she had no cause to complain of the firewhich was piled to the top of the grate. 

When she awoke next morning it seemed very strange to be where she hadnot the least idea what any of the family were like. After dressing andarranging some of her things, she sat down to contemplate her situation, which she found anything but pleasant, so she determined to descend tothe school-room. 

The door was open, and as she approached she overheard little Amy saying"she is the prettiest lady I ever saw, only she looks so pale and sad. "Isabel found three little girls in the room, of whom Amy was theyoungest. Amy greeted her in the same cordial manner she had done onthe preceding evening, the other two rose saying "good morning MissLeicester, " but when she stooped to kiss them, Alice sulkily put up herface, and Rose laughed. "Fancy, Miss Manning kissing us" she whisperedto her sister. "Hush!" returned Alice, "she will hear. "

Isabel spoke kindly to them, but Alice only returned unwilling, and Rosepert answers, so the breakfast was a dull unpleasant affair, and Isabelperceived they regarded the governess in the light of an enemy; evenlittle Amy became shy and uneasy. 

After breakfast Rose informed her that they always had half an hourbefore school for a run out of doors. As they were departing little Amyran back, and coming close up to Isabel whispered "don't cry MissLeicester, I love you, indeed I do, " for Amy had noticed the tears thatwould come in spite of her efforts to repress them. Isabel drew thechild to her, and kissing her pretty upturned face, told her to go withthe others. 

Amy had scarcely gone, when Mrs. Arlington entered. She was tall andstately, rather cold and haughty, and very dignified and patronizing inher manner. She hoped Miss Leicester had been made comfortable, and wassure that she would like the children. She then informed her that theschool hours were from nine until four, with an hour for dinner, thenshe would have to take them for a walk, after that her time was her own. She would take her meals with the children, but she would be happy tohave her come into the drawing-room occasionally in the evening. Shesaid that her own time was so much occupied with her elder daughters, that she was forced to leave the children entirely to the governess, but, that as Mrs. Arnold had so strongly recommended her she felt sureshe should be satisfied, then bidding Miss Leicester a polite goodmorning, she swept majestically from the room. 

Poor Isabel, she had not expected quite so much dignity, and wasexcessively annoyed. "Take the children for walks, " that was a thing shehad not thought of, and she did not relish the idea and as to going intothe drawing-room, she could very well dispense with that. She was notaware that Mrs. Arlington intended her accomplished young governess tohelp to amuse her guests. Excessively annoyed, Isabel repaired to herown room to calm her ruffled feelings. 

At nine o'clock she went to the school-room and found her pupils therealready, also a very pretty girl of about seventeen, whom they werecoaxing to tell them about the ball. As Isabel entered the room, Amyexclaimed, "Miss Leicester this is Emily!" Then Emily laughed merrily, and held out her hand saying, "I hope we shall be good friends MissLeicester, I'm sorry we were out last night. "

"Oh! Emily, I'm sure you wanted very much to go to the ball, and youjust now said that you enjoyed yourself exceedingly, " said Alicegravely. 

"I didn't mean that you silly child, returned Emily, but I am intrudingupon school hours I fear, so if you will allow me Miss Leicester I willcome for a chat before dinner. "

Isabel bowed assent and Emily retired, rather annoyed that her advanceshad not met with a warmer reception. Shortly after Emily's departure, a tall and very elegant looking girl of about twenty entered the room, and bowing condescendingly to Isabel, said, "have the goodness to trythese songs Miss Leicester, I wish to know if there are any pretty onesamong them, I would not trouble you only I am so excessively tired" sheadded, taking the most comfortable seat the room afforded; this was donein the most easy manner possible, precluding of course the idea that itwas by design. Miss Arlington upon entering any room, immediatelyperceived the nicest place, and having seen, at once took possessionwith an easy indifference, as if totally unconscious that she wasmonopolizing the best place. Isabel complied with her request, tho' notbest pleased with the interruption. 

"You sing very nicely Miss Leicester, " Miss Arlington saidpatronizingly. 

Isabel's lip curled contemptuously, she presumed so when the crowdedroom had been hushed to perfect silence whenever she approached thepiano, and when she ceased singing, the murmured praise and applause onall sides had sent the hot blood to her cheeks, and this not once ortwice, but scores of times--she needed not to be told that she sangnicely. 

"She sings much better than you do Grace, " said Rose pertly. 

"Don't be rude, Rose, " replied Grace, haughtily, "Miss Leicester willhave some trouble with you I imagine, " then thanking Isabel, she leftthe room excessively annoyed with Rose. 

The lessons proceeded, and Isabel thought that Alice and Rose must altertheir manners greatly before she could take any interest in teachingthem. It was evident that they had not been treated kindly by their lastgoverness. Alice sulked so much, and Rose was so pert, that Isabel foundit difficult to keep her temper, and when tea was over, her head achedso severely, and she felt so tired and miserable, that she retired toher room, and locking herself in gave way to irrepressible emotion, while she thought that she should indeed be unhappy in her new position. 

Presently some one knocked at the door, but vexed at the interruption, and not wishing to be seen giving way to her feelings, Isabel took nonotice. As the knocking continued unanswered, a soft voice pleaded foradmittance. On opening the door, she found it was Emily, and not Amy, as she expected. 

"I hope you will excuse me, " she said, "but not finding you in theschool-room I came after you, as I knew that I should not have any otheropportunity this evening. "

Isabel was very much confused, but Emily sat down by her side, tellingher how very much she felt for her, and how she hoped she would considerher a friend. "Mrs. Arnold wrote and told me all about you" she said, "and dear Isabel I will do all in my power to make you happy. "

But Isabel only sobbed, "I can never be happy again--never. "

"You must not say that, you must not think so, " exclaimed Emily. "Youmust come into the drawing-room with us, and that will cheer you up abit. I know you will like papa. Elm Grove looks dreary now, but insummer it is delightful. Then, I always get up early and go for a ramblebefore breakfast, if I can only get any one to go with me, and I feelsure you will go with me next summer. I think I shall breakfast withyou, I can't wait for mama's late breakfast, but I would sooner havegone without altogether, than have taken it with Miss Manning. I onlyleft school you know a few weeks ago, and I like a little fun. I know Imake the children very outrageous sometimes, but then, you know I couldnot behave at all like a fashionable young lady in the evening, if I didnot get rid of some of my wild spirits before hand. By-the-bye, " shecried, laughing, "I believe you will have to teach me manners, MissMassie pronounced me quite incorrigible, my sister is a perfect modelaccording to her idea, but I could never be like Grace, I think mammahas given up all thought of it. "

"I don't know about teaching you manners, but I must try what I can dowith Alice and Rose, they are sadly deficient even in politeness. "

"Ah, you have found that out already have you, " cried Emily laughing. 

Isabel colored, and murmured something about forgetting who she wasspeaking to. "O you needn't mind, I like people who say what they think"said Emily, "besides that is just what papa says about them, but youmust own that Amy is a nice little thing, I don't think she could berude or unkind. "

"Yes Amy is a sweet child. "

"It will not be quite so dull here next week, for Everard is cominghome. I do wish so much for you to see him, he is my idea of perfectionas far as attainable in human nature. Oh! he's so handsome, and such adear nice fellow, I'm sure you will like him. "

"Perhaps you are not an impartial judge, I may not be able to see hisperfections so clearly. "

"You can't help seeing them, they are as clear as daylight, " returnedEmily, warmly. "What do you think he asked me in his last letter--totell him what sort of a gorgon the new governess was, so as I wroteto-day, I said she was beyond all description, and not to be comparedwith Miss Manning, so if he does not imagine something awful its verystrange, (Isabel did not look well pleased) I hope you wont mind; it wassuch a nice opportunity for a trick, but it is time I dressed fordinner, dear me how tiresome, and away she bounded. What a funny girl, thought Isabel, I wonder if I shall like her, at all events she means tobe kind. 

CHAPTER III. 

Isabel was not happy in her new home, it was no easy task to teach suchunruly girls as Alice and Rose, whose chief object was to get as muchfun as possible at the expense of their governess, but she trusted intime to be able to bring them to better order by the exercise offirmness and kindness combined. With Amy, however it was quitedifferent, she seemed never so happy as when with Isabel. 

It was Sunday afternoon, the children did not seem to know how to employthemselves, but sat sullenly each with a book, tho' it was very evidentthat they were not reading. Indeed, Isabel had seen by their manners allday, that they had not been accustomed to have Sunday made pleasant. 

"Come here Amy dear, " said Isabel, "would you like me to read to you. "

"Yes please, for it makes my head ache to read all the afternoon. "

So Isabel read a portion of scripture and several nice little hymns. Very soon as she had expected, Alice and Rose, drew near. Then she readthem part of the 'chief's daughter, ' and after that she played severalsacred pieces and sang a hymn to the tune tranquility. The children allgathered round her asking her to teach them to sing it. She promised todo so if they would learn the words, which they immediately commenced todo. 

After tea they had a most unexpected and very welcome visitor. "Oh!Everard, when did you come home, " they all exclaimed. 

"While you were at church, " he returned. 

"What a shame you didn't come to see us before, " said Alicereproachfully. 

"O then, I suppose it was you who shut the door when we were singingthis afternoon, " interposed Rose, "why didn't you come in. "

"I did not wish to disturb you" he answered, "but why don't some of youhave the politeness to introduce me to your new governess. "

Isabel colored deeply as he used the distasteful appellation, and bentlower over her book, and when Rose said, Mr. Everard Arlington, MissLeicester, " her bow was more haughty and dignified than she was awareof. He seated himself at the window with Amy on his knee, while theothers stood one on either side. Isabel heard a great deal being saidabout Miss Leicester in an under tone, and was about to leave the room, when Everard interposed, saying "I shall go, unless you stay MissLeicester, I'm not going to turn you out of the room. "

"Indeed I would rather go, " said Isabel. 

"Indeed I would rather you stayed. " returned Everard. 

"I do not wish to be any restraint on the children, it would be betterfor me to go. "

"Well, " said Everard putting his hand on the door, "I may as well haveit out with you at once, as I did with Miss Manning, I am very fond ofmy little sisters, and often come to see them here. "

"I have no objection, only let me go. "

"But that is just what I don't want you to do, and I always have my ownway at Elm Grove. You must not run away whenever I come, or I shallthink you consider me an intruder. "

"Never mind what I think, " said Isabel looking up, about to insist upongoing, for she was very indignant at his behaviour, but the face shebeheld quite disarmed her wrath. Such a calm, kind, earnest expressionin the mild blue eyes, such a winning smile played round the handsomemouth, a more prepossessing countenance Isabel had never seen, there wassomething about it irresistibly attractive. "What is it you wish me todo, " she asked as her eyes met his. 

"Stay where you are, and do just the same as if I was not here he said, and not run off as if I was going to eat you. "

"Then don't talk about me, " she returned stiffly. 

"I'm sure. I never said a word about you. "

"But the children did, " she replied coloring deeply as she returned toher seat. 

"Please Everard wont you read to us?" asked Amy. 

When he had finished, Amy asked Isabel if she would play the hymn shepromised. 

"Not to-night dear, " replied Isabel. 

"Oh please, Miss Leicester, " coaxed Rose. 

"If I am the cause of their disappointment I will go, but indeed Ishould like to join, " said Everard. 

"As you please" said Isabel, ashamed of being so much out of temper. 

"You know you promised, Miss Leicester, " interposed Alice, gravely. 

"So I did, dear, " returned Isabel, going to the piano: and she was quiterepaid, as they all sang very sweetly, and quite correctly. 

"Good night, " said Everard, when the hymn was ended. 

"Forgive me, Miss Leicester if I seemed rude, I did not intend to be. "

Isabel was distressed to find how much the children had been neglected;true they were tolerably proficient in their studies, but in allreligious instruction they were miserably deficient. 

Left entirely to the care of Miss Manning, who was a very frivolous, worldly minded woman, they were led, (tho' perhaps unintentionally) toregard all religious subjects as dry and tedious, and to be avoided asmuch as possible. Isabel determined to try and remedy this evil by theexercise of patient gentleness, and by striving to make religiousinstruction a pleasure and a privilege. No easy task did this appearconsidering the dispositions she had to deal with, nor was it without astruggle that she put aside her own wishes and devoted her Sundayafternoons to this purpose. She certainly did not meet with muchencouragement at first; again and again did the question recur to hermind, what good am I doing, why should I deprive myself of so manypleasant hours for the benefit of these thankless children; but theselfish thought was conquered, and she persevered. On week days also, she had morning prayer and read a portion of scripture, then they sung ahymn, always taking for the week the one they learnt on the Sundayafternoon. Nor was her perseverance unavailing, for the children becameinterested, and requested her to have evening service as they termed it, which of course Isabel was only too glad to do. After a while theirmorning numbers were increased, as Emily and her papa joined them, andso on until at last without any special arrangement they all assembledin the school-room every morning as a matter of course. 

Isabel was very different from what Mrs. Arlington had expected, sorefined in her manners and tastes, so totally unfitted to combat withall the mortifications of a governess's career. True, she had expected arather superior person, when Mrs. Arnold wrote that Miss Leicester wasthe indulged daughter of a wealthy merchant, who on account of herfather's losses and subsequent death, was forced to gain her living byteaching. Still, she was not prepared to find her new governess such alovely and sweet tempered girl, and Isabel had not been long at ElmGrove, before Mrs. Arlington found that she was becoming quite attachedto her. And as Mr. Arlington found that her father was the same Mr. Leicester from whom he had formerly experienced great kindness, theydecided Isabel should teach the children, and receive her salary, butthat in all other respects she should be as one of the family, andIsabel was very glad of the change. 

CHAPTER IV. 

The winter was past, and it was now June--bright, sunny June--and ElmGrove was decked in its richest hues. Down from the house sloped abeautiful lawn, studded with shrubs, and adorned with flower-beds ofdifferent sizes and shapes; while in the centre there was a pond andfountain, with a weeping willow shading the sunny side, which gave anappearance of coolness quite refreshing. Beyond was the shrubbery andfruit garden; and to the left the meadow, bounded by a coppice. 

The house was of the gothic order: on the right side of it was abeautiful conservatory, filled with the choicest plants; on the left acolonnade and terrace, shaded by a group of acacia trees. In front apiazza and large portico, around which honeysuckle, clematis and roses, shed their sweet perfume. The grounds were tastefully laid out, with dueregard to shade; and a grove of elm trees completely hid the house fromthe avenue: so that in approaching it from the main road, the houseseemed still in the distance--even out of sight--until, on taking a halfturn round a thick clump of elms, one would unexpectedly come out rightin front of the house, almost at the door. It was, as Emily had said, a delightful place. 

The children had greatly improved under Isabel's care. Emily was quitelike a sister, and even Miss Arlington treated her as an equal. Isabelknew that governesses were not usually so fortunate as to meet with suchnice people, and appreciated their kindness accordingly. The walks, too, that she had so much dreaded, had become a pleasure, --not a disagreeableduty. Emily usually joined them, and not unfrequently Everard also. Heperformed almost impossibilities to get Isabel wild-flowers, of which, Rose had informed him, she was exceedingly fond. These, to his greatannoyance, were always carefully deposited in a glass on thedining-room table; for Isabel had remarked in his manner toward hermore than mere politeness, and endeavored as much as possible to checkhis growing attentions. But all his acts of kindness were done with somuch tact and consideration, as to leave her no alternative, and obligeher to receive them. Neither was there anything in his behaviour orconversation that she could complain of, or that others would remark. All this made it very difficult for her to know how to act, as she didnot wish to hurt his feelings by unnecessary particularity, or by theassumption of unusual formality lead him to suspect the true cause; andthus perhaps lay herself open to the possibility of being supposed tohave imagined him to be in love with her, without due cause. Isabel knewthat she was not deceived; she knew also that she must be very carefulto conceal that she was so well aware of the state of his feelingstowards her. 

"The Morningtons are coming to stay at Ashton Park: are you not glad, Emmy?" said Everard, as he joined Isabel, Emily, and the children, intheir ramble, one bright day in the midsummer holidays. "Glad, I shouldthink so!" returned Emily; "but when do they come?"

"Very soon, I believe; and I expect we shall have jolly times. Harry'sso full of life, and that merry little Lucy is the spirit of fun. Maywill be here shortly. And the Harringtons have friends with them, so weshall be able to get up some nice picnics. "

"But is not Ada coming?" asked Emily. 

"Why, of course she is, " returned Everard; "but if you have not heardthe 'latest, ' I shall not enlighten you sister mine. "

"O Everard! I'm all curiosity, " cried Emily, opening her blue eyes verywide. 

"You mean that Ada is engaged to Mr. Ashton, " said Isabel. 

"Yes; but how on earth did you know it?" he returned. 

"Do you know the Morningtons?" asked Emily. "Have you known them long?"

"Longer than you have, I fancy, " replied Isabel. "I have known them aslong as I can remember. Ada and I had the same room at school. She is mydearest and most intimate friend. "

"I suppose you know Harry and the rest very well?"

"O yes, we were quite like brothers and sisters, "

"When are they expected?" asked Emily. 

"They may be there already, for all I know. It was last Sunday Sir Johntold papa they were coming. "

At this moment Charles Ashton, with Ada and Lucy Mornington, emergedfrom a bridle path through the woods that separated Elm Grove fromAshton Park. Greetings were warmly exchanged, and then amid a cross-fireof questions and small talk, they proceeded to the house, where theyfound Mrs. Mornington and Lady Ashton. The latter insisted upon theyoung ladies and Everard returning with them to spend a few days at thePark. 

Isabel declined to accompany them. At which, Lucy fairly shed tears, andevery one seemed so much annoyed, that she finally consented. 

Her position of friend and governess combined, when alone, was pleasantenough; but with strangers, of course, she was still only Mrs. Arlington's governess, and was treated accordingly. That is, when it wasknown; as people at first did not usually suppose that the beautiful andattractive Miss Leicester was only the governess. And Isabel wassometimes amused, as well as annoyed, to find people who had been veryfriendly, cool off perceptibly. This she attributed to the circumstancethat she was 'only the governess. ' Lady Ashton, especially, had beenvery anxious to be introduced to that "charming Miss Leicester;" andIsabel had afterwards heard her saying to a friend: "Well! you surpriseme! So she is 'only the governess, ' and yet has the air of a princess. I'm sure I thought she was 'somebody. ' But then, you know, there arepersons who don't seem to know their proper place. " All this had madeIsabel cold and reserved in company; for her high spirit could ill brookthe slights and patronising airs of those who in other days would havebeen glad of her acquaintance. 

Thus Isabel was deemed haughty and cold; few, if any, perceiving thatthis cold reserve was assumed to hide how deeply these things woundedher too sensitive feelings. So it was with more pain than pleasure thatshe made one of the party to Ashton Park, having a presentiment thatvexation and annoyance would be the result; as she was quite sure thatit was only to please Ada, that Lady Ashton had included her in theinvitation. 

Nor did it tend to disperse these gloomy apprehensions, when Isabelfound that the room assigned her was at the extreme end of the corridor, scantily, even meanly furnished, and had apparently been longunoccupied, as, although it was now June, there was something damp, chilly, and uncomfortable about it. During the whole of this visit, shewas destined to suffer from annoyances of one kind or another. If therewas a spooney, or country cousin, among the guests, Lady Ashton would besure to bring him to Miss Leicester, and whisper her to amuse him ifpossible, and she would greatly oblige. So that Isabel scarcely everenjoyed herself. Or just as some expedition was being arranged, LadyAshton would, by employing Isabel about her flowers, or some othertrivial thing, contrive to keep her from making one of the party. Isabel, though intensely disgusted, was too proud to remonstrate. Andeven when Charles, once or twice, interfered to prevent her being keptat home, she felt almost inclined to refuse, so annoyed and angry didLady Ashton appear. 

True, she might have had some enjoyment from the society of Harry andEverard. But so surely as Lady Ashton observed either of them inconversation with her, she invariably wanted to introduce them to some'charming young ladies. ' And she took good care that Isabel should notjoin any of the riding parties. Once Arthur Barrington had particularlyrequested her to do so, and even offered his own horse (as Lady Ashtonhad assured them that every horse that could carry a lady had alreadybeen appropriated), but his aunt interposed: "O my dear Arthur, if youwould only be so good as to lend it to poor little Mary Cleavers! Ofcourse I would not have ventured to suggest your giving up your horse;but as you are willing to do so, I must put in a claim for poor littleMary, who is almost breaking her heart at the idea of staying at home. And Miss Leicester is so good-natured, that I am sure she will notobject. "

"Excuse me, aunt, but"--began Arthur. 

"Here! Mary, dear, " cried Lady Ashton; and before Arthur could finishthe sentence, his aunt had informed Mary that he had kindly promised hishorse. Mary turned, and overwhelmed the astonished Arthur with herprofuse thanks. 

"Confound it, " muttered Arthur (who was too much a gentleman tocontradict his aunt and make a scene); then bowing politely to MissCleaver, he turned to Isabel, saying, "Will you come for a row on thelake, Miss Leicester, as our riding to-day is now out of the question, as my aunt has monopolized 'Archer' so unceremoniously. I feel assuredthat Miss Lucy will join us, as she is not one of the riding party. "

Isabel assented, and Arthur went in search of Lucy. 

Lady Ashton followed him, and remonstrated: "You know you were to be oneof the riding party, Arthur. "

"Impossible, my dear aunt. After what has passed, I can't do less thandevote my time this morning to the service of Miss Leicester. "

"Nonsense; she is 'only a governess. '"

"So much the more would she feel any slight. "

"You talk absurdly, " she returned with a sneer. "You can't take heralone, Arthur. I will not allow it. "

"My dear aunt, I am much too prudent for that. Lucy Mornington goes withus. "

"But who will ride with Mary?"

"Oh, you must get her a cavalier, as you did a horse, I suppose, " hereturned carelessly. At all events, I am not at her service, even thoughno other be found;" and he passed on toward Lucy, regardless of hisaunt's displeasure. And he carried the day in spite of her, for she putin practice several little schemes to prevent Isabel going. But LadyAshton was defeated; and Isabel remembered this morning as the onlyreally pleasant time during her stay at the Park. 

Lady Ashton was greatly perplexed as to how to procure a beau for Mary, and, as a last resource, pressed Sir John into service; but as he was avery quiet, stately old gentleman, the ride, to poor Mary's greatchagrin, was a very formal affair. 

On the last evening of her stay at Ashton Park, Isabel was admiring thebeautiful sunset from her window, and as she stood lost in reverie, someone entered hastily and fastened the door. Turning to see who theintruder might be, she beheld a very beautiful girl, apparently aboutfourteen years of age, her large eyes flashing with anger, while hershort, quick breathing, told of excitement and disquietude. "I have hadsuch a dance to get here without observation, " she panted forth. "Pleaselet me stay a little while. " And before Isabel could recover from hermomentary surprise, Louisa had thrown herself into her arms, exclaiming, "I knew that you were kind and good, or I would not have come, and Ifelt sure that you would pity me. " All anger was now gone from theeager, earnest face, raised imploringly, and Isabel's sympathy wasaroused by the weary, sad expression of her countenance. 

"Who are you; what makes you unhappy; and why do you seek my sympathy?"asked Isabel. 

"I am Lady Ashton's grand-daughter, Louisa Aubray, " she replied. "Youdon't know what a life I lead, boxed up with old Grumps, and strictlyforbidden all other parts of the house. I have been here two years, andduring all that time I have not had any pleasure or liberty, except onceor twice when I took French leave, when I was sure of not being foundout. Ah, you don't know how miserable I am! no one cares for poorLouisa;" and burying her face in her hands, she cried bitterly. "I sometimes watch the company going to dinner, and that was how I cameto see you; and I liked you the best of them all, and I wished so muchto speak to you. So I managed to find out which was your room; but itwas only to-day that I could get here, unknown to Miss Crosse. Won't youplease tell me which of those young ladies Uncle Charles is going tomarry. I want so much to know; because Uncle Charles is nice, and I likehim. He is the only one here that ever was the least bit kind to me. Asfor grandpapa and grandmamma, I know they hate me; and Eliza says, thatthe reason grandpapa can't bear the sight of me, is because I am likepapa. Oh, I know that dear mamma would not have been so glad when theypromised to take care of me, if she had known how unkind they would be. "

"But how can I help you, dear?" inquired Isabel. 

"Why, I thought if I told you, you would be sorry for me, and persuadegrandmamma to send me to school; for then, at least, I should havesomeone to speak to. I don't mind study, --only old Miss Crosse is sounkind. I think perhaps she might, if you were to coax her very much--doplease, " said Louisa, warmly. 

Isabel smiled at the idea that she should be thought to have anyinfluence with Lady Ashton. "You err greatly, dear child, in thinkingthat I have any power to help you. I can only advise you to try and bearyour present trials, and wait patiently for better times, " she said. 

"Ah, it's all very well for you to tell me this. You have all you canwish, and everything nice, so it is easy to give advice; but youwouldn't like it, I can tell you. "

"I don't expect you to like it, Louisa. I only want you to make the bestof what can't be helped. "

"Oh, but it might be helped, if you would only try, " urged Louisa. 

"It is getting late, " returned Isabel, "and I must now dress for dinner;but if you like you may remain here while I do so, and I will tell youabout a young lady that I know, and then perhaps you will not be soannoyed with me for giving you the advice I have. "

"Thanks, " returned Louisa, "I should like it very much. "

"This young lady's parents were very rich, and indulged her in everyway. Her mother died when she was only eight years old. Her father hadher taught every accomplishment, and instructed in almost every branchof learning. And she lived in a beautiful house, surrounded by everyluxury, until the age of nineteen, when her father died; and as he lostall his property shortly before, she was forced to gain her living as agoverness. Think what she must have suffered, who never in her life hadhad a harsh or unkind word, and scarcely ever had a wish ungratified;but had been spoilt and petted at home, and courted and flatteredabroad. Think what it must have been to go alone and friendless amongstrangers; to earn, by the irksome task of teaching, no more a year thanshe had been accustomed to receive in a birthday present or Xmas gift. She was fortunate enough to meet with very kind people, who made her ascomfortable as it was possible for her to be under the circumstances. But still she found her position a very trying one, and was often placedin very unpleasant circumstances, and sometimes met with greatmortifications. And that young lady, Louisa, --is myself. "

"Oh! I'm sorry, so sorry, " exclaimed Louisa. "And I thought you sohappy, and so much to be envied. And I'm sorry also for what I saidabout it being so easy to give advice. But why don't you marry some richgentleman? and then, you know, you needn't be a governess any more. I would. "

"I didn't say that I was unhappy, Louisa, and I try not to let thesethings trouble me so much, for I know it is wrong to care so much aboutthem, but I can't help it. I have not told you this to excite your pity;but that you may know that others have their daily trials as well asyourself. Do not think, dear child, that I do not compassionate your sadlot; only try to remember the comforts which you do enjoy, notwithstanding the ills you are called upon to endure. Think how muchworse your fate might have been, if your grandparents had refused toprovide for you; and be sure if you have patience, and do what is right, in due time you will have your reward. "

Louisa was now weeping violently. "Ah, you don't, you can't know, whatit is to live as I do. And I felt so sure that--you--could help me; butyou can't, I know now, for grandmamma wouldn't listen to 'a governess. 'She is so bitter against anyone that teaches, because of papa. But Ican't, and won't, stand this miserable life much longer--I will not!"she continued passionately, as with compressed lips and clenched handsshe started to her feet, while the angry flashing eyes and determinedcountenance told of strong will and firm resolution. "If I was a boy, "she said, "I would run away and go to sea; but I am only a girl, andthere is so little that a girl can do. But I will find some way toescape before long, if things continue like this--that I will!" and shestamped her foot impatiently upon the ground. Isabel could scarcelybelieve that the passionate girl before her was indeed the same childwho had sat at her side so meekly not a moment before. She no longerpaid any attention to Louisa's complaints. Her thoughts were far awaywith the only one in whom she had ever seen this sudden transition frompersuasive gentleness to stormy anger; for the proud, passionate girlbrought him vividly to her mind, though the wide ocean rolled betweenthem. She saw again the proud curling lip, and the dark expressive eyes, which one moment would beam on her in love, and the next flash withangry light and stern displeasure; the haughty mien and proud defiance, blended with a strange fascinating gentleness, that had won her heart. The time was present to her imagination, when with passionate entreatyhe had urged upon her the necessity for a secret marriage, and infondest accents implored her not to refuse, as he was positive that herfather would never consent to their union; and his fearful burst ofpassion when she most entirely, though tearfully, refused to accede tohis request. Even now she trembled as she recalled the angry terms inwhich he reproached her, and the indignant manner in which he hadexpressed his conviction that she did not love him; and that allhenceforth was at an end between them. How he left her in great wrath;but soon after returned, and in the most humble manner deplored hiscruelty and hateful temper, and in gentlest strains implored herforgiveness. But her musings were rather abruptly terminated by Louisaexclaiming: "Oh! tell me what is the matter. Your hand is quite cold, and you are trembling all over. What have I done? what shall I do?" shecontinued, wringing her hands in despair. 

"I cannot talk to you any more now, Louisa dear, " replied Isabel, "but Iwill tell Ada about you, and perhaps she may be able to help you; butyou really must not get into such dreadful passions. I can't have youstay any longer, as I wish to be alone. "

"But why do you tremble and look so pale?" asked Louisa, mournfully. "Isit so dreadful to be a governess?"

"I was not thinking of that dear, " answered Isabel, kissing her"good-night. Mind you try to be a good girl. "

So Louisa was dismissed, fully persuaded in her own mind that she hadnearly frightened Isabel to death by her passionate behaviour. 

After waiting a moderate time to recover herself, Isabel joined theothers in the drawing-room. Fortunately, they went to dinner almostimmediately, as she felt anything but inclined to make herselfagreeable; and as Lady Ashton, as usual, was kind enough to furnish herwith a companion who appeared to be a quiet, inoffensive individual, shetreated him with polite indifference. She was deceived, however, in heropinion regarding Mr. Lascelles. The man was an 'ass, ' and a 'magpie, 'and appeared to like nothing better than to hear his own voice. However, this suited Isabel tolerably on this occasion, as an 'indeed, ' or'really, ' was all that was needed by way of reply; and he was forcedsometimes to stop to enable him to eat, and this kept him from beingoppressive. But as he found her so good a listener, there was no gettingrid of him; for when the gentlemen joined the ladies in thedrawing-room, he devoted himself entirely to Miss Leicester--to Lucy'sintense amusement. At last Ada grew compassionate, and got Charles toask Isabel to sing, and to introduce Mr. Lascelles to Miss Cleaver. Itwas a tedious evening, and Isabel was heartily glad that they were toreturn to Elm Grove. Life there was at all events endurable, which thelife she had spent for the last week was certainly not. She was sick andtired of hearing the oft-repeated question and answer, "Who is thatyoung lady?"--"Oh, the governess at Elm Grove;" and most emphaticallydetermined that she would never stay at the Park again, let who might beoffended. 

Neither could she help drawing comparisons between this and her formerlife, nor deny that she felt it severely. But the warm welcome shereceived from the children on her return to the Grove, went far towardsdispersing these gloomy thoughts. 

CHAPTER V. 

A pic-nic was decided upon for Emily's birthday--the fourth of August. It was a lovely day, and every thing seemed propitious. And a merrierparty seldom started on a pleasure excursion, than the one which now wasassembled under the trees at Elm Grove. The guests were Sir John andLady Ashton, Charles, and the Morningtons, Lilly and Peter Rosecrain, May Arlington (a cousin), the Harringtons and the Hon. ArthurBarrington, the latter had not arrived, but had promised to meet them attheir destination. Emily was in ecstasy, and the children quite wildwith delight. All Isabel's endeavors to keep them in order were useless, and Lucy announced, that every one must be allowed to do just as he orshe pleased, or there would be no fun. Lucy volunteered to go with thechildren if they could procure a driver. "Any one would do, exceptingMr. Everard Arlington, as of course the children would be too much inawe of him, as he could be awefully grave. "

Peter immediately offered his services, unless he was too stern andsedate. This caused a laugh, as Peter was renowned for fun. 

The place chosen for the pic-nic was a delightful spot, (quite romanticEmily declared) situated at the bottom of a beautiful ravine, within ashort distance of a splendid water fall yclept the "old roar, " thedashing spray of its gurgling waters making quite refreshing music. 

"Now Emily, you are queen to-day, and all that you say is law, " criedthe laughing Lucy, when they arrived at their destination. "Now masterBob, be on your P's and Q's, and find a nice place to spread the royalfeast. "

"I think that you are making yourself queen on this occasion and nomistake, " returned the saucy Bob. 

"Well, I am prime minister you know, so make haste and obey mycommands. "

"Self constituted I fancy, " returned Bob with a shrug. 

"May I ask what important office is to be assigned me on this festiveoccasion, " asked Peter. 

"That of queen's jester, of course, " replied Lucy gravely. 

"You do me too much honor Miss Lucy, " he said, bowing with mockhumility. 

"I'm quite aware of that, " answered Lucy demurely. 

A desirable place was soon found in a shady nook, and the repast wasspread, to which it is almost needless to add they all did amplejustice. 

Just as they sat down, Arthur made his appearance, bringing LouisaAubray with him. If a look could have done it Lady Ashton would haveannihilated him, so fearfully angry was she at his daring to bring hergrand daughter in this manner, upon his own responsibility. 

"I found Louisa very disconsolate and unhappy, and I thought a littlerecreation would be good for her, Aunty. I feel sure that Mrs. Arlingtonwill excuse the liberty I have taken, " he added with a smile and bow. 

"Pray don't mention it, replied Mrs. Arlington thus appealed to, I amonly too happy to have Miss Aubray join us. Alice my dear, make room forMiss Aubray. "

Louisa sat with her large mournful eyes cast down, tho' occasionally shethrew furtive glances at her grandmother's darkened countenance, andseemed to be doing anything but enjoying herself. And no wonder poorchild, for she was sure of a terrible scolding sooner or later. Arthurpaid attention to the ladies generally, with whom he was a greatfavorite. 

Louisa ate her dinner almost in silence, tho' Alice did her best to drawher out. But poor girl, she was calculating the chances of being leftalone with her angry grandmother when they dispersed after dinner, andalmost wished she had not yielded to Arthur's persuasions, as he hadapparently deserted her. But he was much too considerate and kindhearted for that, he had brought her there to enjoy herself, and itwould not be his fault if she didn't. They began dispersing by twos andthrees to explore the beauties of the place, and Louisa's heart sankwithin her, as she saw their numbers diminishing fast, and that Arthurtoo had disappeared. 

The children asked Isabel to come and see Rose's bower, and after ashort consultation, Alice invited Louisa to join them, but Lady Ashtoninterposed. 

"I had much rather you remained with me my dear, " she said curtly. AndLouisa reseated herself with a great sigh as the others started on theirramble. For the children had much too great an awe of Lady Ashton, toattempt to intercede on Louisa's behalf, and if the truth must be told, they didn't much care for her company. So Louisa was left alone with theelders, who were not in such haste to move after their repast as theyoung people. 

"Come Louisa, let us follow the example of the rest, " said Arthurreappearing. 

"I have ordered Louisa to remain here, interposed Lady Ashton sternly. "

"Oh! Aunt, " remonstrated Arthur. 

"I don't approve of her coming at all, but as she is here she--"

"May as well enjoy herself, " put in Arthur. 

"Arthur, " ejaculated Lady Ashton, in her most freezing tone. 

"But Aunt, " you see that she is the only young lady left, and youwouldn't be so cruel as to condemn me to wander alone through thesepicturesque ravines. "

"You can stay here, and amuse us old people, " returned Lady Ashtongrimly. 

Arthur shrugged his shoulders and elevated his eye-brows, by way ofreply. 

"Oh! that is too much to expect, " interposed Mrs. Arlington kindly, "I think you should relent Josephine. "

"But you know that I refused to let her go with Miss Leicester and thechildren. "

"Oh! did you, " interrupted Arthur, "that was too bad. "

"Come Louisa, we will try and find them, " and off he marched her fromunder Lady Ashton's very nose, as Louisa felt bold with Arthur to backher, and she knew that she could not increase the weight of censurealready incured--she also longed to get out of her grandmother'spresence on any terms. 

Rose's bower (so called from Rose having been the first to discover it)was some distance up the winding path. It was a nice little nook, thickly shaded on all sides, having a small aperture in the west, andwas completely covered with wild flowers of every description. Theascent was very difficult, for they had quite to force their way throughthe underwood. They arrived at last, tired and breathless, but the wildsecluded beauty of the spot quite repaid them for their trouble. Isabelwas in raptures, and expressed her admiration in no measured terms tothe delighted children. 

"Oh! Everard, how did you find us, " exclaimed Alice, as that gentlemanmade his appearance, "I thought no one knew of this place butourselves. "

"Oh I followed just to see to what unheard of spot you were taking MissLeicester, " replied Everard good-naturedly. 

"Then you might have joined us, and not have crept after us in that meanway. " said Rose angrily. 

"Rose, my dear Rose, you must not speak in that way. " interposed Isabelauthoritatively. 

"Oh Rose, don't you like Everard to come, " asked Amy reproachfully. 

"I don't like him to come in that way. " returned Rose. 

"Wouldn't you like to gather some of those black berries, " askedEverard, after they had rested a while. 

"O yes, " they all exclaimed, "what beauties, " and off they scampered. Isabel was about to follow, but Everard interposed, "Stay, MissLeicester, I have long sought an opportunity to address you, and can nolonger delay--I must speak--"

Isabel would have made her escape, but that Everard stood between herand the only available opening. She knew that he was about to propose, and would gladly have prevented it if possible, but as it was, there wasno reprieve--he would do it. 

How signally had she failed, notwithstanding all her efforts, for shecould not but feel, that she had not succeeded in making clear to him, her own ideas on the subject, or this would not have been. How sorry shewas now, that she had allowed the fear of being unnecessarily cool toinfluence her conduct, --yet at the same time, she could not accuseherself of having given him any encouragement. Yet, how far was he fromanticipating a refusal, and how unprepared to receive it. She saw it, there was no doubt manifested in the eager expressive eyes, in the warmimpulsive manner blended with a gentle earnestness that might have wonthe heart of a girl whose affections were disengaged. He looked sohandsome, so loveable, that Isabel felt she might indeed have beencontent to take him, had not her affections been given to another, andshe grieved to think of the pain she must inflict. 

It might have been easier if he had not looked so bright and hopefulabout it, or if she could have told him of her engagement, but that wasout of the question, he seemed so certain of success, so utterlyunconscious of the fate that awaited him, that she could have wept, butresolutely repressing her tears, she waited with heightening color tohear the words that were to be so kindly, yet so vainly spoken. 

"Dearest Isabel, " he said in accents soft and winning. "I have loved youever since I first saw you on that Sunday afternoon, and all that I haveseen of you since, has only increased my esteem. But of late you havebeen more retiring than formerly, and I have even thought that youavoided me sometimes, thinking I fear, that my attentions (to use acommon phrase) meant nothing, but that is not the case, I am not one ofthose, who merely to gratify their own vanity, would endeavor to winaffection, which they do not, --cannot return. No dearest, I love youtruly, unalterably, --will you then accept my love, and give me the rightand the inexpressibly pleasure to share all your joys and sorrows. Tellme dear Isabel, will you be my wife. "

She was trembling--almost gasping, and he would have aided her with hissupporting arm, but she sank away from him sobbing "It can never, neverbe. "

"Why do you say that Isabel, " he asked reproachfully, while theexpression of his countenance became that of unmitigated sorrow. 

"Even could I return your affection, " she answered more calmly, "Itwould not be right to accept you under the circumstances. Your parentswould consider, that as their governess, I ought to know my dutybetter. "

"What difference could your being the governess make, " he asked. 

"Every difference in their opinion. "

"But as I am the only son, of course they would raise no objection. "

"That makes it the more certain that they would do so, " she replied. 

"Oh! Isabel" he exclaimed passionately, "do not reason in this cool way, when my whole life will be happy or miserable as you make it. I am notchangeable, I shall not cease to love you while I live. "

"Oh! do not say that I have so much influence upon your happiness Mr. Arlington, " returned Isabel much affected. "You must not think of meotherwise than as a friend, a kind friend--a dear friend if you will, but I can never be anything more. "

"Oh! Isabel, dear Isabel, do not refuse me thus, you do not know, indeedyou do not, how true a heart you are crushing, what fervent love you arerejecting. Only let me hope that time may change your feelings. "

"Do not think that I undervalue the love you offer, but it isimpossible--quite impossible that we can ever be more to each other thanat present. I would not raise false hopes or allow you to indulge them. I do not, cannot return your affections, I can never be your wife, it isutterly impossible. "

"You love another Isabel, else why impossible. Perhaps, even now you arethe promised bride of another, tell me if this is the case, " he saidtho' his voice faltered. 

"You are presuming Mr. Arlington, you have no right to ask thisquestion, " she replied with glowing cheeks. 

"Pardon me if I have offended, " he said. 

"I think that this interview has lasted long enough--too long in fact. I will now join the children if you please. "

"One moment more, say that we do not part in anger. "

"In anger, no, we are good friends I trust, " she answered, smiling verysweetly. 

"My dream of happiness is over, " he said sadly, almost tearfully as hetook her offered hand. 

Isabel had some difficulty in finding the children on such a wild place. When she did so, she found Arthur and Louisa with them. Louisa waslooking bright and animated, very different to what she had done duringdinner, and was laughing and joining in the general conversation. 

"We are taking Mr. Barrington and Louisa to the bower, " cried Rose asthey drew near. 

"I'm afraid we shall be rather late, " answered Isabel. 

"But you surely wouldn't have us return without seeing this wonderfulbower, after undergoing all this fatigue, " inquired Arthur. 

"Certainly not, but I would rather be excused climbing up there againto-day. I will wait here until you come back. " returned Isabel. 

"Where is Everard. " asked Alice. 

"I left him at the bower, "

"I think I will wait with Miss Leicester, " said Amy, "I'm so verytired. "

"Yes do, " cried Rose, "for then we shall not be half so long gone. "

Isabel sat down on the lovely green sward, and the tired child reclinedbeside her. Amy was so thoroughly worn out that she lay perfectly quiet, and Isabel was left to her own reflections, and these were by no meanspleasant. Her conversation with Everard had cast a gloom over herspirits, she no longer took pleasure in the ramble or in the beautifulscenery around her, all the brightness of the day was gone, and why, hewas not the first rejected suitor, but she had never felt like this withregard to the others. But then she had been the rich Miss Leicester, andit was so easy to imagine that she was courted for her wealth, but inthe present instance it was different. Nothing but true disinterestedlove could have prompted him, and she felt hurt and grieved to thinkthat she was the object of such warm affection to one who she esteemedso highly, when her affections were already engaged. She had seen howdeeply her answer pained him, yet had not dared to answer his question. Could she tell him what she had not dared to reveal to her dying father?No; tho' could she have done so, it might have made it easier forEverard to forget her. When they reached the place of rendezvous, theyfound the rest of the party including Everard, already assembled, andPeter was declaring that it was utterly impossible to return withouthaving some refreshments, after the immense fatigue they had allundergone in exploring the beauties of the surrounding country. Most ofthe party were of the same opinion, so forthwith he and Bob Morningtonproceeded to ransack the hampers, and distributed the contents in themost primitive manner imaginable, to the amusement of the companygenerally, and to the extreme disgust of Grace Arlington in particular. And then there was a general move to the carriages. After they arrivedat Elm Grove, Lady Ashton insisted upon Louisa returning to the park atonce. Several voices were raised in her behalf, but in vain, Lady Ashtonwas inexorable, and telling Louisa to say good bye to Mrs. Arlington, she hurried her away, and desired Sunmers the coachman to drive MissAubray home and return for her at twelve. 

Arthur followed and remonstrated. 

"Arthur, say no more, " returned Lady Ashton decisively. "I consider youtook a great liberty in bringing her, and I will not allow her toremain. "

"Since you are quite sure that it is best for her to go, I will driveher home, she need not go alone in the great carriage, like a naughtychild sent home in disgrace, " he answered laughing. 

"Nonsense, Arthur, don't be so absurd, " said Lady Ashton tartly. 

"Indeed my dear Aunt, as I persuaded her to come I positively could nothave her treated so unceremoniously, " he replied. "Here Thomson, " hecalled to the man who was about to take Archer to the stable, and thenext moment he had handed the mistified Louisa into the chaise, leavingthe astonished Lady Ashton crimson with rage. 

"Adieu Aunty" he cried, gathering up the ribbons, "I must trust to youto make my apologies to Mrs. Arlington, and off he drove. Lady Ashtonre-entered the house, inwardly vowing vengeance against the unluckyLouisa, tho' she met Mrs. Arlington with a smile, saying, "that Arthurhad begged her to apologize, as he had thought it incumbent upon him todrive his cousin home, as it was entirely his fault that she had come, and you know, " she added with a little laugh, "how scrupulously politehe is to every one--. "

To Lady Ashton's great chagrin, this was the last that was seen ofArthur at Elm Grove that night, and she would have been still moreannoyed had she known how thoroughly he and Louisa were enjoyingthemselves over their game of chess, notwithstanding Miss Crosse'sexemplary vigilance. 

The evening was spent in various amusements, and the company dispersedat a late hour, all highly satisfied, and voting the pic-nic a completesuccess. 

After the guests had departed, Isabel had occasion to go into theschool-room for a book, and as the beautiful harvest moon was shining sobrightly, she stood a moment at the open window to enjoy the lovelyprospect. Hearing some one enter the room, she turned and encounteredEverard. She would have retreated, but Everard gently detained her, "promise me Miss Leicester, " he said, "that what passed between us thisafternoon shall make no difference to your arrangements, you will notthink of leaving, for I should never forgive myself for having deprivedmy sisters of the benefit of your society if you do. "

"I could scarcely do so if I wished, " she replied with a sigh. 

"Only say that you do not wish it, " returned Everard earnestly. 

"I do not, you have all been so kind, so very kind to me, that I shouldbe very sorry to leave, nor could I do so very easily as I have nohome. "

"Dear Isabel, why not accept the home I offer you?"

"Stay Mr. Arlington, say no more. You must promise not to recur to thatsubject again, or however unpleasant it may be to do so, I shall have noalternative, but must seek another situation. "

"I will make it a forbidden subject while you remain at Elm Grove if youwish it, " he said doubtfully. 

"It must be so Mr. Arlington; good night. "

When Isabel entered her own room she found Emily there. 

"Dear Isabel, " she said, after seating herself on a low stool atIsabel's feet, "what a delightful day this has been, O I'm so happy, "and she hid her face in Isabel's lap. "I cannot go to Grace, so I cometo you, " she continued, "You are more sympathetic and seem to understandme better. Not but what Grace has always been kind enough, but I alwaysam rather in awe of her, and you have just been the friend I alwayswanted. Oh! Isabel, you don't know how much good you have done me. Youhave taught me to think more of right and wrong, and to consider duty aswell as pleasure, and to think of others as well as myself. I know now, that Miss Massie was right when she said that I was wilful and selfish, and had no consideration for others, tho' at the time she said it Ithought her severe and unjust. Before you came here, I made up my mindto be kind to you, and to try to like you, (tho' I own that I thought itvery improbable that I should do so in reality) but you know, myGodmother Mrs. Arnold had written me, that I must be kind to you andlove you, under pain of her displeasure, but when I saw how pretty youwere, I thought it would not be a difficult task. Now I have learned tolove you for yourself, because you are good as well as beautiful. "

"Oh! stop, you little flatterer, you will make me vain, " said Isabelkissing her. "If I have done you any good, I am very glad indeed, " sheadded in a more serious tone, "I have endeavored to do my duty, but I amafraid that I have not succeeded very well. "

"O yes, indeed you have, but what do you think that I came here to tellyou dear. "

Isabel confessed that it was useless to attempt to guess as the day hadbeen such an eventful one, and offered so large a scope for theimagination. 

"Well if you won't guess I must tell you deary, I'm engaged to HarryMornington. "

"May you be very, very happy dear Emily, " said Isabel returning herembrace. Then, unable any longer to sustain the composure she had forcedherself to assume, she laid her head upon Emily's shoulder and weptpassionately. 

"What can make this affect you thus, " asked the amazed and astonishedEmily, greatly distressed, "Oh! Isabel is it possible that you love him, how unfortunate that I should have chosen you for my confidant, but Ididn't know, I never thought, or believe me I would not have pained youthus. You said that he had always been like a brother to you, how couldI know that you ever thought he would be anything more. Indeed, sheadded as if to vindicate Harry, "I never saw anything in his manner tolead you to suppose so. "

"You are quite mistaken dear Emily, " interposed Isabel, as soon as shecould control her sobs sufficiently to give utterance to the words "Inever thought or wished that Harry should ever be more to me than thedear friend he has ever been. But I have many sources of trouble thatyou are not aware of dear Emily, and to-day, while others laughed, I could have wept, and would gladly have exchanged that gay scene, forthe quiet of my own room. But this could not be, and I was forced toassume a serenity of feeling I was far from experiencing. Had you notbeen here, I should have given vent to my grief in solitude, and nonewould have been the wiser. As it is I must entreat that you will forgiveme for (tho' unintentionally) making you suppose I do not sympathize inyour happiness, but I do indeed, for I know that Harry is all that isgood, and is worthy of your best affections. "

"Dear Isabel, will you not tell me your troubles, " inquired Emily, "forills lose half their weight by being shared with another. "

"I cannot tell you dear, but for the present I will forget my uneasinessin sharing your happiness. "

Then after a long and pleasant conversation they parted, both amazed atthe late, or rather early hour which at that moment struck. 

"By-the-bye, " said Emily, coming back after a few minutes "papa gave methis letter for you two days ago, but I quite forgot it until I saw itjust now. "

"O you naughty, naughty girl, " cried Isabel, looking very bright as shebeheld the familiar epistle. 

"No more tears to-night I fancy, eh Isabel, " said Emily saucily. "Don'tsit up to read it to-night, it is so very late, " she added wickedly, hereyes sparkling with mischief. 

All else was soon forgotten as Isabel eagerly perused the welcome letterfrom her own Louis, whose silence had been one source of herdisquietude. But Louis accounted for his silence to her entiresatisfaction, and promised to send an extra one at an early date. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Isabel was to spend this Xmas with the Morningtons, who with with theexception of Harry, were to return to Europe in February. It was veryrough weather, and Isabel had much such a journey as that to Elm Grove, and was in a very similar condition to what she had been on thatoccasion. On her arrival at Eastwood, Ada embracing her exclaimed "Oh!here you are at last my own darling Isabel, I have been watching for youall day, papa was sadly afraid of accidents this stormy weather, and Bobkept bringing such dreadful accounts of trains being snowed up, that henearly frightened me to death. Papa has been to the depot three times, and Harry twice, and missed you after all. But do come and warm yourselfdearest, for you seem half frozen, " she continued as she hurried Isabelinto the cosy little breakfast-room, where the bright fire was indeed apleasant sight on such a bitterly cold day. 

"We met with several disagreeable stoppages, but nothing worse" repliedIsabel, her teeth chattering with cold. "I am sadly chilled with thispiercing wind, Oh! this is nice" she added going to the fire, "and it isso very pleasant to be at 'Eastwood' once more. "

"Why here is Isabel I declare, " cried the impulsive Lucy, as she boundedinto the room, "how delightful, you will help me to arrange thegim-cracks on the Xmas tree, won't you my pet, " said the merry girl asshe threw her arms round her friend, and hugged her unmercifully. 

"To be sure I will, when I recover the use of my fingers, " returnedIsabel laughing. 

"Well, I don't want you to come now, for if I am a little madcap as papasays, I'm not quite so unreasonable as that, " Lucy answered, seatingherself upon an ottoman. "Here I am your humble servant to command whatorders for your slave, most noble Isabel of Leicester. You have but tospeak and I obey. "

"Do be sensible Lucy and let mamma know that Isabel has come, " said Adareprovingly. 

"I go, " answered Lucy with mock gravity, "to usher my illustrious motherto the presence of the noble Isabel of Leicester. "

"Oh! Lucy, just the same nonsensical, " laughed Isabel. 

"Alas, I fear that it will be the same to the end of the chapter, "sighed the incorrigible Lucy as she left the room. She soon returnedbringing the other members of the family with her, and Isabel received avery warm welcome. She could not help shedding tears of happiness andgratitude, when Mrs. Mornington embracing her said, "ever look upon thisas your home dear child, whenever you like to come you will always findus glad to see you, " and Mr. Mornington added in his kindly tone "yes, yes, always remember Isabel my dear, that while I have a roof over myhead, you have still a home, and kind friends to welcome you. "

On being conducted to her room, she found the best was given her as ofold; it was evident that her altered circumstances made no difference atEastwood. 

Happy days were these which Isabel spent with her dearest friends. Bob'sparty went off with great _eclat_, and the perfect success of the Xmastrees was owing to Isabel's tasteful arrangement. 

The Ashtons arrived on New Year's Eve, for Ada was to be married ontwelfth day. Lady Ashton was very much surprised to find how verypartial the Morningtons were to Isabel, they consulted her on alloccasions, and her advice was almost invariably taken. This annoyed LadyAshton extremely, and she often succeeded in vexing her, and making herfeel very uncomfortable. But Lady Ashton's disagreeable behaviour didnot annoy Isabel so much as at Ashton Park. Here among her best friends, she could even think of herself as a governess without experiencing thesame degree of mortification as formerly, but she was still verysensitive upon that point. 

Lady Ashton had noticed that her nephew, The Honorable Arthur Barringtonwas very attentive to Miss Leicester, this raised her ire, and she wasdetermined to prevent it--she resolved to put a stop to it, so seeinghim seated next Isabel at dinner, she asked her across the table how herlittle pupils were when she left them, and if Mrs. Arlington had grantedextra holidays, as she could scarcely get back by the end of the usualXmas vacation. "

Isabel grew scarlet as she replied "that they were quite well when sheleft them, and that she did not return until the first of February. "

Lady Ashton was gratified to see that she was successful so far. Isabelwas no longer the same attentive listener to all Arthur's stories ofmarvellous adventures, (for she was both hurt and angry, as the questionwas evidently intended to annoy--for as Emily had come to Eastwood withthe Ashtons, Lady Ashton had later intelligence from Elm Grove than shecould possibly give) and Arthur finding her pre-occupied, transferredhis attention to Mabel Ainsley, so that Isabel was left to the mercy ofa queer old gentleman who sat next her on the other side, who wasexceedingly deaf, and stuttered dreadfully. Nor did Lady Ashton'sevident satisfaction tend to make her feel more at ease, so that she washeartily glad when this to her most tedious dinner was over. But she hada worse attack to endure, for when the ladies reached the drawing-room, Lady Ashton said in the most annoying tone, "I should not have mentionedyour pupils if I had had any idea that you would have been so painfullyaffected by my doing so, at the same time rest assured my dear MissLeicester----. "

"Pray don't mention it Lady Ashton, " replied Isabel coldly, "any apologyis quite unnecessary. "

"You mistake my meaning Miss Leicester, " replied Lady Ashton stiffly, "I am not aware of having anything to apologize for, " she added with acontemptuous little laugh, "I was about to say" she continued, "that thesooner you overcome this feeling the better. You ought not to be ashamedof earning an honest living----. "

"Nor am I ashamed of it, " replied Isabel with dignity, "at least I hopenot. "

"I am glad that you qualify your denial, as your crimson cheeks both nowand during dinner are ample proof that I am right. But (as I was aboutto say, when you interrupted me so rudely) from my observations, I thought it high time that Mr. Barrington should be reminded of yourposition, as I know that his father would never allow him to marry agoverness, of course it is no disgrace to be a governess, still, it isnot from that class of persons that Arthur should choose a wife. "

"I'm afraid that you have taken unnecessary trouble, Lady Ashton, "returned Isabel, "I am convinced that my position is of no consequenceto Mr. Barrington, any more than his is to me. I assure you that youhave made a great mistake. "

"It is nonsense for a girl in your circumstances to pretend suchindifference, I am not deceived, I know that you would be only too gladto make such a match, and he is just foolish enough to take a fancy to apretty face. But I warn you not to encourage him, as it will only end inmisery to you both, as Lord Barrington would never consent. "

"Really, Lady Ashton, I do not know what right you have to insult me inthis manner, I cannot permit it, " said Isabel, and then with dignifiedcomposure she crossed the room to Ada, who was scarcely less annoyedthan herself, at Lady Ashton's unprovoked attack. 

This little scene had afforded no little amusement to the partygenerally, tho' all agreed that it was too bad of Lady Ashton, and veryill-natured. 

Lady Ashton, however, had miscalculated the effect of the course she hadpursued, for Arthur Barrington was annoyed at her interference, andbeing really good-natured he was even more than ever attentive toIsabel, and endeavored as much as possible to atone for his aunt'sdisagreeable behaviour, while Isabel (being convinced that Lady Ashtonhad nothing to warrant her conjecture, but her own surmises, ) made noalteration in her manners. She found him a very agreeable companion, andimagined that he too found her society pleasant, as indeed he did, beautiful, accomplished, and good-natured, how could she be otherwisethan attractive. But Lady Ashton's chagrin knew no bounds, and she toldIsabel that she should certainly let Mrs. Arlington know how very unfita person she was to have the care of her daughters. She had always beensurprised at her having such a very young person, but she had heard thatit was out of charity, but there was such a thing as carrying that muchabused virtue too far. 

Stooping lower over her tatting, Isabel only smiled at the harmlessthreat, for whatever her failings might be, Mrs. Arlington was not overready to believe evil of any one, and seldom did so without due cause. Moreover, she was not easily influenced by others, and her decisionswere usually just. But the hot blood suffused her cheeks as Lady Ashtonconcluded. Fortunately Lucy entered the room, and then her ladyship wasor appeared to be deeply engaged with her book, as having before beenworsted in a combat of sharp speeches with that young lady, she by nomeans wished for a renewal of hostilities. 

Isabel was invariably made low spirited by one of Lady Ashton'sill-natured attacks, especially so to-day, as the insults she hadreceived were particularly painful, being both unfeeling and uncalledfor. However, upon retiring to her own room at night, she found upon thedressing table a letter, the contents of which soon dispersed all gloomythoughts, and Lady Ashton's rudeness was quite forgotten. 

Louis, her own dear Louis, wrote that he would return in the earlyspring. My uncle he said, has or is about to purchase for me a practicein H----, so that I trust dearest, the period of your teaching will notbe of long duration, as there will then be no cause to delay our union. I already in perspective, seem to see you my own dearest, presiding overmy bright fireside in H----, the joy of my heart, and the good angel ofmy home. 

I trust that you have made no arrangement with Mrs. Arlington but suchas can easily terminate upon a short notice. I would not advise yourtaking any steps at present, as my uncle does not say positively thatthe purchase is absolutely made. But at all events you may depend uponseeing me in the early spring, as I have his orders to return. 

The darkest hour is just before dawn. She had been so truly wretched anhour ago, and now how radiantly happy she was. Ah, with what sweetvisions of a bright unclouded future did she fall asleep, to dream ofher loved one far away, soon to be distant no longer. 

When Isabel descended to the breakfast-room next morning, she looked sobright and happy, that Lady Ashton could account for it in no other waythan that Arthur had proposed, and that she had accepted him, so shetaxed him with it accordingly. Arthur was excessively amused, and soarchly evaded giving a direct answer, that she became the more convincedof the truth of her own surmises, and grew so wrathy that Arthur fearingthat in her anger she might annoy Miss Leicester, at length assured herthat she need be under no apprehension, as nothing was farther from histhoughts. 

CHAPTER VII. 

"Oh, Isabel, mama says I may stay until the first, and then we canreturn together, won't that be charming, " said Emily, as she came intoIsabel's room on the following day, holding an open letter in her hand. "You can't think how glad I am to escape the escort of that tiresomeLady Ashton. "

"I certainly should not imagine that she would make a very pleasanttravelling companion, " returned Isabel, laughing. "Don't mention itpray, " exclaimed Emily, "you have no idea what I endured coming down. Poor Charles, he must have been almost worried to death, she is such ahorrid tease, and the old gentleman too, is an awful fidget. I thinkArthur Barrington knew what he was about, when he refused to be of ourparty, and went on by express. Talking of Lady Ashton, how abominablyshe behaves to you. I was saying so to Harry the other day, and hereally seemed quite hurt about it. He said that he saw what she was atthe other day at dinner, and was very much annoyed. Then I told him thatwas nothing to what took place afterwards, and related what she said toyou in the drawing room. "

"Oh, Emily, how could you, " exclaimed Isabel. 

"Ah now don't be cross with me, Isabel, darling. I really couldn'tresist, it was so supremely absurd. Do you know, that that little goose, Ada, cried her eyes out about it that night, and then in again nextmorning. " "I know that Ada was very much hurt at Lady Ashton'srudeness, " replied Isabel. 

"I'm sure that I was as angry and annoyed as any of them, but for thelife of me I can't help laughing whenever I think of it. But confessnow, Isabel, are you not desperately in love with ArthurBarrington--come tell the truth. "

"Well, the truth is, no, most decidedly not, " Isabel answered, laughing. 

"Ah, now, I'm quite disappointed, for I had made up my mind to thatmatch, if only to aggravate Lady Ashton. She has no influence in thatquarter, as anyone may see; and he is so decidedly 'smitten. "'

"What nonsense you talk, Emily. "

"It is not nonsense. I assure you that I mean what I say. Ah, my dear, you had better consider the matter. Second thoughts, you know, aresometimes best. He is a very nice fellow, and his father is immenselyrich. You can have him if you choose: I am sharp enough to see that. "

"But then you see I don't choose, " returned Isabel, much amused. "Besides, I think that you are quite mistaken. "

"Oh, you silly Isabel, how can you be so provokingly stupid? By the bye, what a little namby-pamby thing that Mabel Ainsley is. What Lucy can seein her to like, passes my comprehension. "

"I presume it must be because Lucy is so different, and then Mabel is sopliant, which no doubt suits, as Lucy is fond of taking the lead. "

"They say that likes go by contraries; but as far as my observations go, it is seldom the case, " observed Emily. 

"A similarity of tastes and ideas is usually more attractive; but then, 'novelty's charming, ' you know, " responded Isabel. 

"I do wish that we could get up a fancy ball--a private masquerade, youknow. I was speaking to Ada and Lucy about it last night. I said that Iwould be night, and Lucy thought you ought to be morning. "

"I hope they will give up the idea, as I really could not take part init, " interrupted Isabel. 

"Why not--what harm could there be? What makes you so fastidious, Isabel?"

"It is not that, dear Emily;" but I have very painful associationsconnected with a private masquerade, the only one that I ever went to. That night poor papa received the sad news of his failure; and in themidst of that gay scene, I received a summons to return, as my papa wasalarmingly ill, and scarcely expected to live through the night. Henever recovered, though he lingered for some weeks afterwards. Can youwonder then, dear Emily, that even the idea of such a thing is painfulin the extreme?"

"I'm very sorry that I proposed it, " returned Emily, much concerned. "I will tell Ada what you say, and we will get up some other amusement:so don't think any more about it, dear;" and giving Isabel a hasty kiss, she left her. 

The sixth was a bright, cloudless day--the dazzling whiteness of thefrozen snow, and the deep blue of the sky, forming a beautiful contrast. The weather was cold, not intensely so, and the trees looked splendid, as their ice-covered boughs glistened and sparkled in the sunlight; andthe merry jingle of the sleigh-bells was quite enlivening. The weddingwas quite a grand affair, and passed off with great _eclat_. 

Charles and Ada were to travel for three weeks, and then join theAshtons and Morningtons at Boston, and proceed to the old countrytogether. 

The Ashtons left Eastwood shortly after the wedding, to prepare for along absence from the Park; and from the time of Lady Ashton'sdeparture, Isabel's visit was one of uninterrupted enjoyment. She becameso cheerful and animated, that Emily declared they positively wouldn'tknow her again at Elm Grove. 

Harry was to remain at W----, to read up for the examination. He hadtried very hard to prevail upon his father to let him enter Mr. Arlington's office, as in that way he could get on much better, he said, as he would see a great deal of law business, and he could easily readup in the evenings. 

But his father only laughed. "Love-making would play the dickens withthe studies. You would be poring over your book, without knowing that itwas upside down. No, no. After you have 'passed, ' you shall travel for ayear; and then I believe that I shall be able to get you a partnershipin H---- with my old school-fellow, Harding, who is a very cleverlawyer, and stands very high in his profession. "

"But will you allow me sufficient to enable me to marry and take my wifewith me?" asked Harry. 

"Upon my word! that is a modest request, " replied his father. 

Harry laughed. 

"When I was young, young men expected to make their way in the world alittle before they talked of marrying, " continued Mr. Mornington; butyou ask me as coolly as possible to give you enough to enable you andyour wife to travel, before you go into business at all, which I thinkis pretty brassy. I wonder what my father would have thought if I hadmade such a request. I honestly believe he would have thrashed me. Butas I said, things are different now-a-days. " Harry grew very red duringthis harangue, but wisely kept silent. 

"Now, I'll tell you what my father did. He called me into his study onemorning. 'How old are you?' he asked. 'Fifteen, sir, ' I replied proudly. 'Old enough to be better, ' he retorted. 'Well, sir, as you are fifteen, I consider that you are old enough to earn your own living. I haveprocured you a situation in a wholesale grocery, where you will get ahundred dollars a year. Now, as you will be away from home (for the firmis in Washington), I will pay your board for the first year. After that, you will get a rise in your salary; and from that time, you will have todepend upon your own exertions, as I shall not help you any more. If youare honest and steady, you get on. But if you will get into scrapes, don't expect me to help you out. " "Yes, sir, " resumed Mr. Mornington, "that was the way I began the world; and by the time I was twenty-three(your age, Harry), I had acquired a good position in the firm, and apromise of a future partnership. What do you think of that?"

"I think that if you had started me in the same manner, when I wasfifteen, that I should have done the same, " replied Harry, with spirit. 

"Then you think that you can't be blamed justly?"

"No, sir, " returned Harry, respectfully. 

"Well, I suppose that it has been all my own doing, " resumed Mr. Mornington. "But seriously, Harry, do you wish to give up law and becomeone of the firm? Speak out, boy, there is no good in taking up a thingif you have no heart for it. "

"You mistake me altogether, " interposed Harry, hastily. "I have not theleast wish to give up the law. "

"So let it be then. And I agree to your request--provided that you'pass' within a year. "

"All right--thanks, " returned Harry, thinking that he had made a capitalarrangement. 

"I suppose, " added his father, "that you will have to take the girls toElm Grove. "

"Unless it interferes with the bargain, " Harry began--

"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Mornington. "You will make a good lawyer yet, I believe. "

"I hope so, " responded Harry, lighting his cigar. 

On the first of February, they all set out for Boston, according to theprevious arrangement. On their arrival in that city, they found thatCharles and Ada had been there some days. Charles had received atelegram, saying that the elder Ashtons would only get there an hour orso before the steamer left. 

The girls were delighted at this intelligence, as now there was nothingto mar the happiness of the party during the few days that they wouldspend together. Ada and Isabel were inseparable, and it was astonishinghow much Lucy and Emily had to say. Charles and Harry discussed theirfuture plans. Mr. Mornington had a great many people to see, and a greatdeal of business to attend to, so that he was closely occupied, and hadscarcely a word for any one during meals, which was the only time he waswith them. And Mrs. Mornington's happiness seemed to consist in seeingthe young people enjoy themselves. 

After the arrival of Sir John and Lady Ashton, with Miss Crosse andLouisa, they all went on board the steamer; and when they had seen themcomfortably settled, Emily, Harry and Isabel, returned to the hotel, andthe next morning continued their journey to Elm Grove, where Mr. Mornington had stipulated that Harry should stay no more than threeweeks--or it would interfere with the bargain. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Arlingtons had a grand ball in honor of Miss Arlington'stwenty-first birthday, which Rose said wasn't fair, as Everard didn'thave one on his. Mrs. Arlington, always celebrated for the taste andelegance displayed at her parties, has almost surpassed all formeroccasions in the magnificent arrangement of everything. 

Isabel wore a plain white dress, and jet ornaments. A single floweradorned her hair; and the usual, rather sad expression of hercountenance, was exchanged for one of greater animation. The excitementof the occasion had given an unwonted glow to her cheeks. She did, indeed, look lovely, as she stood engaged in lively conversation withEmily, while they were waiting in the drawing-room to receive theguests; and so Everard thought, who stood talking with his father, whilehis eyes rested admiringly upon Isabel's sweet face. 

After the greater part of the guests had arrived, and the dancing fairlycommenced, Isabel, who had been waltzing, returned to the drawing-room. She was scarcely seated, when, to her utter amazement, she saw LouisTaschereau enter. Oh, how her heart throbbed at the unexpected meeting!Here was Louis, her own Louis, actually in the room. It was annoying, that after being parted so long, they should first meet in a crowdedball-room. --Never mind; she was only too glad to have him there. Helooked so well, so bright and happy, as he made his way through thecrowd, with the proud bearing and haughty mien in which she delighted. How long would it be before he reached her?--Oh, that the room weresmaller, or that she had been nearer the door. It seemed an age while hewas shaking hands with Mrs. Arlington. But who is that pretty girl onhis arm? Could it be his cousin Marie? He has taken her to a seat, andis moving down the room. The hot blood rushed to her cheeks. Someoneasked her to dance. "Oh, not yet, " she replied, scarcely heeding who itwas that asked her. Louis sees her, and is coming towards her. How herheart bounded, her joy and happiness was so great. She hid her glowingface behind her fan, to conceal her confusion. Another moment and he wasby her side, greeting her cordially. "Oh, Louis, " and she smiled uponhim, O so sweetly. "You did not expect to see me to-night, " he said, looking very contented and triumphant. But there was something in theexpression of his face which she did not like--something that seemed tofreeze up all the warmth of her feelings in an instant. Was it that hethought she was too ready to show what she felt, with so many presentwho might observe any unusual degree of pleasure on her part. Oh, surelynot, for she had been so careful--as careful as it was in human natureto be. 

"Was that your cousin, " she asked, "that you brought with you?"

"No! that--is--my wife--" he said, with a look of triumph. 

"Your wife! Why, what do you mean?" she inquired, thinking he wasjesting. 

"Just what I say, " he replied. Then, with insufferable insolence, hehissed in her ear, "Louis Taschereau never forgives. "

"Indeed, " she answered, assuming an air of indifference that surprisedeven herself; for she had felt the hot, indignant blood, coursingthrough her veins. 

"Really, " he said, with cool effrontery, "that assumption ofindifference is sublime. But I am not deceived, " he continued, with ascornful laugh; "my revenge is most complete, my plans have beenentirely successful, " and making her a low bow, he retired. And Isabelwas left to her own thoughts. But this would not do; she must not--darenot--think; she must have excitement until she could be quite alone. Fortunately, Harry now claimed her as his partner. "Oh, Harry, " shesaid, "I am so tired of sitting here. "

"Why, I asked you for the last dance, and you wouldn't come, " answeredHarry, laughing. 

"I didn't think it would have lasted so long, " she returned. 

"Do you know that Louis is here?" he inquired. 

"Yes. "

"Don't you think his wife pretty?"

"Very. "

Harry knew that Louis had always been a favorite with Isabel, but theremotest idea of the real state of the case never for a moment occuredto him. 

When the dance was over, they went out on the glass extension room. Presently Harry said abruptly:

"Isabel, I really thought that you would have been Mrs. Taschereau. "

"Harry!"

"I did, indeed. "

"Harry, don't, " she said imploringly. 

Just then Everard and Emily came in, and at the next dance theyexchanged partners. As they passed under the hall lamp, Everard remarkedthe extreme palor of her countenance. "You are ill, Miss Leicester, " hesaid. You should not have remained so long in that cold place. Let meget you a glass of wine. "

"Oh no, thanks. I shall soon get warm with dancing. "

"I don't think that you should attempt this galop. You look too ill;indeed you do. "

"I intend to dance it, Mr. Arlington; but if you do not wish too, I canhave another partner. " Everard looked so sad and reproachful as she saidthis, that she felt sorry for the hasty words. She knew they had beenharsh, and he had said nothing but what was kind--nothing to deserveanything so severe. But then she dare not sit during a single dance; shecould not, would not, rest a moment. She was making a great effort to'keep up, ' and it was only by a continual struggle that she couldsucceed. However, Everard had no more cause for uneasiness on account ofher looking ill, as they had scarcely entered the ball-room before herbrilliant color had returned. Isabel was decidedly the belle of theevening; and for this, Grace Arlington never forgave her. Everard sawthat Isabel's gaiety was assumed, and he would have given much to knowthe cause. Harry was not so keen an observer, and only thought how muchshe was enjoying herself, and how much he had been mistaken in thinkingthat she cared anything about Louis. 

Oh the weary, weary length of that dreadful evening. Isabel thought thatit would never end. But she kept up splendidly. Once she unexpectedlyfound Louis her _vis a vis_--then came the master-piece of the evening. She looked superb, as with graceful dignity she glided through thequadrille. She avoided touching his hand, except when it was inevitable;but she did it so naturally, that to others it did not appearpremeditated. He spoke to her, but she passed on as though she did nothear. Once again, before the dance was ended, he ventured to addressher; but she replied with grave dignity, "We must meet as strangers:henceforth I shall not know you, Dr. Taschereau. "

Louis foamed with rage at the cool contempt conveyed in these words. He ground his teeth, and swore to be revenged. At last the guests alldeparted, and Harry too had taken leave (for as this was his last day atElm Grove, he was going by the three o'clock train to keep his promise, for Harry was very strict, and would not have remained another day onany pretext). Then Isabel had to listen to the praises bestowed on herby all the Arlington family, who complimented her upon the sensationshe had made, and to force herself to join in an animated conversationregarding the events of the evening; so that she was truly glad when Mr. Arlington dismissed the 'conclave, ' saying that they could discuss theparty next day. 

When Isabel gained her own room, and sat down to think of her trouble, she began to realize the full extent of her misery. She had scarcelyknown 'till now, how much his love had supported her through all hertrials; or how the thought of one day being his, had softened the illsshe had been called upon to endure since her father's death. Now shemust think of him no more--he was hers no longer. But worse than this, was the pain and grief of knowing that he was unworthy of the love andadmiration that she had bestowed upon him. She knew that he was proud, passionate and exacting, yet she loved him; for these verycharacteristics, mingled as they were with more endearing qualities, hada peculiar charm for her. How happy she had been to feel that he lovedher; and oh! the pain, the agony, of knowing that he did so no longer. Why, why had he written that letter? Oh it was cruel, cruel. And thento think that it had all been planned, premeditated, with the expressdesign of making her suffer more acutely, was bitter in the extreme. Tolose his love was misery; but to know that he was deceitful, cruel andrevengeful, was agony beyond endurance. She did not weep: her grief wastoo stony for tears. "Oh, Louis, Louis, " she moaned in her agony, "whathave I done, to deserve such cruel treatment?" She leaned her head uponher arm, and pressed her hand upon her throbbing temples, for the tumultof her thoughts became intolerable. She pictured to herself Louis, asshe loved to see him; old scenes recurred to her mind, and the days whenshe had been so happy in his love--nor had a wish beyond. Even this verynight, how inexpressibly happy had it made her to see him in the room. And oh, to have all her dreams of happiness crushed in a moment. Againshe thought how different it might have been had he been faithful andtrue; but he was false--he did not love her, and what had she to livefor now? A sense of oppression, which almost amounted to suffocation, distressed her, until at length a fearful sensation of choking forcedher to rise to get some water; but ere she could do so, a crimson streamflowed from her mouth, down her white dress, and she fell upon thefloor. 

CHAPTER IX. 

The daylight was streaming in at the window when Emily awoke, and laythinking of the party, and rejoicing in her kind little heart thatIsabel had been so happy, and had enjoyed herself so much. Then shesighed as she thought Harry was gone, but smiled again at the brightprospect she had in view, for Harry had imparted to her the nicearrangement that he had made with his father, and she did so love theidea of travelling for a year. Then again she heaved a little sigh, andhoped he would not overwork himself; but there was no cause foruneasiness on that score, for Harry was too much accustomed to takethings easy, and too wise to work himself to death: and Emmy was contentto believe this. 

But she was that sociable disposition, that she could not half enjoyanything unless she could get some one to sympathise with her. She didso long to tell her news. Late as was the hour when the party broke up, she wanted to tell Isabel; but Isabel had refused their accustomed chat, saying that it was too late, and that Mrs. Arlington would be vexed. 

Then she wondered if Isabel was awake, she did so long to tell her aboutthe year's travelling. She thought she would go and see. So she got upvery quietly, partially dressed, and then threw on her dressing gown, and ran up to Isabel's room; but finding the door locked, she rattledthe handle slightly, and called through the key-hole, "Isabel! Isabel!are you awake? open the door. " Then as she drew back, somethingattracted her sight, and impelled her to apply her eye to the saidkey-hole. She did so; and horrified beyond description at what shebeheld, she shrieked aloud with terror. Her frantic cries brought herfather, mother, Everard, and several of the servants, to the rescue. 

"Open the door! oh, open the door!" was all that she could say, wringingher hands in anguish, and pointing to it. 

"Speak, child, " said her father, "what is the matter?"

But she only cried more wildly, "open the door! open the door!" withoutattempting to explain. But Everard, with his firm, quiet manner, andreassuring tone, calmed her almost instantly. 

Mrs. Arlington did as Emily had done before her. "There is somethingwrong, " she exclaimed, "we must get the door open. "

The united efforts of Everard and his father forced the door, and a moredistressing sight can scarcely be imagined than that they beheld. Stretched on the floor lay Isabel, in her ball dress, the blood pouringfrom her mouth in a crimson stream. As soon as Everard saw this, hewaited for no more, but hastened to the stable, and was soon on theroad, dashing at a reckless pace, towards Dr. Heathfield's. Mrs. Arlington quietly desired Norris to remove the children, who, alarmed byEmily's cries, had crowded into the room, along with the servants. Emilyalso was dismissed; and ordering two of the servants to remain, she toldthe rest to retire, and to send Norris back again. She then turned herattention to the suffering girl, whose face wore an expression ofineffable agony; but she was at a loss how to proceed, not knowing whatought to be done, and fearing that she might do harm by injudicioustreatment. In less time than could have been imagined, Everard returnedwith the doctor, who had great difficulty in stopping the bleeding. Shehad broken a blood vessel, he said, and was in a very dangerous state. He ordered perfect quiet, as the least excitement would cause a returnof the bleeding, and then nothing could save her. He questioned verysharply as to what had happened, and gave as his opinion that it hadbeen caused by some great shock, and violent emotion struggled with andsuppressed, by undue excitement. 

Mrs. Arlington repudiated the notion, and protested against such anassumption, saying "that Miss Leicester appeared quite well when sheretired to rest. "

"These things do not happen without cause, madam, " returned the doctor;"therefore in all probability something has occurred of which you knownothing. "

"I am convinced that you are mistaken, Dr. Heathfield; but I will takecare that your orders are strictly attended to. No one but myself andNorris shall be allowed in the room. You have no doubt of her ultimaterecovery, I trust, " she added. 

"I couldn't pretend to give an opinion at present; I can only tell youthat she is in a most precarious state, " he replied gravely. "Everythingdepends upon the prevention of the hemorrhage, a return of which wouldbe certain death. At the same time, that is not all that we have tofear. "

For a long time Isabel hovered between life and death, scarcelyconscious of what was passing around her. Day after day the childrenwould linger on the stairs, whenever the doctor came, to hear hisaccount of Miss Leicester. But he only shook his head, and said "hecould not have them there. Their governess was very ill, and they mustbe very good children. " Then they would return to the school-room, andspend, as best they might, these joyless holidays. 

At last the longed for answer came--"She was certainly better, " and theywere delighted beyond measure; but their joy was considerably damped, when he told them that they could not be permitted to see her for sometime yet. 

Isabel's recovery was very slow, though every care and attention wasbestowed upon her, and each vied with the other in showing kindness tothe orphan girl. Still Isabel felt her lonely, dependent condition, acutely. Life seemed a dreary, cheerless existence; and she experienceda shrinking from the future which seemed to be before her, which was attimes almost insupportable. She longed to be at rest. The prostrationand langour, both mental and bodily, that accompanied this depression, was so great as to seriously retard her recovery, and almost baffled thedoctor's skill. She would lie for hours without speaking or moving, apparently asleep, but only in a sort of waking dream. She took nointerest in anything, and appeared quite incapable of making any effortto overcome this apathy. Emily tried her best to amuse her; but aftertaking pains to relate everything that she thought of interest that hadoccurred, Isabel would smile and thank her, in a way that proved she hadnot been listening. Thus week after week of her convalescence passed, while, to the doctor's surprise and disappointment, she made no furtherprogress. After visiting his patient one afternoon, he requested a fewmoments' conversation with Mrs. Arlington. "My dear madam, " he said, when that lady had led the way into the morning-room, "has MissLeicester no friends, with whom she could spend a few weeks? for if sheis allowed to remain in this lethargic state, she will inevitably sink. An entire change of air and scene is absolutely necessary. She requiressomething to rouse her in a gentle way, without excitement. "

"She has friends, I believe; but really, I know so little about them, that any arrangement of that sort is out of the question. All those I doknow, are at present in Europe, " returned Mrs. Arlington. "But we areanxious to do everything in our power to promote her recovery. If youcan suggest anything, I shall be most happy to carry out your plans. I proposed her going to the sea-side, but she wouldn't hear of it, andsaid that she hoped she should not trouble us much longer. I remonstrated, but to no purpose--she persisted that it was utterlyimpossible. "

"That was the very thing I was going to suggest, " returned the doctor;"but I trusted that the proposal would have met with a better reception. But if you will allow me, I think I might persuade her to accompany thechildren, as if on their account. Have I your permission to do so?"

"Full permission to make any arrangements that you think beneficial, doctor, " replied Mrs. Arlington. 

Doctor Heathfield went back to his patient. He found her alone. "What doyou think of making a start to the sea-side? I think it would do yougood. "

"Oh, indeed I could not, " returned Isabel languidly. "Mrs. Arlington isvery kind, but it is quite impossible. "

"Don't decide so hastily, " replied Dr. Heathfield, taking a seat by herside. 

"A thing which is impossible, requires no consideration. "

"But I am convinced that it is not impossible, " he urged, "and byobliging others, you will also benefit yourself; it is such a very smallthing that is required of you, just to accompany the children to D----for a few weeks. Indeed I think that you can scarcely refuse after allthe kindness that you have received during your long illness. "

"I am extremely sorry to have caused so much trouble, but I assure youthat I am not ungrateful. "

"It don't seem like it when you won't do what little you might toplease, " returned the doctor. 

"Don't say will not, " Dr. Heathfield. 

"Ay but I must say will not, and excuse me when I add, that you greatlymistake your duty to give way to this apathy, and thus retard yourrecovery, " he said kindly. "I do not seek to fathom your trouble, but Ido know that it was excessive mental anguish that caused you to break ablood-vessel, and I would remind you that this is not the right way tobrood over and nurse your grief, refusing to make any effort to do yourduty. 

"I know it is wrong faltered Isabel with quivering lips, but I cannottake an interest in anything or find comfort, save in the thought ofearly death. "

"But that is from the morbid state of mind induced by weakness. "

Isabel shook her head. 

"And will pass off as you get stronger, " he continued. 

"I shall never be strong again, " she said. 

"Pooh, nonsense, I can't have you talk in that way, if you only make aneffort and go with the children to D----, I think you will soon alteryour opinion. "

"Please don't say any more, my head aches dreadfully, " pleaded Isabel. 

"One moment and I have done, " he said, "I fear that you forget yourposition here, the family have behaved to you with the greatestgenerosity, but still you must be aware that they would not continue tokeep an invalid governess, and as I understand that you are entirelydependant upon your own exertions, you must see the necessity of tryingthe benefit of sea air, when you have the opportunity, do not take itunkindly that I have used such freedom in pressing this matter, thinkover it quietly, and to-morrow let me know what answer I am to give Mrs. Arlington. " Then he took his leave, and his kind heart smote him, for heheard the smothered sobs of his fair patient. 

CHAPTER X. 

Mrs. Arlington never for a moment suspected the way in which Dr. Heathfield would induce Isabel to accede to his plans. In justice to herit must be said, that had she known it, she would if possible haveprevented it. But in the end perhaps it was better for Isabel that shedid not, though the reflections to which his remarks gave rise, wereextremely painful. It needed not these cruel hints to remind her of thatwhich had scarcely ever been absent from her thoughts since her father'sdeath, and she shed very bitter tears, even after she retired to restshe could but weep over her unhappy lot far into the night, until atlength the bright moonlight streaming in at the window, reminded her ofone above, who doeth all things well, and she resolved to try and do herduty according to His appointment, however trying she might find it, trusting that as her need was, so would strength be given. 

She saw now why she had not been allowed to die according to her wish, even because her work was not yet accomplished. How willingly and withwhat pleasure had the children received what she had taught themregarding religion; how eagerly had they listened when she had explainedthe scriptures; with what different feelings did they now regard thesabbath as a day of holy rest, and prayer, and praise, instead of a dayof weariness, dreaded and hated. Did she not remember how shocked shehad been, when Amy said, that she liked all the days except sundays, andthe others had expressed the same. And oh, how glad and thankful shefelt when Amy not long since, one sunday afternoon had clasped her armsround her neck, and exclaimed that she liked Miss Leicester's sundaysvery much. All this she had been able to do through divine blessing uponher endeavors to benefit the children, and would she leave them when herwork had only just begun? No, no, how wrong and selfish had she been, ifall joy and happiness had fled, she still had her work before her--herduty to perform. With such thoughts as these, her tears became lessbitter. Soft tear of quiet resignation followed the bitter rebelliousones she had shed so abundantly, and she resolved by steady abnegationof self, to forget the past (as much as might be) in the business andduties of the present. Then with a prayer for strength to keep thisresolution, and patience to wait, and work until such time as restshould be vouchsafed her, she fell asleep. 

With a severe headache, and extremely weak from the trying night she hadpast, Isabel waited for the doctor next day, though she had determinedto give him a favorable answer, she wondered much how she could go, whenshe felt almost unable to raise her hand to her head. She was feverishand restless, very anxious for his arrival, yet dreading it, for itseemed as though she were about by her own act, to put an end to thesequiet days of rest, and dreamy reverie, which she fain would prolong. 

However, when Dr. Heathfield came, she managed to return his greetingwith some degree of cheerfulness. 

"I trust you feel better to-day, " he said. 

"No, rather worse, the dose you administered was anti-narcotic I assureyou, but I have decided to accede to Mrs. Arlington's wishes. I will domy utmost for the children, but I fear that will be very little, " andshe smiled faintly from her pillow. 

"Pooh, nonsense, you are not to teach at present, we all know you can'tdo that, " returned the doctor cheerfully, "what good would the poorchildren get if they were cooped up in a school-room all day, timeenough for that when they come home again. " Dr. Heathfield began to fearthat the dose had been too strong, when he felt the feverish pulse. "Youmust be very quiet to-day, promise me that you will not worry yourself, "he said, "I shall tell Mrs. Arlington not to let the girls tease you. "

"They never tease me. " replied Isabel hastily. 

"Oh they don't, well that is fortunate, " he answered, preparing somemysterious compound that he had taken from his pocket, "now if you takethis" he continued, presenting the mixture, "and then take a nice littlesleep, you will feel much better by the afternoon, and then if MissEmily would read to you, it would be better than talking. "

"I'm afraid your patient is not so well to-day doctor, " said Mrs. Arlington coming in, "she seems feverish this morning. "

"Oh, she has been tormenting herself, thinking that she had to teachwhile at D----, but I think if you keep her quiet, this feverishnesswill soon subside, and she is going with the children to D---- like agood sensible girl, " replied the doctor. 

"I am very glad that you have come to that decision Isabel, as I shouldnot think of sending the children without you, " (no more she would) saidMrs. Arlington, keeping up the farce that she was the obliged party. "Emily and Norris go with you, so that you have no cause for anxiety, dear, " she added, laying her cool hand upon Isabel's hot forehead. 

"Is your head very bad, " inquired the doctor, pulling down the blind. Then as Isabel assented, he went on, "if you were to send the quiet one, (Alice I think you call her) to bathe her temples with a little lotionit would be as well. "

"I think it should be Norris, I don't like to trust the children, " Mrs. Arlington began. 

"You may trust Alice, " interrupted Isabel. 

"Very well, " returned Mrs. Arlington smiling, "then Alice it shall be. "

Within a week, everything was arranged for their departure, Everard wasto escort them to D---- and see them comfortably settled, and thenproceed to H---- College. The morning they were to start, Isabel joinedthem at the early school-room breakfast. This was the first time thatEverard had seen her since her illness, and he was inexpressibly shockedat her appearance, and remonstrated with his mother, saying, that MissLeicester was not in a fit state to travel. 

"My dear Everard, I am acting entirely under the the doctor's orders. "

"Nevertheless it is cruel, " he replied gravely. 

"My dear son what can I do, Dr. Heathfield says that it is absolutelynecessary. "

"It will kill her, that is my opinion of the matter. " he answered "whyshe can scarcely stand, I had no idea she was so awfully weak. "

"But what can I do, " persisted Mrs. Arlington. 

"Wait until she gets a little stronger, " urged Everard. 

"But the doctor assures me, that she will inevitable sink, if allowed toremain in the same low spirited state. "

"Why did you not have her among the rest, and then probably she mightnot have got so low. It is dreadful to see any one so fearfully weak, "he added in a tone of grave commiseration. 

"I don't wonder at your being shocked at her altered appearance, butyou should not blame those who have had the care of her, without dueconsideration. I assure you that she has had every attention, " said Mrs. Arlington reproachfully. 

"I don't wish to blame any one, " returned Everard coloring, "surely notyou dear mother. "

"I am glad to hear it, " she answered, in a somewhat injured tone. "I wassure that it only required a moment's thought to convince you, thathowever painful a state Miss Leicester may be in, it has been broughtabout by circumstances over which we have no control. "

Everard looked perseveringly out of the window. And his mother continued"it was at her own request that she remained so secluded. But it mustnot be, we have listened to her entreaties too long already, now othersmust act for her in the way they think best. "

"Then it is not her wish to go, " observed Everard. 

"Certainly not, but the doctor almost insists upon it. "

"Kill or cure as I take it, " he returned. 

"I fear that is too near the truth, unfortunately, " replied his mother. "

"Everard remained silent, and Mrs. Arlington saying that the carriagewould be round shortly, quitted the room. Then he returned to theschool-room, to find Isabel fainting upon the sofa and Emily bendingover her in helpless despair, Amy crying, and Alice emptying thecontents of a scent bottle over Isabel, and Rose spilling the smellingsalts almost into her mouth, in her anxiety to cram it to her nose. Thisquaint mode of treatment had the desired effect, for Isabel with a greatsigh opened her eyes, and asked what was the matter. Dr. Heathfieldarrived soon after this, and ordered Miss Leicester back to her room fora few hours rest, so that they were forced to wait for the next train. 

"She ought not to have come down to breakfast, " he said, "let her havelunch in her own room, and remain there until everything is quite ready, then let her go straight to the carriage after the rest are seated, itmust be managed quietly or it cannot be done. " Then he called Everardaside, and cautioned him, "it is a hazardous thing to move her at all, and requires very nice management, " he said. 

"It should not be attempted, " returned Everard coldly, "she is only fitto be in bed. "

"The doctor smiled incredulously, keep her there and you would soonfinish her, and she would be only too content to do it. "

"You are severe Dr. Heathfield, " said Everard stiffly. 

"Come, Come, Everard don't get angry, you think me a brute no doubt. Butif she remains here she will die, if she goes away she may recover. Nowyou have my honest opinion. "

"It seems to me little short of murder, to start her off in this state, "returned Everard. "

"Upon my word, who is severe now Mr. Everard, " retorted the doctor. I don't attempt to deny that moving her may be fatal, if not judiciouslymanaged But if carefully and properly done, I am very sanguine as to theresult. 

"That is a nice way of getting out of a scrape, I must say, " "Oh a verynice way indeed, " said Dr. Heathfield laughing. "I will come in againabout one, " he added addressing Mrs. Arlington, "and if I have time, I will go down to the station and see them off. "

"Oh, if you could doctor, it would be such a satisfaction to know thatyou were with them, " Mrs. Arlington answered. 

Everard could not bring himself to see it in the same light as thedoctor, but as her going seemed inevitable, he was glad that he was tohave the charge of her. A little before one the doctor returned, butonly to see that all was right. "He was so very busy, " he said, "but hadno doubt that Mr. Everard would manage very well. He could not possiblygo down to the station, he had to set a man's leg two miles off in quiteanother direction. Everard's face was a picture, as the doctor so kindlyexpressed the belief that he would manage very well. Emily was soconvulsed with laughter at the sight, that she was forced to stuff herhandkerchief into her mouth to conceal her mirth. Everard managedeverything so nicely during the journey, that Isabel never knew that hemade special alteration on her account, and he assisted her on alloccasions in a nice kindly matter of course manner, quite like an elderbrother, that prevented any embarrassment on her part. He was also verysuccessful in concealing the anxiety he felt on her behalf. Isabelappeared quite worn out the night they arrived at D----, Norris insistedupon perfect rest and quiet next day, saying that she should join themat tea if she seemed sufficiently rested, but Everard rebelled, and madeEmily amuse her during the morning. Norris submitted without much fuss, as he was a great favorite. 

"I know as well as you Master Everard, that she needs to be kept morecheerful than she has been, but after all the worry and fatigue of thejourney, a little quietness is good for her, " said Norris, endeavoringto justify herself. 

"I don't deny that Norris, I only object to her being quite alone. "

"And you know sir, that you always get your own way, " replied Norrislaughing. 

"Usually, " returned Everard, "but Norris, understand that I wish herkept quiet. "

"As if anyone could be quiet where Miss Emily is, " said Norrisreproachfully. 

"I'll trust Emmy, " he answered laughing. 

"That is more nor I would Mr. Everard, " she returned with thefamiliarity that old domestics who have been a long time in a familyoften acquire. For Norris had been with Mrs. Arlington ever since shewas married, now some twenty-six years. 

After dinner, Everard, Emily and the children, went out for a ramble. On their return, Everard left them near the town, as he had to make someinquiries as to the time the train left, as he was to leave nextmorning, for they had been so much longer on the way than had beenanticipated, consequently his stay at D---- had to be curtailed. 

When he returned to the cottage, he found Isabel in the old arm chair inthe sitting-room, the others had not yet arrived. Isabel was lookingwretchedly ill, but pronounced herself much rested. Everard gave her ananimated account of their ramble, and an excellent description of theplace, but she appeared to take little interest in either. 

"Perhaps you would rather I didn't talk, he said, as she leaned her headwearily upon her hand. 

"O, I don't mind, " she replied in a tone of such utter indifference thatEverard took a book. He did not read however, but sat shading his facewith his hand, so as to enable him to contemplate the poor worn face andfragile form of her whom he loved better than life. He pictured her, asshe appeared when waiting the arrival of the guests on Grace's birthday, and the contrast was painful in the extreme, neither could he accountfor the utter hopelessness depicted on her countenance. 

"Are you aware that I leave in the morning, " he said, after some timehad elapsed. 

"So soon, " she inquired in surprise. 

"Yes, by the early train, " he replied. 

Then I must not miss this opportunity of thanking you, for all thetrouble you have taken, and for all the kindness you have shown me. Indeed I am very much obliged to you. "

"I am only too glad to have been of any service to you, " he returnedwith something of the old manner. "Will you not write when you are able, if only a line, just a line, I shall be so anxious to hear. "

"Emily will write, " she answered quietly. 

Everard bit his lip, he was silenced but not satisfied, --an awkwardpause ensued, then the others came in full of glee to find Isabel down. 

The tea was a very cheerful one, and Isabel strove to appear interested, and to join in the general conversation, but the effort was too much forher, for when she rose to retire for the night, she all but fainted andalarmed them very much. 

When Everard came into the sitting-room next morning, he found acheerful fire burning (for the morning was raw and misty) and breakfaston the table, although it was only half-past five o'clock, and shortlyafter Emily came in. 

"Why Emmy, this is better luck than I expected, " exclaimed Everard insurprise. 

"You didn't think that I would let you breakfast alone did you, "returned Emily proceeding to pour out the tea, "but oh, Everard, I'm sosorry that you are going away so soon, I really am quite afraid to beleft alone with Isabel so weak, whatever shall I do if she gets worse. "

"As to being alone, why Norris is a host in herself. Besides, you musttake it for granted that she will soon get all right. If there reallyshould be cause you must not hesitate to call in the doctor, butremember Dr. Heathfield said you were not to do so, if it could beavoided, and Emmy, if there should be anything serious, mind youtelegraph mamma, and if you get very much alarmed, you know that I couldget here in a few hours, and I shall not mind the trouble, so makeyourself easy. But at all events, I intend to run down in two or threeweeks, just to see how you all get on--mind you write often Emmy. " ThisEmmy promised to do, and bid him good bye with a bright face. 

D---- was a pretty little town on the sea-coast, which was muchfrequented in summer, but during the winter it was almost deserted. Itwas very quiet just now as it was so very early in the season. The housein which our party had taken up their abode, was beautifully situatedupon some rising ground, about half a mile from the beach. On the right, as far as eye could reach, stretched the broad expanse of deep blue sea, with its ever varying succession of white sails and gay steamers. To theleft lay verdant meadows, picturesque villas, and sloping hills, stretching far into the distance until bounded by a belt of forest, beyond which the ground rose again, capped by a rugged crag. Belongingto the house, were pretty grounds tastefully laid out, and a niceshrubbery, also a maze in which the children delighted to losethemselves. 

After the first few days, Isabel mended rapidly, and before long wasable to join the children and Emily in their rambles, and even got downto the beach after the second week, so that Emily sent charming accountsof Isabel's progress to her mother and Everard. 

CHAPTER XI. 

"Look Louis, what a nice packet has come by express, I wonder what itcan be. Oh, open it now dear Louis, " she added, laying her handcoaxingly upon his shoulder, as he was about to pocket the wonderfulpacket. "I am dying with curiosity, to see what it contains. "

"It is only a business affair, nothing to interest you, littlecuriosity, " he answered playfully. 

But she was not so easily satisfied, for the start of recognition as heglanced at the writing, had not escaped his wife's quick eyes. 

"But I do so want to know what is in it, I felt something hard like alittle box, and it is such pretty writing, " she said. 

"Perhaps the drugs I wrote for, " he returned carelessly. 

"Drugs from a lady, Louis, " she said archly. 

"Oh I forgot, no it can't be the drugs, but it will keep, " he replied, thrusting it into his pocket. "I must teach you not to be so curiousNatalie. 

Then laughing, she endeavored to withdraw it from his pocket, but hetook the little hand in an iron grasp, saying "don't be silly Natalie. "

"Oh Louis, you hurt me, " she pouted. 

"I didn't intend to do so, " he returned, loosening his hold, but therewas a stern, determined look in his face as he did so, which preventedher making any further attempts to satisfy her curiosity, and the largetears welled up into her eyes as he hastily left the room. 

That night, after Natalie had retired to rest, Louis stood leaningagainst the chimney-piece, gazing thoughtfully into the fire. Upon thetable lay the packet, he knew well enough the moment he saw it what itcontained, the letters and presents that Isabel had received fromhimself. Yes there they were, and he would not for worlds have Nataliesee them. There they were, the letters, the trinkets, but he hadexpected something more--an angry note, upbraiding him for his meanconduct and requesting the return of her letters. Over this he wouldhave rejoiced, but no, here were the letters and trinkets without noteor comment, just enclosed in a blank cover, and this cool contemptannoyed him more than the bitterest expressions of angry reproach wouldhave done. She had returned all that he had ever given her, well, whatelse had he expected, did he think she would have kept them? No, ofcourse not, but then he had not thought about it, he knew now that hisrevenge had had a very different effect to what he had intended, shewould cast off all further regard for him, perhaps she hated him, whilehe, trusting to her sweet disposition and deep affection for himself, had expected that she, unable to overcome her wondrous love, would pineand grieve over her great, her irreparable loss. Ah Louis, if this wasyour object you did not manage the affair skilfully. You also forgotthat by marrying another, you were taking perhaps, the only step thatcould effectually prevent the object you had in view, (for this, together with the offensive manner in which it was done, supplied herwith a motive which aided essentially to enable her to carry out herdetermination to stifle all feelings of love towards him, in fact toforget him. ) He now saw the folly of the course he had adopted, shewould soon forget him altogether, perhaps find another more patient andgentle, who could make her happier than he would have done, suchthoughts as these were madness--perhaps she might marry another, no, he clinched his fist and vowed she should not. How had his so calledrevenge recoiled upon himself, he had not been aware how madly he lovedher, until she was lost to him forever, and he almost cursed the filthylucre that had lured him on until it had been his ruin. For what had hegained--he new what he had lost, the only woman that he had ever lovedor could love, but what had he gained, not the satisfaction which he hadexpected, only a few thousand dollars and a pretty childish little wifeof whom he already tired. 

With an angry exclamation he threw the whole packet into the fire, andthen leaning his face upon his hand, before an open book, sat still andpale through the long long night, until in the gray dawn, a soft littlehand upon his shoulder, and a warm kiss upon his cheek, aroused him fromhis reverie. 

CHAPTER XII. 

There was a large rock, about a mile to the left of the town of D----, which was surrounded by numerous small ones. This place was called thewrecker's reef, and was covered at high water, but when the tide waslow, Isabel and the others often went there to get shells. They had tobe careful to watch the rise of the tide, as, long before the rock wascovered the retreat was cut off by the water surrounding the largestrock, like an island, this island gradually diminished, until, when thetide was in it was several feet under water, this part of the coast wasvery little frequented. One afternoon when they had been at D---- aboutthree weeks or a month, having obtained the shells they wished for, theysat down on the rocks to rest, Isabel began relating a tale she hadlately read, and they were all so much interested, that they had notobserved that the tide was fast coming in, nor was it until the rock wasquite surrounded that they did so. The terrified children clung aroundIsabel entreating her to save them, while Emily scarcely less alarmed, screamed aloud for help, but it was not very likely that her cries forassistance would be heard in that lonely place, and their danger becamemore imminent, as a stiff breeze had sprung up, and the surge round thereef was becoming very heavy, and even should they be observed, thepassage from the beach to the reef was so dangerous, that only a skilfuland experienced hand could possibly succeed in rescuing them from theirperilous situation, so that although there was a small boat moored onthe beach it did not afford them much consolation. They were constantlydrenched with spray, and were quite aware that the reef would be coveredwith water ere long. 

"Oh dearest Isabel, what shall we do, " asked Emily, looking ghastlywhite, and shaking like an aspen. 

"The water will wash us all away, and then we shall all be drowned, "cried little Amy. 

"And we shall never see papa and mamma any more, ' added Rose. Alicestood perfectly quiet, (after the first moment of their surprise whenshe had clung to Isabel with the rest) her large eyes fixed upon Isabelwith an expression that spoke volumes. 

"I fear there is no escape, " said Isabel, in as calm a tone as she couldcommand, "we can only commend ourselves to the care of our heavenlyFather, and patiently await his will. This they did, and then Isabelendeavored to calm litttle Amy, who was crying most piteously, but ashout of joy from Rose, drew her attention once more to the shore. "Hereis Everard, oh here is Everard, " cried Rose, clapping her hands anddancing with joy, and sure enough, there was Everard scrambling down thecliff. This was Saturday afternoon, and he had come to spend Sunday withthem, but finding they were out he came in search of them, Norris, fortunately being able to tell him where they had gone. 

As the reef was such a short distance from land, and as a boat wasmoored on the beach, the children naturally concluded that they were nowsafe. It was not so however with Isabel, she knew the dangerous natureof this shallow water, with innumerable rocks only just beneath thesurface, but still sufficiently covered to hide them from view, whichmade it very difficult to take a boat safely through them, even when thewater was smooth, but how much more so, now that a rough swell wasfoaming over them. Indeed it was only by taking a zig-zag course, thatany boat could be guided in safety through the labyrinth of rocks. AsEverard was quite unacquainted with the perilous nature of the reef, itwas well that Isabel had taken particular notice of the only passage andits curious windings, so that they were enabled to direct him how tosteer, or the boat would assuredly have been knocked to pieces, and theyall would inevitably have perished. But fortunately Everard was thecrack oar of the college club, and the owner of the champion medal, andin spite of all difficulties managed to make his way to the reef. 

Isabel had watched the progress of the boat with intense anxiety, herheart beat fast, for she expected every moment that it would come togrief, and she experienced an indescribable sensation of apprehensionwhen it grated on the rock on which they stood. 

"Oh, this boat won't hold us all, " exclaimed Emily in dismay. 

"Don't leave me, " entreated little Amy, "please don't. "

"No darling, you shall not be left, " said Isabel kissing her and thenlifting her into the boat. Quickly as this was done, Rose was alreadyin; Isabel insisted upon both Emily and Alice going, though the boat wasby this means very heavily laden--Alice would have remained with her, but Isabel would not allow it, as there was every prospect of the reefbeing entirely covered before the boat could possibly return. 

"But it seems so mean to leave you here alone. " urged Alice. 

"It will not mend matters, if two are washed off instead of one, "whispered Isabel, "go dear Alice while you can. "

"But it seems so mean, " she repeated. 

"Come Alice, " said Everard in a tone that settled the question at once, "every minute is of the greatest importance. " It was agony to him toleave Isabel, but there was no help for it, the boat was now loaded downto the water's edge. He would gladly have let Alice remain, had thereappeared any chance of returning in time, for he would have gainedseveral minutes by so doing, for if the boat had been lighter he couldhave made better time. As it was he did not dare to risk it, for itseemed like dooming Alice to destruction needlessly. But oh, the horrorof leaving Isabel when perhaps she would be washed away by the fastrising tide before he could return. This thought had also decided him totake Alice, for should Isabel be washed off he might be able to saveher, but how could he hope to save two in such untoward circumstances. 

"Courage Miss Leicester, " and the boat seemed to fly through the waterwith each vigorous stroke; his face wore an expression of intenseanxiety as he bent to his oars. No words passed his firmly compressedlips after they left the reef, but his contracted brow and heavybreathing revealed how deeply he was suffering. In an incredibly shorttime they reached the beach, and Everard landed them in a veryunceremonies manner, and then started once more for the rock. Notwithstanding all the exertion he had undergone, his face was as paleas death, and the cold damp stood upon his brow. There was an air ofdetermination about him as he sprang back into the boat, that convincedEmily that he would save Isabel or perish in the attempt, and from thatday she was master of his secret, but like a dear good sister as shewas, she kept it in her kind little heart, though she sometimes builtcastles in the air. 

Knowing now the proper course to take, Everard propelled the boat withmarvellous rapidity, it skimmed over the water like an ocean bird, atleast so Rose said; yet when he reached the reef, every part on which itwas possible to stand was covered with water, and it was with thegreatest difficulty that Isabel contrived to cling to a pointed piece ofrock which still remained above water, nor could she have done so muchlonger, as her strength was fast failing. It seemed to Isabel wondrousstrange, that she should feel so anxious to be rescued from her periloussituation, when not so long ago she had been so desirous of death, butso it was. 

It was no easy matter to get the boat to this point, and had it requiredany more water to float it, it would have been impossible. As soon asIsabel was in the boat a joyful shout was raised by the party on shore. The return to land was slow, as the great exertion he had been forced touse was beginning to tell upon Everard. Of course Isabel was soakingwet, but fortunately a large plaid that Norris had made them take withthem had been left on the beach; this they wrapt round her, and thenwent home as quickly as might be. 

"Mercy on us, " exclaimed Norris, as they made their appearance, "what inthe name of wonder have you been doing. "

"Why getting a soaking don't you see, " returned Isabel, much amused atNorris's manner. 

"Then you will just get to bed right away Miss Leicester, for I wouldlike to know how I am to answer to my Misses and Dr. Heathfield, if youget the consumption through your nonsense, dear me, and you were lookingso well. "

"But Norris, if I change these wet things surely that will do. "

"You just get to bed, I say, for you are in my charge. "

Everard laughed. 

"Now Mr. Everard don't you be a interfering. "

"Oh, certainly not. "

"Now come along at once Miss Leicester, and I will get you some hotgruel. " Isabel did as she was bid, not wishing to vex Norris who hadbeen very kind, but she protested against the gruel, but in vain, Norrismade her swallow a large basin full, which to Isabel's intense disgusthad a plentiful supply of brandy in it. After this Norris consented tohear the history of their adventures, which was told by the whole fiveat once. 

"The air of D---- seems to have done wonders, " said Everard when Isabelmade her appearance at breakfast next morning looking quite her formerself. 

"Yes indeed, " returned Isabel with a pleasant smile, "how very stupidyou must have thought us yesterday, I can't imagine how we could havebeen so foolish. "

"I suppose that you were not aware that the reef would be covered as thetide rose. "

"Oh yes, we knew quite well. "

"Well then, you were all awfully stupid, if you will excuse my sayingso, " returned Everard, "I gave you credit Miss Leicester for moreprudence. "

"You may well be surprised, " Isabel answered coloring, "I am afraid whenMrs. Arlington hears of it she will be of Lady Ashton's opinion, that Iam not fit to have charge of her daughters. "

Emily laughed. 

"Did she say that, " said Everard, "it was very impertinent of her. "

"She thinks herself a privileged person, you would be astonished I cantell you if you heard all that she said. "

"Do be quiet Emily, " interrupted Isabel. 

But Emily kept giving provoking little hints all breakfast time, andeven as they walked to church she let out little bits, until Isabel grewalmost angry. Everard admired the church exceedingly, "that is just sucha church as I would like, " he said as they went home. 

"Oh Everard, " exclaimed Emily, "a little bit of a church like that. "

"It is not so small, " he returned. 

"Oh well, I thought you were more ambitious, if I were a clergyman Ishould wish to preach to a crowded assembly in a very large city church, and make a sensation. "

"Emily!"

"Oh don't look so grave. "

"A man that would care about making a sensation, would not be fit to bea clergyman. "

"Oh Everard, I am sure it is only good clergymen that do make asensation. "

"What do you call making a sensation?" he inquired. 

"Why, to have every body saying what a splendid preacher, and praisingyou up to the skies. "

"Of course every clergyman should aim to be a good preacher, but hissermon should be composed with the object of doing as much good aspossible, the idea of getting praise by it should never enter his head. "

"Of course I know I never should have done for a parson, if I had been aman I should have been a----. "

"Lawyer, " the children all shouted in a breath. 

"Or a midshipman, " said Emily. 

"I wonder what Miss Leicester would have been, " observed Rose. 

"A doctor, " said Emily, "I know she would have been a doctor, wouldn'tyou Isabel. "

Isabel became scarlet, this was only a random suggestion, but it seemedso like the answer the children had given Emily, that it made her colorpainfully. 

"Oh what is the use of talking such nonsense, " she replied, but hervivid color had given Emily a new idea; Isabel she whispered "do thosepet letters come from a doctor, " a shade passed over Isabel's face likea cloud over the sun, as the thought occured that she should get no morepet letters, as Emily chose to call them, for though she had so firmlyresolved not to allow her thoughts to dwell upon the past, there werestill times when she was painfully reminded of the happy days that wouldnever return, not that she grieved for the loss of Louis, as he nowstood revealed in his true character. She knew that it had been her ownideal Louis that she had loved, she had clothed him with virtue that hedid not possess, and ascribed to him a nobleness of nature to which hewas a stranger, and her bitter sorrow was that he should have proved sodifferent to what she had believed him. She had already begun to thinkthat, as he was what he was, it was all for the best, and even now shefelt more of contempt than love regarding him, though nothing short ofthe offensive and aggravated circumstances that had taken place, couldhave served to quench such love as her's. 

Isabel avoided giving an answer to Emily's question, by drawingattention to a beautiful yacht that was now making the harbor, this didfor the time, but Emily had made enough by her venture to plague Isabelsufficiently about the doctor, so much so, that Everard took occasionwhen they two were walking in the shrubbery to remonstrate with hissister, "Emily, " he said, "can't you see that Miss Leicester is reallyannoyed at your nonsense, and I think that it amounts to rudeness insuch a case. "

"Oh she don't care about it. "

"You are mistaken Emily. "

"Oh, but it is such fun, I do so like to make her color up, she looks sopretty. "

"But when you see that it really annoys----. "

"When I get into the spirit of the thing, I can't stop. " interruptedEmily. 

"I know it, " replied Everard gently, "and that is the reason that Imention it, otherwise the matter is too trivial to comment upon. "

The tears stood in Emily's eyes, "I did not mean any harm, " she saidsoftly, for Everard had great influence, and the secret of thisinfluence which he had acquired over all the family was, that he wasgentle yet very firm. 

"I did not say that there was any harm, only you should learn to stopwhen you see that it annoys, and surely you might abstain from suchnonsense on a Sunday, it is setting the children a bad example to saythe least of it. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

Isabel and the children remained the greater part of the summer atD----, but Emily returned home to join her mamma and sister, who hadconsented to join an expedition that had been got up among a few selectfriends. Upon the last afternoon of their stay at D---- they went for aramble into a pretty little copse wood, the children were looking forberries, and Isabel sat upon a mossy bank reading. 

"Come Isabel, let us at least be friends, " said a voice close besideher. 

Surprised and startled, Isabel beheld Louis Taschereau. 

"Let us be friends, " he repeated taking a seat on the bank. 

"Impossible, Dr. Taschereau, " said Isabel rising, "had you broken offyour engagement in a straightforward manner, it might have beendifferent, as your feelings had undergone a change, I should have beenquite content to release you, but to have corresponded with me up to thevery day of your marriage, and allow me by a chance meeting at anevening party to become aware of the fact for the first time, togetherwith the effrontery with which you behaved on that occasion, are insultswhich I should be wanting in self respect not to resent. "

"My feelings have undergone no change, they cannot change, it is youalone that I have ever loved or shall love, my wife I never did, nevercan. Oh pity me Isabel for I am most miserably unhappy. "

"From my heart I pity her who is so unfortunate as to have Dr. Taschereau for a husband, " she replied, "I cannot pity you, for ifanything could make your conduct more contemptible, it is the fact thatyou have just acknowledged, that you do not love the girl that you havemade your wife, though having seen the way in which you treat those youprofess to love it is no great loss, and your happiness must ever be amatter of indifference to me. "

"Oh cruel girl, I am not so heartless, what grieves me more than even myown misery is the thought of your suffering. "

"Then pray do not distress yourself on my account Dr. Taschereau, whatever I may have felt it is past, for when Isabel Leicester could nolonger esteem, she must cease to love. "

"I will not believe that you find it so easy to forget me, for that youdid love me you dare not deny, it was no passing fancy, you must feelmore than you are willing to own, " he said angrily. 

"I do not wish to deny it, " returned Isabel firmly, "but you out to haveknown me better than to think that I should continue to do so. After youwere married it became my duty to forget that I had ever loved you, andto banish every thought of you. You have made your choice and nowregrets are useless, even wrong, whatever she may be, she is your wife, and it is your duty and should be your pleasure to make her happy, andas you value happiness, never give her cause to doubt your love. "

"As you say, regrets are useless, but that thought only adds to mytorture, I can only compare my present wretchedness with the happy lotwhich might have been mine, but for my own folly, " he said sadly, "butyou must help me. "

"How can I help you, " exclaimed Isabel. 

"It is you alone who can, for you are the only person who ever had anyinfluence over me, you must help to keep me right. Will you not forgiveme Isabel, and let me be a friend--a brother. "

"Thank heaven I have no such brother, " exclaimed Isabel fervently, "forI should feel very much inclined to disown him if I had. Friends we cannever be Dr. Taschereau, as I told you before, whenever and wherever wemeet, it must be as strangers. "

"As you will, " he said bitterly, "but since you will not have me foryour friend, you shall have me for a foe. "

"Think not to intimidate me with idle threats, " she answered haughtily, "you have no power to harm me, and I feel assured that as your love isworthless, so in the end your hatred will prove harmless. "

"That is as it may be, but still I had much rather that we werefriends. "

"If an enemy, I defy you, my friend you can never be. "

"As you will, " he returned fiercely, "but remember if I go to the bad, with you will rest the blame, " and then he disappeared through the wood. 

"And what is his wife about during this conversation, writing to hercousin. Let us take a peep at the letter. 

 DEAREST MARIE. --I am happy--very happy, how could I be otherwise with my noble Louis, he is so kind, so thoughtful and considerate, he would not let me accompany him to-day, because I was so tired with the journey yesterday, so I take the opportunity thus afforded me to write to you. Oh Marie, how could you ever suppose that he married me for my money, how could you form so mean an opinion of my generous, noble, high minded Louis, you wrong him Marie, indeed you do. True, he is more reserved than is pleasant, but I presume that is because I am so childish as papa used to say. Would you believe I had a jealous fit about a packet that he received from a lady, which he refused to open when I asked him. Well he sat up very very late that night, and I took it into my stupid little head that his sitting up had something to do with the packet, and the thought so possessed me, that I got up and went softly into the library, and there he was in a brown study over some medical work. Oh Marie I felt so ashamed of my foolish fancies. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Upon the morning after their return to Elm Grove, Isabel requested a fewmoments conversation with Mrs. Arlington. Desiring Isabel to follow, Mrs. Arlington led the way into the morning-room, and after expressingher great satisfaction at the beneficial results of the sea air, shesaid "that she hoped Miss Leicester's health was sufficiently restoredto enable the children to resume their studies upon the followingMonday. " Isabel replied "that she was quite well, and was as anxious asMrs. Arlington could be, that they should lose no more time. " Indeed forsome weeks past she had been teaching during the morning, but it was notof them that I was about to speak, " she continued, "it was of myself, and I trust that you will not blame me for not doing so before I wentaway, as indeed it was impossible. Dr. Heathelfid was right in thinkingthat my illness was caused by mental suffering, it was indeed a severeshock, " she added, covering her face with her hands, for it was a trialto Isabel, and it cost her a great deal this self imposed task. 

"Defer this communication if it distresses you, " said Mrs. Arlingtonkindly. 

"Oh no, I would rather tell you, " but it was not without some difficultythat Isabel continued, "sometime before my father's death, I was though, unknown to him, engaged to a medical student, I always regrettedconcealing our engagement from him in the first instance. I knew it wasvery wrong, but Louis made me promise not to tell my father, or breathea word about our engagement to any living soul. I asked him why, but hewould give no reason except that he wished it. I promised, but had Iknown that it was for more than a short period, I think that I shouldnot have done so. About six months afterwards, when his uncle was aboutto send him to France to a relation who was a celebrated physician, hewanted me to be married privately, this I positively refused, I saidthat whilst my father lived I would never marry without his consent, and urged him to let me acquaint my father of our engagement. This herefused, I told him that I was sure my father would not object, but hewould not listen to me, it was absurd he said, to suppose that he wouldlet us marry if he knew of it, for he was entirely dependent upon hisuncle, and had positively nothing of his own as yet, but hoped soon torise in his profession; if we were once married he argued, my fatherwould storm a little at first, but would soon give in, and make somearrangement that would prevent his going away, in vain I entreated to beallowed to plead our cause with my father. Louis was inexorable uponthat point, he dare not he said, and used every argument to induce me toaccede to his wishes and agree to his propositions; but when I resistedall entreaties he was mortally offended, and got into a terriblepassion, it seems he never forgave me for thwarting him, but I was notaware of it, for after his anger had cooled down our parting was mostkind. During my father's illness, my secret became an intolerableburden, oh, how bitterly I suffered for deceiving so indulgent a parent, and yet my conscience would not allow me to break my promise. I wrote toLouis imploring him to give the desired permission, and received a verykind letter, assuring me that my altered circumstances would make nodifference to him, that in fact the only barrier between us was nowremoved, but the longed for permission was withheld, Louis did notnotice that part of my letter in anyway. Shortly after this, my poorfather died--died without ever having heard of our engagement, hisgreatest pain in parting from his darling child, being the grief he feltat leaving her so unprotected, Imagine if you can my grief and misery, "said Isabel shedding bitter tears of agony and remorse at theremembrance of that dreadful time, and what it must have been to witnesshis anguish, as over and over again he would say "oh my child, could Ibut have left you to the tender care of a beloved husband, or even couldI know that you were the promised wife of one who truly loved you, I could die in peace, even though he were not rich in this world'sgoods, but to leave you thus my darling child, to make your own way inthis wicked world is almost more than I can bear. " "What good" continuedIsabel "could I expect after such a return for all dear papa's fondindulgence and unvaried kindness. After my father's death, I received aletter from Louis full of love and sympathy, and approving of my plans, as it would be some time before he would be in a position to marry. Wecontinued to correspond until the night of the ball, at which Dr. AndMrs. Taschereau were among the guests, then I learned for the first timethat he was faithless and unworthy. You do not know what I suffered, norhis cruel triumph, or you would not wonder that it should end as it did. I have told you all this Mrs. Arlington because I thought it my duty, and also, that should Dr. Taschereau again be your guest, you mightkindly spare me the pain of meeting him. "

"Poor child you have suffered greatly, " said Mrs. Arlington kindly. Shehad listened very patiently and very attentively to all Isabel had tosay, but she had not said how that she already knew something of thisfrom her own delirious talk during her illness, but she thought that itwould make Isabel uncomfortable, therefore she remained silent upon thatpoint. "You may depend that I shall not abuse your confidence" shecontinued, "I do not promise secrecy, but you may trust to my discretionwithout fear. Whenever you need advice, do not scruple to come to me, asI shall always be glad to give it, " no doubt, but Isabel was the lastperson to ask advice, though she had the highest opinion of Mrs. Arlington. 

"I think you would do well Isabel, to re-consider the offer I made youto visit with my daughters. "

"You are very kind; but, indeed, I would rather not. "

"As you please, Miss Leicester; but I think you are wrong to refuse. Youmay be sure that the offer is disinterested on my part. " (Disinterestedit certainly was, as neither of the Arlington girls could comparefavorably with Isabel as to beauty or accomplishments. )

"I fully appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Arlington, but indeed it wouldbe extremely unpleasant to do so, " returned Isabel. 

"I cannot let this opportunity pass without expressing my gratitude foryour great kindness during my illness, for I can never, never repay you. But I will use my best endeavors to make your children all that you canwish. "

"And that will quite repay me, " replied Mrs. Arlington, kindly. 

CHAPTER XV. 

Upon a beautiful moonlight night, under the trees in the garden ofMadame Bourges' boarding-school, near Versailles, quite secure fromobservation stood Arthur Barrington and Louisa Aubray, engaged inearnest conversation. 

"Are you happy here, dearest Louisa?" he inquired, in accents of deepesttenderness. 

"Happy! Ah, no, Louisa is never happy, " she answered, "but lonely andunhappy--so unhappy and miserable!"

"But you are not lonely now that I am here, dear Louisa. "

"No; but, when you are gone, it is so dreary--oh, so dreary!"

"You used to think that you would be so happy at school. "

"Ah, yes! but I'm not. Madame is harsh, the teachers cruel, and thegirls so strange: they do not love me, " she cried, in a burst ofpassionate weeping; "nobody loves Louisa!"

"Oh, Louisa, dearest Louisa, do not say so!" he exclaimed passionately;"do not say that nobody loves you, when I have come so far expressly tosee if you are happy. I love you, Louisa, with all the warmth of myardent nature, with undying affection. I want you to be mine--MINE! thatI may guard you from every ill but such as I can share. "

"Oh! can you--will you--do this, Arthur? Will you, indeed, share all mytroubles and sorrows, nor deem them, when the first full joy of love ispast, unworthy of your attention--your cares, too great to admit of suchtrifles, claiming your consideration? If you will, and also let me shareall your joys and griefs in perfect sympathy and love, then--then mydream of happiness will be fulfilled; but if, in years to come, " shecontinued, with suppressed emotion, "you should change, and a harshnessor indifference take the place of sympathy and love, Oh I would wish todie before that day!"

"Dearest Louisa, can you doubt me?"

"I will trust you, Arthur, but I have seen that which makes me almostdoubt the existence of love and happiness. I can picture to myself thehome of love and peace that I would have. Is it an impossibility; is itbut an ideal dream?"

"May it be a blessed reality, my darling Louisa!" he exclaimed, withardor, as he clasped her passionately in his arms. She made noresistance, but, with her head resting upon his breast, she said, in atone of deep earnestness:

"If you loved me always, and were always kind, oh Arthur, I I could doanything--suffer anything--for your sake, and care for naught beyond ourhome. But, my nature is not one" she continued impetuously, "that can beslighted, crushed, and treated with unkindness or indifference, andendure it patiently. No!" she added, with suppressed passion, "a fierceflame of resentment, bitterness, perchance even hatred, would spring upand sweep all kindly feelings far away!"

"Oh, Louisa, Louisa!" interrupted Arthur in a tone of tenderremonstrance, "why do you speak in this dreadful manner--why do youdoubt my love and constancy?"

The impetuous mood was gone, and a trusting confidence succeeded it. She fixed her eyes upon his face with an expression of unutterabletenderness, as she answered, in a sweet, soft voice, "I love you, Arthur; I cannot doubt you; you are all the world to me. "

"Then you will leave here as soon as I can make arrangements for ourmarriage. "

"How gladly, how joyfully, I cannot tell!" she replied, smiling sweetlythrough her tears. "Tell me again that you love me; I do so want someone to love me! Is it true that you do, indeed, or is it only abeautiful dream? I have lived so desolate and alone that I can scarcelybelieve my happiness. "

"You may believe it, Louisa, it is no dream; my love for you is nopassing fancy--it is true and sincere, and will last till life shallend, " he said, kissing her tenderly. 

"Ha, ha!" laughed Lucy Mornington, as she came full upon the lovers, "Now I have found you out, Miss Aubray; I wondered what was up. Oh, if Madame could only see you, what a scene there would be!" she cried, dancing about and laughing immoderately. "

"How dare you come here?" exclaimed Louisa, her large eyes flashingangrily, while her whole frame trembled with passion. "How dare youfollow and watch me, how dare you?" she repeated. 

"Hush, Louisa!" said Arthur, soothingly, "Lucy is never ill-natured. Youhave nothing to fear, for I am sure she would not be unkind; and we mustnot mind her laughing, as I'm afraid that either of us would have donethe same if placed in the same unexpected position. "

Louisa now clung to Lucy, weeping violently, and imploring her in themost winning manner not to betray them to Madame. 

"Don't be afraid, Louisa; Lucy and I were always good friends, and, nowI come to think of it, she will be a most valuable assistant. I am surewe may trust her, " and he looked inquiringly at Lucy. 

"That, you may, " answered Lucy; "but there is no earthly use in tryingto keep a secret from me, as that is utterly impossible; but whateveryou may have to say, you must defer to a more auspicious moment, forMademoiselle Mondelet has missed Louisa, and she is hunting everywherefor her. So make yourself scarce, Mr. Arthur; we will enter the chapelby a secret door that I discovered in some of my marauding expeditions, and they will never imagine that we came from the garden. Come along, Louisa. "

"Adieu! Lucy, and many thanks for your warning, for I certainly don'twant Mademoiselle to find me here. Farewell, dearest Louisa; I will behere at this time to-morrow evening, " said Arthur, and then he quicklydisappeared. 

Lucy and Louisa went into the chapel, and the former commenced playingthe organ, which she often did. So that when Mademoiselle came into thechapel, by-and-bye, fuming about Louisa, Lucy replied, with the greatestcoolness, "Oh, we have been here ever so long. "

Shortly after this, Isabel received the following epistle from Lucy:

 DEAREST ISABEL, --I am at school again, instead of being in London enjoying myself as I expected. I am cooped up in this abominable place. I suppose Mamma thinks me too wild. Heigho! But, never mind; Ada and Charles are going to remain three years in London, so you see I still have a chance. Ah, me! I think I should die of _ennui_ in this dismal place (which was once an abbey, or a convent, or something of the sort, I believe, ) but, fortunately for me, an event has occurred which has just put new life in my drooping spirits. We have // who in the name of wonder do you think the parties were? Arthur Barrington and Louisa Aubray. Oh, what a rage Lady Ashton will be in! Don't be shocked, my pet, when I tell you that I went into the affair with all my heart and soul, and was bridesmaid at the interesting ceremony. Oh, Isabel, Arthur is so thoroughly nice that I almost envied Louisa her husband. We managed everything so beautifully that they were married and off upon their travels before Madame found out that there was anything in the wind. And the best of the fun was that Arthur brought a clergyman friend with him, and they were married in the school chapel at four o'clock in the morning. Of course this sweet little piece of fun is not known, and is never likely to be. I enjoyed the whole thing immensely. Of course they don't know that I had anything to do with the affair. Woe betide me if they did! If Louisa had had a father and mother, I would not have had anything to do with it; but, under present circumstances, I thought it was the best thing she could do. So I helped them all I could--in fact I contrived it all for them--when I once found out what they were up to. 

 Yours, at present, in the most exuberant spirits, LUCY MORNINGTON. 

 P. S. --The happy pair have gone to Switzerland or Italy. 

"Here, Emily, " said Isabel, when Emily came in, "I think this will amuseyou. "

"I think Arthur and Louisa did very wrong, " she resumed, when Emily hadfinished reading. 

"Ah, well, I have not much fancy for secret marriages, but in this caseit was unavoidable, if they were to marry at all, " said Emily, laughing. 

"But I thought that second cousins couldn't marry. "

"They can't, I believe; but then Arthur and Louisa are no relation--forthough he always calls Lady Ashton 'Aunt, ' she is not his aunt inreality. Don't you know Lord Barrington's first wife was Lady Ashton'ssister, and Arthur's mother was the second wife; so you see they are norelations, " replied Emily. "Oh, what a rage Lady Ashton will be in!" sheresumed. Don't you know that Louisa's father was Arthur's tutor. Therewas a dreadful quarrel between the two families about that marriage;they wouldn't speak for years, and the old folks are barely civil toeach other when they meet even now. But she likes Arthur. What a goodthing it is that she is going to stay away so long. But I'm sorry aboutLucy; we shall miss her at Christmas. "

"So we shall, but May and Peter will be here, and they are a host inthemselves. "

"But May can't be compared to Lucy; I will have her come; I will tellHarry so. She can come out with her papa and mamma, and go back in thespring. And now, my dear, guess what I came to tell you. "

"Rose told me your brother was to come to-day. "

"What a sieve Rose is, " exclaimed Emily. "But I have more than that totell. I have a letter from Harry; he is coming soon, and has passed hisexamination already. What do you think of that?" and she looked sotriumphant and delighted. 

"Why, Emily, how ever could you read my letter, and discuss the news itcontained, when you came on purpose to tell me? I declare, wonders neverwill cease. "

"The fact is that I was so astonished to hear about the elopement, thatI almost forgot about my own letter for the time. "

"I suppose Harry will make a long stay now? that will be very nice. "

"No, he says he can only stay a week, or perhaps a fortnight. He haspromised a friend to go to the Blue Mountains, " pouted Emily; "I wishhis friend was at Jericho. "

Isabel laughed. "Suppose in that case Harry had gone with him. "

"Don't be provoking, Isabel. But, to turn the table, how is it you neverget any of those 'nice letters' now-a-days. "

"Don't be provoking, Emily!" said Isabel, growing very hot. 

"Ah, you see I always get the best of it, " returned Emily, laughing. "I must go and dress, for I have to make some calls with Mamma andGrace. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

"I do not know what on earth they will do, " cried Emily, tossing her hatand gloves on the sofa. "Everard is in a terrible stew about the anthem;Mary Cleaver is laid up with a bad cold and sore throat, so that thereis no chance of her being able to sing to-morrow, and there is notanother in the choir that could make anything of the solo--at least notanything worth listening to. Is it not provoking?--just at the lastminute. Grace, now won't you take Miss Cleaver's place just for once?Do, please. "

"Thanks! But the idea is too absurd. Fancy my singing at a 'missionarymeeting. '"

"Perhaps Isabel would, " interposed Rose. 

"The idea is too absurd, " returned Emily, affectedly. 

"Don't be impertinent, Emily, " said Grace, haughtily. "It is useless totalk of Isabel, she added, addressing Rose, "she refused before, andEverard would not be so absurd as to ask her again; he was quitepressing enough--far too much so for my taste. "

"I'm not so sure he won't; he will not easily give up his 'pet anthem, '"replied Emily. 

"Well, Isabel will not do it, you will see, " answered Grace. 

"I'm not so sure of that, either; he usually gets his own way somehow orother. "

"Then how was it he did not succeed at first?" said Grace, tartly. 

"Oh, because Isabel made him believe that it would not be fair to MissCleaver. "

"Oh, Emily, that was not why Isabel would not, and she never said itwas, " exclaimed Alice; "she told Everard she had several reasons for notsinging, and, she added, it would not be fair to Miss Cleaver afterbeing in the choir so long. "

"And pray what might these weighty reasons be?" asked Grace. 

"I don't know, " returned Alice. 

"Nor Isabel, either, I imagine, " Grace answered. 

"What are you so perturbed about, Emily?" asked Isabel, who now joinedthem. "

"The choir are in trouble about the anthem. "

"How is that?" inquired Isabel. 

"Mary Cleaver is sick, " returned Emily, "and Everard is awfully put outabout it. "

Everard entered with a roll of music in his hand. 

"Where is Miss Leicester?" he asked. 

"She is here, " Grace answered, languidly. 

"You will not now refuse to take the soprano in the anthem to-morrow, hesaid, when I tell you that it is utterly impossible for Miss Cleaver todo so, and that the anthem must be omitted unless you will sing. "

"I am sorry that the anthem should be a failure, but I really cannot, "replied Isabel, evidently annoyed. 

"Oh, yes you can--just this once, " he pleaded. 

But Isabel only shook her head. 

"Do you mean, Miss Leicester, that you positively will not?" he asked. 

"Seriously, Mr. Arlington, I do not intend to sing in the choirto-morrow. "

"That is your final decision?"

"Yes. "

He sat beating his foot impatiently on the ground. 

"Is there no one else? Everard" asked Rose. 

"No one!" he answered, in a very decided tone. 

He tossed the music idly in his hand, though his brow contracted, andthe veins in his forehead swelled like cords. They were very quiet;no one spoke. Emily enjoyed this little scene immensely, but Grace washighly disgusted that her brother should deign to urge a request whichhad already been denied, and that, too, by the governess; while Isabelsat, thinking how very kind Everard had always been, and how ill-naturedit seemed to refuse--how much she wished to oblige--but the thing was sodistasteful that she felt very averse to comply. She remembered, too, the beautiful flowers with which Alice had kept her vases constantlysupplied when she was recovering from her illness; she knew full well towhom she was indebted for them, as but one person in the house dare cullthe choicest flowers with such a lavish hand, "What are you waiting for, Everard?" Emily inquired, at length. 

"For Isabel to relent, " said Grace, contemptuously. 

Everard rose, and stood for a moment irresolute; then, going to thepiano, set up the music, and, turning to Isabel, said in a tone of deepearnestness: "Will you oblige me by just trying this, Miss Leicester?"

Grace's lip curled scornfully, and Isabel reluctantly seated herself atthe piano. Having once commenced, she thought of nothing but the beautyof the anthem, and sung with her whole soul--her full, rich voicefilling the room with melody. Never had Isabel sung like this since shehad left her happy home. When she ceased they all crowded round her, entreating her to take Miss Cleaver's place just this once. 

"She will--she must!" exclaimed Everard, eagerly. "You will--will younot, Isa-- Miss Leicester?" he asked persuasively. 

Isabel was silent. 

"A nice example of obliging manners you are setting your pupils, " saidEmily, mischievously, at the same time hugging her affectionately. "Whatmakes my pet so naughty to-day?"

"I suppose I must, " said Isabel, in a tone of annoyance; "I see that Ishall have no peace if I don't. "

"Thanks, Miss Leicester, " said Everard, warmly; "I can't tell you howmuch--how very much--obliged I am. "

"I should not imagine that such a very ungracious compliance called forsuch excessive thanks, " said Grace, sarcastically. 

"Don't be ill-natured, Gracie, " returned her brother, laughing; "youdon't know how glad I am. "

"But it is so very absurd, Everard, the way you rave about Isabel'ssinging, any one would suppose that you had never heard good singing. "

"Nor have I, before, ever heard such singing as Miss Leicester's, " hereturned. 

"Oh, indeed, how very complimentary we are to-day!" retorted Grace. 

"Such singing as Miss Leicester's!" echoed Isabel, with a gesture ofcontempt which set Emily laughing excessively, while Everard beat ahasty retreat. 

In the evening Emily and Isabel had their things on, and were chattingand laughing with the children in the school-room, before going down tothe church for the practising, when Mrs. Arlington came in, saying, "I am afraid that you will all be disappointed, but Dr. Heathfieldstrictly prohibits Miss Leicester taking any part in the singingto-morrow. "

"Oh, Mamma!" exclaimed Emily. 

"He says that it would be highly dangerous, and that she must notattempt it. "

"But, Mamma, we cannot have the anthem without her. "

"I am very sorry, my dear, but it cannot be helped, " replied her mother, and having given them the unpleasant tidings to digest as best theymight, Mrs. Arlington returned to the drawing-room. 

"Now is not that too bad? Who in the world told Dr. Heathfield anythingabout it, I should like to know?" cried Emily, indignantly. "Whatpossessed him to come here to-night, I wonder--tiresome old fellow?"

"But if it would really do Isabel harm, I think it was very fortunate hecame, " said Alice, gravely. 

"Oh be quiet, Alice! you only provoke me, " returned Emily. 

"Are you young ladies ready?" asked Everard. 

"Oh, Miss Leicester is not going to sing, " cried Rose, saucily. "Whatwill you do now?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking inquiringly from one to another. 

"Why, " said Emily, "Dr. Heathfield has forbidden anything of the kind, and was quite peppery about it. "

"Confound Dr. Heathfield!" he exclaimed angrily. "Is this true?" heasked, turning to Isabel. 

"Yes. "

"It is all nonsense! I shall speak to Heathfield about it. "

"That will do no good, Everard, " interposed Emily; "He told mamma thatIsabel ought not to think of doing so at present. "

"You did not think it would hurt you Miss Leicester, " he asked. 

"Never for a moment. "

"I dare say he thinks you are going to join the choir altogether, I shall tell him that it is only the anthem to-morrow, that you intendtaking part in, surely he cannot object to that. " What passed betweenthem did not transpire, but when Everard returned he said to Isabel in atone of deep earnestness, "I should not have asked you to sing, had Iknown the harm it might possibly do you, indeed I would not, and thoughannoyed beyond measure at having to give up the anthem, I am very gladthat Dr. Heathfield's opportune visit prevented you running such a risk, for had any serious consequences ensued, I alone should have been toblame. "

"No one would have been to blame, all being unaware of any danger, "returned Isabel warmly, "but I am convinced that Dr. Heathfield isconsidering possibilities, though not probabilities" she added coloring, not well satisfied to be thought so badly of. "

"Tell us what he said, Everard, " petitioned Emily. 

"He spoke very strongly and warned me not to urge her, " Everard repliedevidently unwilling to say more. 

"I don't believe that it could harm me, " said Isabel thoughtfully, "butof course--. "

"You are jolly glad to get off, " chimed in Rose saucily, and received areproof from Everard. 

"We cannot disregard what he says, " continued Isabel finishing thesentence. 

"Certainly not, " returned Everard, and so the anthem was omitted. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Alone in tears sits Natalie, alas she has awakened from her dream ofbliss, to the sad reality that she is an unloved neglected wife, andbitter very bitter is this dreadful truth to the poor little bird farfar from all who love her, for the wide ocean rolls between them, poorlittle humming bird formed for sunshine and happiness, how cans't thoubear this sad awakening. Ah cherished little one, with what bright hopesof love and happiness dids't thou leave a sunny home, and are they gonefor ever, oh what depth of love in thy crushed and bleeding heart, striving ever to hide beneath a sunny face thy aching heart, lest itshould grieve or vex the husband thou lovest so fondly, while heheedlessly repelling the loving one whose happiness depends upon hiskindness, or impatiently receiving the fond caress, discerns not thebreaking heart nor the secret anguish this same indifference causes;Ah Louis, Louis, should not one so bright and gentle, receive somethingbetter than impatient gestures and harsh words, which send the stream oflove back with a thrilling pain to the heart, to consume it with silentagony, and her hope has proved vain, her babe, her darling babe has notaccomplished what she fondly imagined, brought back her Louis's love, if indeed she ever possessed it, and it is this thought which wrings hergentle heart and causes those sobs of anguish, that make her fragileform to quiver like an aspen, as the storm of grief will have itscourse. If indeed he ever loved her, that he does not now is clearenough; but did he ever, why should she doubt it, she has accidentallyheard the following remarks, and seen Louis pointed out as the object ofthem:

He was engaged to a beautiful girl, but she was poor, so meeting with anheiress, he was dazzled by the prospect of wealth and married her; butthe marriage had proved an unhappy one, that Mr. T---- had soon tired ofhis gay little wife, and now treated her with the greatest indifferenceand neglect, and that having married her solely for her money, he was asmuch as ever attached to Miss ---- and bitterly repented his folly. It may be true she sighed, for she knew in her heart that the partregarding his treatment of herself was but alas too true; but could heindeed love another, no, she would not believe it, she would dismiss thethought, but still the words rung in her ears, having married her solelyfor her money. Could Marie be right, but no, no, she would not, couldnot believe it, O Louis, Louis, how have I loved you, how I love youstill, and is my love entirely unrequited? And now a new feeling springsup in her heart, bitter hatred towards her unknown rival, with beatingheart and trembling lips she calls to mind the packet and Louis'sembarrassment, the beautiful miniature she had seen by accident, and hisevasive answers when questioned about the original, could she be theIsabel he had named her darling after, in spite of all she could urge asto her great dislike of the name. Oh that she could confide all hertroubles to him and tell him all her fears, and if possible have hermind set at rest, but she dare not, for though she loved him sodevotedly, she feared him too, his fierce bursts of passion frightenedher. Oh I will win his love in spite of this hateful girl, I will be sogentle, so careful to please him, so mindful of his comfort (as if poorthing she had not always been so) that he shall forget her, and love hisown little wife, and wearied with conflicting emotions, she laid herhead upon the table and sobbed herself to sleep, and thus Louis foundher at two o'clock in the morning, when he returned from attending apatient. "Good gracious! Natalie, what are you doing here, " said heraising her from her uncomfortable position, "why you are quitechilled, " he continued as a convulsive shudder shook her whole frame, "what ever possessed you to sit up, and the fire out, how could you beso foolish. " She raised her large dark eyes to his with an expressionintensely sad and entreating, and whispered "O Louis, tell me do youlove me!" he could not bear the searching eagerness of that wistfulgaze, and turning from her answered "can you doubt it you silly littlething, come, take the lamp and go to bed, while I get you something tostop this shivering--he turned to go. 

"Do not leave me, oh Louis, stay, " she cried, and fell senseless on thefloor. 

Through that night and for many long days and nights, Natalie lay in aburning fever, and in the delirium caused by it she would beseech him tolove her, and again and again in the most pathetic manner entreat himnot to leave her, and say, it was very wicked of him not to love her, why was it, what had she done to displease him, then murmur incoherentwords about a hateful girl, beautiful but poor that he loved, but nothis poor little Natalie, and then starting up with outstretched arms shewould implore him to be kind to her and love her. 

Whether Louis felt any remorse at dooming a being so bright and fair tosuch a miserable existence, or whether there was not more anger thansorrow in that impenetrable calm none could tell; he was very attentive, and tried to sooth with gentle words, but woe to any of the attendantswho dared to make any remark upon her in his hearing; all she said wastreated indifferently as the natural result of the disease, and thenurse was commanded to be silent, when she presumed to say poor dear;whatever passed amongst themselves, in his presence they maintained adiscreet silence. When Natalie recovered she was sweet and gentle asever, but a passive lasting melancholy took the place of her formercharming vivacity, henceforth life had lost its charm; with patient loveshe bore with Louis's variable temper, and was never known to speak aharsh word to little Isabel. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Swiftly passed the happy days in the beautiful villa home to whichArthur Barrington had taken his bride. But at length remorseful thoughtsof his father's loneliness would intrude themselves upon Arthur'shappiest hours, until he could bear it no longer; so he told Louisa theunkind way in which he had left his father, and how unhappy he was onthat account, proposing that they should proceed to Barrington Parkwithout delay. To this she readily agreed, but unfortunately their routelay through a district where a malignant fever was very prevalent, andwhile traversing a lone and dreary portion of this district, Arthur wasattacked with this terrible disease. He strove bravely against it, andendeavored to push on to the nearest town, but that was yet forty milesdistant, when Arthur became so alarmingly ill that they were forced tostop at a little hamlet and put up with the best accommodation itsmiserable inn afforded, which was poor indeed. There was no doctor to behad nearer than Z----, but the driver promised to procure one from thereif possible. With this they were obliged to be content; but day afterday passed and none came, while Arthur hourly became worse, and Louisagrew half wild with grief and fear. 

"If we could only get a doctor, I believe he would soon be well; but, ah! it is so dreadful to see him die for want of proper advice, "murmured Louisa, glancing toward the bed where Arthur lay tossing in theterrible malaria fever, so fatal to temperaments such as his; "but hewill not die, O no I cannot believe that my happiness will be of suchshort duration that I shall again be left in such icy desolation. Oh!Arthur, Arthur, do not leave me she sobbed, covering her face with herhands, but Arthur does not heed her, racked with burning fever he cannoteven recognize her, as with patient gentleness she endeavors toalleviate his sufferings with cooling drinks, or bathes his burningbrow. In vain were all the remedies that the simple people of the inncould suggest, or that Louisa's love could devise. Day by day his lifeebbed away consumed by the disease, the prostration and langourfollowing the fever being too much for his strength, thus Louisa sawthat he who alone in the wide world loved or cared for her, was fastpassing away; still though she could not but see it was so, she wouldnot believe the terrible truth, but clung to the hope that a doctormight yet arrive before it was too late, and so her great bereavementcame upon her with overwhelming force, when after a day of more thanusual langour, during her midnight vigil, he ceased to breathe. Louisahad not known why he had clasped her hand so tightly all that night asshe sat beside his couch, he was dead, and with a cry of anguish Louisafell insensible beside the lifeless body of her husband. 

The moonbeams fell alike upon the inanimate forms of the living and thedead, and the morning sun rose brightly and she still lay there, noneheard the midnight cry of anguish, or if heard it was unheeded, and thenoisy lamentations of the girl who brought in the morning meal, greetedher as consciousness returned. The master of the inn said the funeralmust take place at sunset, and Louisa shed bitter tears in the littleroom which was given her, while the corpse was being prepared forinterment, for these precipitate funeral arrangements added greatly toLouisa's grief. Composed but deadly pale she followed Arthur's remainsto the grave--his only mourner; there was no minister to be had, butLouisa could not see him buried thus, so read herself a portion of thebeautiful burial service of the Episcopal Church, then amid tears andsobs she watched them pile and smooth the earth above him, and when theyhad finished, with a wail of agony she threw herself in a burst ofpassionate grief upon the damp earth, and there she lay until darknessenveloped all around, heedless of danger, of time, of everything but herdeep deep grief, her misery, and her irreparable loss. And there shewould have remained but for Francesca, the girl who had waited on them;Francesca had some pity for the poor lady, and with a great effortstifled her superstitious fears, and went down to the grave and led heraway, whispering you will get the fever here. So Louisa returneddesolate indeed to the miserable inn, not for a moment because of thefear of fever, only dreamily, scarcely knowing where she was going. 

Those long hours with the dead had but too surely done their work, Louisa was attacked with the same fever of which her husband died, butcarelessly tended and neglected as she was, she did not die. 

When she was able to go out again, she would sit pensively for hours byArthur's grave, or in passionate grief throw herself upon it and wishthat she too might die. It was after one of these paroxysms of despairthat Louisa remembered her promise to Arthur, that she would take hisletter to his father at Barrington Park. Faithful to her word shereluctantly prepared to depart, when to her dismay she found that acheque for a large amount had been abstracted from Arthur's desk, andfurther search discovered that nearly every article of value had beenperloined during her illness. Their charges were so exorbitant, that ittook nearly all the money she had to satisfy their demands, and when shementioned the cheque, &c. , they held up their hands in horror at theidea, that after all their kindness she should suspect them of suchvilliany. 

Weary and broken-hearted, Louisa set out on her lonely journey, and atlength arrived sad and dejected at Barrington Park, having had to partwith nearly all she possessed in order to prosecute her journey. Aftersome difficulty she succeeded in gaining Lord Barrington's presence. 

"Well, what is it you want?" asked his lordship impatiently, but Louisacould not speak, she could only hold out Arthur's letter with a mutegesture of entreaty. 

"I don't want to read any of that nonsense; just tell me what you want, and be quick, as I am busy. "

Tell him what she wanted!--tell him that she wanted him to love andreceive her as a daughter--tell him that the love he bore his son washenceforth to be transferred to the unhappy being before him--how couldshe tell him this? how could she tell him what she wanted?

"Speak, girl, I say!" he cried, angrily. 

"Read this, " she faltered, "it will tell you all. "

"I will not, " he answered; "tell me, or begone!"

Falling on her knees before him, she held out the letter, crying: "I amArthur's wife. He is dead, and this is his letter, and I am hereaccording to his wish--to his dying injuction. Take it--read it--it willtell you all. "

"Good gracious, the girl is mad!" he exclaimed, "mad as a March hare. Come, come! get up and go about your business, or I shall have you putin the asylum. "

Louisa felt choking, she could not speak; she could only stretch out herarms imploringly, still holding the letter. 

"There is some great mistake; my son is not dead, nor is he married, sodo not think to impose upon me. "

"There is no mistake; Arthur is dead, and you see his widow before you, "she managed to articulate. 

"No, no, Arthur is not dead, poor crazy girl; get up and go away, " andhe threw her half a sovereign, saying, as he did so, "now go awayquickly, or I shall have you turned out; and mind, don't go about withyour tale about being my son's wife, or I shall send the police afteryou. Now go. "

Crushed and humbled as she was by sorrow and suffering, this was morethan Louisa's fiery nature could endure passively. Springing to herfeet, her lips quivering with anger, while her large eyes flashed withpassion, she cried, as she threw the proffered alms upon the table, inproud defiance, "Keep your alms for the first beggar you see, but do notinsult me. I ask but what is right--that, as your son's wife, I shouldreceive a home and the necessaries of life from you, his father, as hepromised me. This you refuse me; but, were I to starve, I would not takeyour alms, thrown to me as a crazy beggar--never, never!"

"Go, go!" he cried, she by her burst of passionate indignation stillmore confirming the idea that she was mad. 

"I will go, " she answered, "and will never again trouble you; but knowthat I am no impostor--no insane person. "

John, who answered his master's summons, stood wonderingly at the door, and, as Louisa passed out, he opened the hall door, looking terriblymystified. "Take this, " she said to him, "and if you loved your youngmaster, give this to his father when he will receive it. " Then with afull heart Louisa hastened from the park. 

A short distance from the gate was a small copse wood, which Louisaentered, and, throwing herself down on the grassy bank beside a stream, gave way to a storm of passionate grief. "Oh, Arthur, Arthur!" shesobbed, "how desolate is Louisa in this cold, cruel world. " The storm ofgrief would have its way, nor did she strive to check it, but continuedsobbing convulsively, and shivered with cold, though it was a balmyautumn day; the icy chill at her heart seemed to affect her body also. When at length she became more calm, she began to consider what courseshe should next pursue. She turned out her scanty store ofmoney--fifteen and sixpence was the whole amount. She determined toreturn to the inn, where she had left the small bag (the sole remnant ofthe numerous trunks, etc. , with which they had left ----), and remainthere that night, and start next day for Brierley, the present abode ofher grandfather, and try her luck in that quarter, but with small hopeof success. Not for herself would she have done this, for she trembledat the thought of meeting him, but circumstances made it imperative. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

"Please maam, is baby to go for her walk this morning, " asked the nurseas Louis and Natalie sat at breakfast, "Oh no Sarah, " returned Natalie. 

"Why not, I should like to know, " interposed Louis, "it is a beautifulday and will do her good, I can't see how it is that you always set yourface against her going out. "

"Oh but Louis, you know she has a bad cold. "

"Well it will do her cold good, I can't think where you got the idea, that going out is bad for a cold. Take her out Sarah. "

"But Louis I'm afraid it will rain. "

"Rain, nonsense, what are you dreaming of this bright morning, take herout by all means Sarah, it will do her good. "

Natalie gazed uneasily at the dark storm cloud in the horizon and wasanything but satisfied. 

"Why Natie you look as sober as a judge" said Louis as he rose to go onhis morning calls, "looking out for rain eh, don't be alarmed baby isnot sugar nor salt. "

The careless gaiety of his tone jarred unpleasantly with her anxiousfears for her darling, and she sighed as she looked pensively out uponthe bright landscape, with another sigh she left the window and wentabout her various duties, about an hour after this, Natalie was startledby a vivid flash of lightning, and deafening peal of thunder; down camethe rain in torrents, oh where is baby? how anxiously she watched, peering down the street from the front door, but no sign of Izzie, andhow cold the air has turned. She orders a fire to be made in thenursery, and waits impatiently for baby's return. She comes at last, "ohmy baby!" Natalie exclaims as she takes in her arms the dripping child, wet to the skin, and white as a sheet, every bit of clothing soaked, saturated. Natalie can not restrain her tears as she removes them, andwarms the child before the bright fire, "oh my baby, my baby, my poorlittle Izzie, " she murmured passionately, as she soothed and caressedher pet. Baby was happy now in her fresh clothes, and nestled cosily toher mother. After the thunder shower the weather cleared and all seemedbright and joyous without, but Natalie's heart was heavy, she was stillvery uneasy about the child, Louis was detained from home the entireday. At night baby became so oppressed in her breathing that Natalie wasquite alarmed, oh how anxiously did she listen for Louis return, as sheknelt by the child's cot in agony watching her intently. 

"Oh if he would but come, why, why, did he send her out. Oh the agony, waiting, watching, yes that is his step at last, she sends message aftermessage, but he comes not, he will come when he has had his dinner sheis told. It wrings her heart to leave her darling, even for a moment, but it must be done. Softly she glides to where he sits, and laying hertrembling hand upon his arm, says in a husky voice "Louis come now, donot wait a moment longer--baby has the croup" in an instant he was atbaby's side. 

Natalie's ashy face and the word croup, acted like a talisman. 

It was croup, and a very bad attack too, he speedily did what wasneedful, but not without almost breaking his poor little wife's heart, by his cruel remarks, "you should be more careful of her, " he saidangrily "ten minutes more, and I could have done nothing for her. "

"Oh Louis, " (he had been home now nearly a quarter of an hour. )

"There must have been some gross mismanagement and fearful neglect, tobring on such an attack as this, to a child that has never been subjectto croup, how she ever got into this state passes my understanding, youhave been trying some of you foolish schemes I suppose. "

"Oh Louis, you know she was out in all that rain to-day" interposedNatalie meekly. 

"What was that for, I should like to know, " he asked indignantly "areyou tired of her already that you don't take better care of her thanthat?--Oh Natalie!" Natalie's pale cheek flushed at his injustice, butshe made no answer, she only watched little Izzie in fear and trembling, and oh how glad and thankful she was when baby presently was sleepingquietly. But how often afterwards did she dwell upon these cruel words, and shed many bitter tears beside her sleeping darling's cot, oh baby, she would murmur, what more care could I take of you than I always do. 

CHAPTER XX. 

In his superbly furnished library sat Lord Barrington. He had justfinished reading a letter that he had taken from his desk. "Strange, " hemurmured, "very strange, that Arthur has not come yet, nor any letterfrom him; I can't understand it, " and he replaced the letter with aheavy sigh. He then turned to the letters on the table, which he hadbefore cast aside, finding the wished-for one was not among them. "Ha, one from George; perhaps he may have seen him. " He reads for a while, then starting from his seat exclaimed "Good Heavens! what is this?" Thenreads again:

 Judge my amazement when I came across a rude apology for a tombstone, in a little out-of-the-way grave yard: "To the memory of Arthur, only son of Lord Barrington of Barrington, who died August 8th, 1864. " As I had not the remotest idea that he was dead, but was almost daily expecting to find him. I most heartily sympathize with you----

"What can he mean?" he said, putting down the letter. "But what isthis?" he cried, as his eye caught one he had overlooked before. 'TisArthur's hand!" With trembling hands he broke the seal (taking no note, in his agitation, of the fact that it had not been through the post), and read the almost unintelligible scrawl:

 DEAR FATHER:--I have charged Louisa to bring this and give it into your own hand. She will not believe that I am dying, and still clings to the hope that I will recover. But it can not be; I feel--I know--that I shall die. Oh, how I wish that I could see you again once more and ask your forgiveness, but it may not be! With my dying breath I beseech you to forgive your erring boy; it was the first, it is the last deception I ever practiced toward you. To you I ever confided my hopes and plans, and you always strove to gratify every wish. I feel now how much I wronged your generous nature, when I feared to tell you of my intended marriage. The tune seems ever before me when you asked me, even with tears, why I wished to leave you again, after I returned from America, and I answered, evasively, that I wanted to see the world. And when, in the fullness of your love, you replied "Then I will go with you, " I answered angrily, "In that case I do not care to go, " and pleaded for just one year. And you granted my request, and sent me forth with blessings. Oh, why did I not tell you all? I feel sure that you would have replied, "Bring your wife home, Arthur, and I will love her as a daughter, only do not leave me. " Oh, father, forgive your boy! Thoughts of your loneliness would intrude at all times and mar my happiness, until I determined to return and bring my wife, trusting to your love, and was on my way home when I was attacked with this dreadful fever. Oh, how I repent that I did not mention my wife in my last letter to you! It is but a few short months since I left you, but O how long those lonely months must have been to you! Then let your sad hours be cheered by Louisa, since the sight of your boy may never gladden your heart in this world. Bestow upon her the same love and kindness you have ever shown to me. Nothing can alleviate my pain in leaving her, but the certainty I feel that you will love and cherish her for my sake. Oh make not her coming alone harder by one word or action. But as you love me, so deal with my wife. Farewell, dear father!--a last farewell! Before you receive this, I shall be sleeping in my distant grave. And oh when my poor Louisa presents it, treat her not harshly, as you hope that we shall meet again. 

 Your affectionate and repentant son, ARTHUR. 

As the old man ceased reading, his head fell upon the table, and bittertears coursed down his cheeks. "Oh, Arthur! Arthur! my boy! my onlychild! why, why did you leave me? How gladly would I have received yourwife! But now how harshly have I treated her--how cruelly sent her forthinto this heartless world, friendless and alone! But I will find her andbring her home--yes, yes, I will love her for his sake. Oh if I had onlytaken this when she brought it! But I will lose no time now. Oh, Arthur!Arthur!" he murmured, and he rang the bell violently. "John! John!" hesaid to the faithful old man who answered his summons, "stay, John, tillI can speak, " he cried, gasping for breath and trembling from head tofoot. "My boy, my Arthur is dead!" he wailed, at length, and thatperson--that lady--was his widow, John. It was all true that she said, and I treated her so badly, too. "

"Yes, " old John replied, meekly, "I thought it wor true; she didn't looklike an himpostor, she didn't, " and he shook his head gravely. 

"You must find her, John, and bring her back. Go, you have your orders;you must find her. Arthur is dead, and he has sent his wife to me, and Imust take care of her--that is all I can do for him now. "

"Ah, that's the way with them secret marriages, " soliloquized old John. "What in the world made Mr. Arthur act so, I wonder, and his governor soindulgent?"

"Yes we will find her, and she shall have the green room, notArthur's--no, not Arthur's. Love her for his sake, he says; aye that Iwill, " murmured his lordship, as he paced the room. "Too late, old man, too late, too late. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

"I declare it's a shame, " cried Emily throwing a letter on the table. "I can't think what Everard means, it's positively unkind, I shall writeand tell him so, " she continued endeavoring in vain to repress the tearsof vexation that would not be restrained. "I would not have believed itof him, indeed I would not--what will Harry think, I should like toknow. "

"What is the matter, " asked Grace and Isabel at the same time. 

"Read this and you will see, " she replied--Grace read--

 DEAR EMILY, --You will, I know, be sorry to hear that I cannot be home for the Xmas. Festivities, nor for the wedding; I am as sorry as you can possibly be, dear Emmy, but circumstances, over which I have no control, make it imperitive that I should remain away, therefore, pray forgive my absence, nor think it unkind. 

"It is outrageous" said Grace folding the letter carefully. "Mamma willnot allow it I am certain, and I cannot imagine any reason that couldprevent him coming if he chose. You had better get mamma or papa towrite, people will think it so strange. "

"I don't care what people think, it's Harry and ourselves" replied Emilyhotly, "I will write and tell him that I won't be married this Xmas. Ifhe don't come--'there. '

"How absurd" returned Grace contemptuously. 

"Do you mean it" inquired Isabel gravely. 

"Oh that is another thing" replied Emily coloring, but I shall say so, and try the effect. "

"It cannot be his wish to stay away" said Isabel thoughtfully. 

"It is the strangest thing I ever knew, " replied Grace. 

"Isabel felt very uncomfortable, for somehow she could not help thinkingthat she might be the cause, (as, once, Everard had been very near theforbidden subject, saying that it was quite a punishment to be under thesame roof, unless there was some change in their position, toward eachother. 

"She was sorry that he had not said so before Isabel had replied, andthat very day, told Mrs. Arlington that she wished to leave, as soon asshe could meet with another governess. Mrs. Arlington asked her reasons. But Miss Leicester would give none. Then Mrs. Arlington requested thatMiss Leicester would reconsider the matter, but Miss Leicester refusedto do so. Then Mrs. Arlington insisted, saying that she would except herresignation, if at the end of the week she still wished it, though theywould all be sorry to part with her. 

Everard of course heard what had taken place, and immediately made ithis business to alter that young lady's determination, protesting thathe had said nothing to make her pursue such a course. He forced her toadmit that it was solely on his account that she was leaving, and thentalked her into consenting to withdraw her resignation at the end of theweek, promising to be more careful not to offend in future. ) She wishedvery much that she could spend this Xmas. With Mrs. Arnold, but this wasimpossible, as she had promised Emily to be bridesmaid. 

"Then you don't think it would do to say that, " Emily said inquiringly. 

"It would seem childish" returned Isabel. 

"And have no effect, " added Grace. 

"Coaxing would be better you think. "

"Decidedly, " said Isabel laughing. 

"The begging and praying style, might answer" returned Grace scornfully, "he always likes to be made a fuss with, and all that nonsense, if thechildren do but kiss him, and call him a dear kind brother and such likerubbish, he will do almost anything. "

Now Grace don't say the children, when you mean me, interposed Emily, I will not hear a word against Evvie, so don't be cross. I know youalways were a little jealous of his partiality for me. "

"I am not cross, nor did I say anything against Everard, " retorted Gracehaughtily "and as for partiality, where is the favouritism now. "

"Oh well, I shall write such a letter that he can't but come. "

"I wish you success with all my heart, " returned Grace more goodnaturedly, while Isabel gazed silently out of the window. 

 * * * * * * * *

"No answer to my letter yet, is it not strange said Emily as she joinedIsabel in her favourite retreat, the conservatory, "what do you thinkabout it, it makes me positively unhappy. "

"Shall I tell you what I think" asked Isabel passing her arm round Emilyand continuing her walk. 

"Do please, for you can't think how disagreeable it is, when Harry asks, when Everard is coming, to have to give the same stupid answer, I expectto hear every day. "

"I don't think you will. "

"Oh Isabel. "

"No, I do not think he will write, but just quietly walk in one of thesedays!"

"Do you really think so, " asked Emily, her face radiant. 

Isabel gave an affirmative nod. 

"What makes you think so, Isabel?"

"I don't know, but I feel sure he will, " she replied, turning away herface. 

"Isabel. "

"Well, dear, " said Isabel, with heightening color, still keeping herface turned away, "tell me, was it because of you that Everard would notcome home. "

"I don't know. "

"Then you think, perhaps, it may be. "

"It is very foolish to think so. "

"Then you do think so, " said Emily, archly. 

"Oh, miss, I have found you out at last. What a sly one you are. I havebeen watching you a long time, and thought you all unconscious how itwas with a certain party who shall be nameless. Oh I'm so glad. "

"Glad that your brother is so unhappy?" Oh, Emily!

"No; glad that he need be so no longer. "

"How do you mean?"

"How do I mean! Why how obtuse you are, Isabel. "

"You run on too fast. "

"Oh, not much. I found out how it was on his part long ago, and I shallnot be long before I tell him the result of my observations elsewhere. "

"Tell him what?" asked Isabel, aghast, "To go in and win, " replied Emily, saucily. 

"Emily, Emily! what are you saying--what do you mean?"

"Mean?" replied Emily, with a saucy nod, "to help on my pet scheme alittle, that's all. "

"You never mean to say that you intend to--"

"Oh, but I do, though. "

"Emily, if you dare!" cried Isabel, indignantly. 

"Ah, but I shall. "

"You shall not, " said Isabel, grasping her arm, "you do not know whatyou are about. "

"Yes I do, perfectly well, and you will both thank me hereafter. "

"Stop a moment; what is it you intend to tell him?"

"Only what I have found out--that all is as he wishes, so he need not beafraid. "

"You have not found out any such thing. "

"Oh, have I not though?"

"Decidedly not. All you have discovered is, that I had some foolish ideathat it might possibly be on my account that he was not coming home. That is all you could honestly tell him, and you will do more harm thangood if you do; depend upon it, you will only make matters worse byinterfering. "

"Well, if it is to do no good, I would rather that he did not know I hadfound out his secret, but keep it as I have done. "

"Since when?" asked Isabel. 

"Last spring, when we had to leave you on the rock, but of course I didnot let him see it. "

"Then do not enlighten him now, you will only make him uncomfortable. "

"You are right, but come tell me since when did you know. "

"I have known a long time. "

"But does he think you know. "

Isabel was silent. 

"Come, miss, how did you find out?"

"Don't, Emily, " said Isabel, entreatingly. 

"How did you know--did he tell you?"

"Is this generous?" asked Isabel, with burning cheeks. "

"You don't mean to say that you refused him?" said Emily, turning herblue eyes full upon Isabel, "that would be too cruel. "

"Be quiet, Emily, " implored Isabel. 

"I see how it is now. Oh, Isabel, how could you?"

"Remember, Emily, I have told you nothing; you have found out my secret;keep it better than you did your brother's. "

"Oh, Isabel, I am sure I kept that well enough. "

"Not so well as you must keep this. I am very, very sorry, for I feelthat I have not been sufficiently watchful, or you would I not havesuspected it. And he would be justly angry if he knew. "

"Well, under the circumstances it would make no difference to you if hewas. "

Isabel bit her lip and was silent, then said, "Emily, dear Emily, promise me that you will try to forget this conversation, and nevermention it to any one. "

"But Isabel when was it. "

"I will answer no questions on that subject" more than enough has beensaid already. 

"What a rage Grace would be in, if she knew, well, well, I have my ownideas. "

"Have you indeed, and pray what would Grace be in a rage about if sheknew, " asked a well known voice close to them. 

Both young ladies started and crimsoned. "You see Emmy I could notresist that letter, so here I am for a few days. "

"Isabel was right" cried Emily triumphantly, "she said you would comequietly in, one of these days. "

"What made you think so, " he asked. 

"I felt sure of it, I cannot tell why, but I had a presentiment that youwould. "

"May I hope that the wish was the origin of the thought, " he said in alow tone, as Emily turned to caress his dog, Hector. 

"Certainly" she answered laughing. "I would not have Emily disappointedon any account. "

"Such a true prophet ought to be rewarded, don't you think so Emily, "said Everard presenting Isabel with the first and only flower of a rareforeign plant. 

"I cannot accept it, " replied Isabel, "the reward is more than theprediction was worth. "

"Oh no, it is not, I am sure you earned it, " cried Emily clapping herhands, and running off with Hector for a romp. 

"Surely you will not refuse a flower" said Everard. 

"But why that flower. "

"Because it is the best. "

"For that very reason, I cannot accept it. "

"You are over scrupulous Miss Leicester. "

"No, only prudent. "

He looked hurt, "you will not refuse" he urged. 

"I dare not accept it. "

"Why. "

"What would they think. "

"If the truth, ----, that the flower I valued most, I gave to the one Iloved best. "

"Are you not venturing on forbidden grounds" asked Isabel with glowingcheeks. 

"Isabel you are cruel. "

"I do not wish to pain you. "

"Then accept my flower. "

"No, were I to do so, I could only take it to your mother saying thatyou wished it preserved. "

"Would you do so Isabel, " he exclaimed reproachfully. 

"I should be obliged to do so, if I took it. "

"Is it only this one you refuse. "

"Or any other equally valuable and scarce. "

Gathering a choice little bouquet he said "you will not refuse thisIsabel. "

"Miss Leicester if you please sir, " she replied as she took the flowers, and hastened to the schoolroom. While Everard stood for a moment lost inthought, then went to pay his respects to his mother, and present therejected flower, to the bride elect. 

This was the last evening they would be alone, to-morrow the guests wereto arrive. Isabel did not always join them at dinner, and this eveningshe intended to spend in the schoolroom to finish the reports, which Mr. Arlington always liked to have when the holidays began, giving thechildren leave to go in the drawing-room. But the best plans cannotalways be carried out. Isabel received a message from Mrs. Arlingtonrequesting her to join them at dinner, accompanied by a threat fromHarry, that if she did not they would all adjourn to the schoolroom, of course she had to comply. However the evening passed off verypleasantly, Everard was so much occupied with his mother and sisters, that with the exception of making her sing all his favourite songs, hepaid even less than usual attention to Isabel. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The children are on tiptoe of expectation, anxiously waiting the arrivalof the Mornington's, and numerous other guest's. Now the wished formoment has come, what a delightful stir and confusion it has occasioned. Rose is in ecstasy, and Amy wild with glee, even the quiet Alice seemedto have caught the infection. It was to be a regular old fashioned Xmas. Eve. All sorts of games and odd things, snap dragon, charades (for whichHarry and Lucy were famous) magic music, dancing, and even blindmansbuff was proposed but was over-ruled by the quieter members of theparty. 'Santa Claus' sent a bountiful supply of presents down thechimney that night, which caused great merriment next day. For ladiesgot smoking caps, and cigar-cases; while gentlemen received workboxes, thimbles, and tatting-needles. Peter got a jester's cap and bells, whichhe vowed was a dunce's cap intended for Rose, to that young lady's greatindignation. Tom had a primer, and a present for a good boy, and Mayreceived a plain gold ring at which they all laughed very much, to May'sexcessive annoyance. After breakfast they all went to church, and thenall who chose went to see the school children, who were enjoyingthemselves immensely over their Xmas. Fare. Then the sleighs were hadout for a glorious drive over the frozen snow, but Isabel refused tojoin the party, preferring to stay quietly at home. To practise anthem'swith Everard, Grace said. Isabel had no such idea, but for all that theydid sing some anthems with the children, as Everard, who had taken avery active part in the arrangements for the Sunday School feast, wasnot of course one of the sleighing party, and returned some time beforethem. The children sang very nicely, doing great credit to Isabel'steaching, for which she was highly complimented by Everard. 

"They ought to be much obliged to you, as they bid fair to surpass bothGrace and Emily, " he said. 

"Pray don't let Miss Arlington hear you say so, or she will neverforgive me. "

"Oh never fear, she would not believe it, but I will be careful, as sheis already dreadfully jealous of you. "

"Of me, how can she be, why should she. "

"She has cause enough, " he replied warmly, "but she should be moremagnanimous. "

"I don't think it possible, I cannot imagine she could be so silly. "

"It is plain enough to me, that she is. "

"I don't see it, I confess. "

"'Where ignorance is bliss, ' he replied, with one of his usualpenetrating glances. "Yours must be a very happily constituted mind tobe so unconscious of all things disagreeable. "

"Not quite so unconscious as you imagine, but I advise you not to fishinto troubled waters. "

"Still waters run deep, you mean, " he replied. 

"Unfathomable, " she said, and followed the children to the dining-room, for they had gone there to see if the decorations were completed. A right merry party sat down to dinner, sixty in number, all relationsor old friends. Here is Tom's description of the wedding nest day, whichhe sent his friend:

 DEAR DICK, --We are having jolly times here--rare fun on Christmas-eve, I assure you. But the best of all was my brother's wedding; eight bridesmaids, all as beautiful as sunshine. (I was a best-man, of course. ) The bride looked magnificent--(between you and I, Dick, he has made a very good choice)--the rain and sunshine style. I can't say I understand that kind of thing, but on such occasions it tells immensely. (I admire one of the bridesmaids amazingly, but mum's the word, mind. ) But to speak of the wedding. Governor Arlington is a liberal old fellow. Champagne like water, and everything to match. 

 Your's truly, T. M. 

Elm Grove was scarcely the same place to Isabel when Emily was gone. Shetoiled on diligently with the children, but she found teaching anythingbut pleasant. Often after a tedious day, when tired and weary, she wouldgladly have laid down to rest her aching head and throbbing temples. Mrs. Arlington would request that she would join them in thedrawing-room. Isabel did not consider herself at liberty to refuse, besides she did not wish to encounter Mrs. Arlington's frowns next day;and even when they were out, and she congratulated herself upon beingleft in peace, Mr. Arlington (who seldom accompanied hem) would ask herto sing some songs, or play a game of chess, and of course she had tocomply. This kind of life was very irksome to Isabel--so different towhat she had been accustomed to. She strove bravely with her fate, butin spite of all her endeavors she often cried herself to sleep she feltso desolate and alone. She had no home: there was no hearth where shewas missed, or her coming anxiously looked for. Then she would grievebitterly over the bright home she had lost, and the happy days gone, itseemed, for ever; and then in the morning be angry with herself for heringratitude, remembering the blessings she still enjoyed, and how muchworse off she might be, and strive to be contented. A fresh cause fordisquietude arose, Grace evidently was jealous of her. Grace washandsome, but she was aware that Isabel was more attractive. Grace sangwell, but she also knew that Isabel sang better, her voice was richer, fuller, more melodious. She said that Isabel always wanted to show off, and would look very incredulous and neutral when Isabel's performanceswere praised. One gentleman in particular was very enthusiastic in hispraises. "But professional people are different you know, " returnedGrace. 

"Oh indeed, I was not aware that Miss Leicester was a professionalsinger, " he replied. 

"Not a professional singer, she teaches singing, " said Grace thinkingshe was going a little too far. 

"Indeed, where did you make her acquaintance, may I ask, you seldom hearsuch a splendid voice. "

"Oh she is our governess, " replied Grace. 

Turning to Isabel he said "you have a very fine voice Miss Leicester, ifyou were to make your debut at one of our best operas, you would makeyour fortune. "

"I have no such idea, " said Isabel, the indignant tears starting to hereyes, "that is the last thing I should thing of doing, she added with areproachful look at Grace, " but Grace seemed to be enjoying the wholething amazingly. 

"I do not suppose that you have thought of it or you certainly would notbe a governess, with such a career open to you; with very littletraining you might command almost any salary. " Isabel was excessivelyannoyed. "I assure you my dear young lady that it is worth yourconsideration he continued. 

"You mean well, no doubt, Mr. Bandolf, and I thank you for your kindintentions; but the matter requires no consideration, I could notentertain the idea for a moment" returned Isabel, and bowing coldlyopened a book of prints. 

"You should not let pride prevent your worldly advancement, " he added, which only made her more angry than ever. For all this I have to thankMiss Arlington she thought, and her feelings toward that young lady, atthat moment, were not the most charitable. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

"No I am sure it never answers at least not in most cases and in ours itwould not I am convinced; but I had a pretty hard battle about it Iassure you Ada. "

"I had no idea until now that they wished it" returned Ada. "but I amvery glad you did not agree to it. "

(The matter under consideration was, if it were desirable that youngcouples should reside with the parents of either; but Charles Ashtonknew his mother's disposition too well, to subject his wife to it, though he was a very good son and loved his mother. He had no wish, nordid he consider himself at liberty to place his wife in a position thathe knew might make her very unhappy. Nor did he think that such anarrangement would promote domestic bliss. He was a particularly quieteasy going fellow, very averse to exertion of any kind and seldomtroubled himself to oppose any arrangements, usually agreeing to anyproposition for the sake of peace and quietness. But for all that he hada will of his own, and when he had once made up his mind, nothing onearth could move him. Before he married he gave the matter carefulconsidertion, and came to the conclusion that it must never be--neverAda would be his wife, and no mortal should breathe a word against herin his hearing--therefore it must never be. Having come to thisconclusion he waited until the subject should be broached by either ofhis parents, knowing very well that when that topic should be discussed, then would come the tug of war, and he was not at all anxious for it. Itsoon came however, his father proposed that he should bring his bridethere, saying, "there is plenty of room for all. " But Charles was not sosure of that, and feared that the house might possibly become too hot tohold them, but merely stated quietly that he had decided otherwise. Thenarose a perfect storm, but he was firm. His mother asked with herhandkerchief to her eyes, if she was to lose her boy altogether. WhileLord Ashton requested to be informed what his plans might be. 

"To live in England" he answered. 

"What might be his objection to Ashton Park. "

He had nothing to say against Ashton Park, but he wished to reside inEngland. 

Very well, they would go to England, and all live together, that wouldbe charming Lady Ashton said. 

"He should like them to live in England, but as to living together, thatwas out of the question, " Charles replied. 

"Whereupon Lady Ashton was highly offended and very angry. Charles wasquiet, but firm, all they could urge was useless, he would not hear ofit. ) "It might answer in Arthur's case" he returned, by the way Ada isit not strange we have never heard anything of them, poor Louisa, I suppose boarding school did not answer her expectations, as she leftit so soon. "

"Can you wonder at it, situated as she was. "

"It was natural no doubt, and Arthur could be so winning, he always wasa favourite with the ladies. "

"Oh well, he is a nice fellow you must admit. "

"I don't deny it, I always liked him very much, but still I think thatsort of thing, is not right, but he always was impetuous, neverconsidered anything, but just acted on the spur of the moment, and he isvery soft hearted" he added laughing. "I wonder if the old gentlemanknows it. "

"Your mother was always ambitious for him, don't you remember how afraidshe was about Isabel" asked Ada. 

"Yes, and the daughter of his tutor does not come up to the mark. "

"I should think her own daughter's child might at all events. "

"But she never regards her in that light, never will I fear. "

"Somebody wishes to see you Sir, very particularly please, " saidThomson. 

"Who is it? Thomson. "

"Don't know I'm sure Sir, she would not give any name, but is veryanxious to see you, I said you were engaged, but she replied I that shemust see you to-night, it was very important. "

"What sort of a person is she?" asked Ada. 

"A lady madam, quite a lady I should say, only in trouble, she says sheknew master in America. "

"I must see her, I suppose, where is she. "

"In the study, sir. "

The stranger was standing by the fire-place, as he entered she made animpatient gesture for him to close the door, then threw herself at hisfeet passionately imploring him to help and protect her, and throwingaside her thick vail, disclosed the features of Louisa, but so alteredthat he was perfectly shocked and amazed. He could scarcely believe thatthe haggered emaciated being before him, was indeed the pretty, impulsive, fiery, Louisa, but such was the case, and anger, compassionand indignation filled his heart, as he listened to the recital of hermisfortunes. 

As the reader is already acquainted with a portion of Louisa's story, we will not repeat it here, but only record such circumstances as havenot appeared in these pages. On arriving at her grandfather's sheencountered a storm of angry abuse, and was driven from the door with astern command never to return, as she had forfeited all claims upon him, and might die in a ditch for all he cared. She managed to get about amile from the house, and then overcome with fatigue and misery she sankdown exhausted. 

How long she remained there she had no idea, when she recovered she wasamong strangers, who were very kind. She had had a brain fever, and wasin the hospital When asked for the address of her friends, she repliedthat she had none. But afterward she remembered that her Uncle Charleshad always been kind to her, and had occasionally procured her littleindulgences from her stern, cold-hearted, grand-mother, and that it hadbeen mainly through his interference that she had been sent to school. She therefore determined to seek his aid, and accept a small loan fromthe doctor, to enable her to do so, long and weary had the journey been, and she implored Charles not to send her away. She knew she said that itwould not be for long, and entreated him to let her die in peace. 

Charles assured her that she should want for nothing, and commended herfor coming to him, and expressed in no measured terms his disapprobationof his father's cruel conduct, but was abruptly silenced by Louisafalling senseless on the floor. His violent ringing of the bell, broughtnot only the servants, but Ada also, to his assistance; medical aid wasquickly procured. That night her child was born, and when morningdawned, Louisa lay still and cold in that last long sleep from which nomortal could awake her. Sleep in thy marble beauty, poor little Louisa, and perhaps that sad fate may soften the hearts of thy cruelgrandparent. Oh not as it has been fulfilled did the dying Evangelineunderstand the promise made with regard to the little Louisa. Oh howoften was the stillness of the night broken by the bitter sobs of thedesolate little orphan whose aching heart sought for love in vain. Thencan we wonder that when this lonely one, did find one to love, that sheshould willingly listen to his persuasions in hopes of a happy future, rather than endure any longer such a cheerless existence. 

In the early morning a violent knocking at the hall door brought Thomsonfrom his gossip with the other servants. 

"Is there not a lady--a widow lady, staying here?" inquired an oldgentleman in an agitated voice, while the cab driver beat his arms onthe pavement. "Is not this Mr. Ashton's?" he added, as Thomsonhesitated. Thomson answered in the affirmative, and the old gentlemancontinued, "Is the lady here? Can I see your master? answer me quicklydon't be so stupid. "

"A lady came last night but, but, " stammered Thomson "she, "

"Is she here now, I say, " he cried angrily. 

"Yes sir, but--

"Say no more, just tell your master I want to see him immediately, stop, take my card, here, now be quick. "

Poor Thomas was quite bewildered by the old gentleman's manner. I'mblest he murmured if I know what we're coming to next, Lord Barrington, what does he want I should like to know. 

"Why Ada, it is Lord Barrington, " exclaimed Charles. 

"How very fortunate, " returned Ada "of course he will take charge of thebaby, I confess I was in a quandary for I do not relish the idea ofhaving the care of it, poor little thing. "

"Nor I either, but I am not so sure that he will take it, it is muchmore likely he has come to row me about the whole affair. "

"You! Why, what had you to do with it?"

"No more than you had; but I must see him at once, I suppose. "

"Shall I go, too?" asked Ada, timidly. 

"Not at present: if there is to be a storm, I do not see why you shouldbe in it. "

"He is such a dreadful old man, is he not?"

"Not usually; he was always very, very kind to Arthur. "

"Not to his wife, " she replied, vainly endeavoring to repress her tears. 

"No, very cruel; but you must not grieve so much about it, dearest Ada. "

"I cannot help it, it is so terribly shocking. "

"But it is past, now: she is at rest, she is happy; even her lifelessremains look calm--the weary, weary look exchanged for one of peace. "

"True, but it is so dreadful; if we had only known before, " she sobbed. 

"I wish we had, with all my soul, " returned Charles, "but you reallymust not distress yourself so, or I shall have to keep the poor old gentwaiting. "

"Go to him, Charley; I shall feel better presently. "

He found his Lordship impatiently pacing the room. "I am seeking mydaughter-in-law; she is here, I believe, " he said, after the firstsalutations were over. 

"She is here, " Charles answered gravely, "at least her remains; she diedlast night. "

"Dead! dead!" repeated Lord Barrington, putting his hand to his head. "Then I have nothing left. "

"But the child, " interposed Charles. 

"The child--what child?"

"The babe born last night. "

"He did not heed the answer, but seemed overpowered by the news ofLouisa's death. "Let me see Arthur's wife, " he said, after a few minuteshad elapsed. Charles conducted him to the darkened apartment, where hegazed in agony upon the worn, but calm features of poor Louisa. And ashe thought of his harshness, and Arthur's words, "make not her comingalone harder by one word or look, " his grief became so violent andexcessive that Charles was quite nonplussed, and went to consult Ada asto what should be done. In accordance with their plan, Ada took thefrail little piece of humanity, and, approaching Lord Barrington, as hebent in sorrow over the corpse, said softly, "You have lost Arthur, andArthur's wife, but you still have Arthur's child, " and she laid the babein his arms. 

His tears fell on its tiny face, but the sight of it, and itshelplessness, did him good. "Oh, Arthur! Arthur!" he moaned, why did youdoubt your old father? how would I have welcomed your wife if you hadbrought her home at first! aye, as I now welcome this child--Arthur'schild, " he added, looking at it fondly. 

He had the corpse conveyed to Barrington, and placed in the familyvault, and erected a monument--very beautiful, indeed--beside the one hehad already placed there in memory of his son, inscribed:

 To LOUISA, the beloved wife of Arthur, only son of LORD BARRINGTON OF BARRINGTON, Aged 16 years. 

He also placed another in the little burying-place at Z----:

 In memory of ARTHUR, only son of LORD BARRINGTON, of Barrington Park, England, aged 23 years, who was suddenly attacked with a fatal fever, in a foreign land, when on his way home. 

When Lady Ashton arrived, shortly afterwards, and heard what had takenplace, she was in a terrible fume. "Oh! my dear, what a misfortune. Howunlucky for her to come here: why did you let her stay, Charles?"

"Why did I let her stay? Say, rather, why did you send her away?"

"Yes, why did you let her stay?" she repeated, angrily. "Why did you notlet her go to the hospital?"

"Or die in the street, " added Charles, scarcely able to keep his temper, for he was angry and hurt to think how Louisa had been treated. 

"Goodness knows what people will say: no doubt all kinds of strangestories will be circulated. I feel for you, Ada, my dear; I do, indeed. "

"Don't be alarmed, my dear mother, as to rumors and strange stories, "said Charles, handing her a newspaper, and pointing out the following:

 DIED. --At the residence of Charles Ashton, Esq. LOUISA, wife of the late Hon. Arthur Barrington, and grand-daughter of Sir Edward Ashton of Brierley. 

"Charles, how dared you?" cried his mother, reddening with anger, "yourfather will be excessively angry. "

"I cannot help that: it is the truth, is it not?"

"True? of course you know it is; but, for all that, you need not havepublished it in that absurd manner. "

"I thought it best. "

"And you are simple enough to think that that notice will prevent absurdstories getting abroad. "

"As to who she might be, yes; and, as to the circumstances that broughther here, I presume you would prefer any, rather than the right ones, should be assigned. "

Lady Ashton was for once abashed, and her eye dropped beneath theseverity of her son's gaze; but, recovering quickly, she answered, "you, at least, have nothing to do with that. "

"I am thankful to say I have not, " he returned, "I cannot forget it, itmakes me perfectly wretched; and, but that I know that Ada has her ownhome to go to, if anything happened to me I don't know what I should do. I shall insure my life this very day, that she may be independent. If adaughter's child could be so treated, why not a son's wife. "

For goodness' sake stop, Charles!" cried his mother, "don't talk sodreadfully. "

"I feel it bitterly, mother; indeed I do, " he replied, and hastily leftthe room. He would not have done so, however, had he known the storm hehad left Ada to be the unhappy recipient of. She was perfectly terrifiedat the violence of Lady Ashton's wrath, and Lady Ashton was, too, whenshe saw Ada lay back in her chair, pale as marble and panting forbreath. "What is the matter?--speak, child, " she cried, shaking herviolently; but this only alarmed her the more, and she called loudly forCharles, and then remained gazing at Lady Ashton in speechless terror. 

"Ada! dearest Ada! what is the matter?" asked Charles, coming to therescue; but Ada had fainted. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

"Well, old fellow, how are you?" said Louis, as he entered Everard'sroom at the college. "I only just heard you were back. " After they hadconversed awhile, Louis said, "Pretty girl that governess your sistershave at Elm Grove; aye, only she is such a confounded flirt. "

"I esteem Miss Leicester very highly, " returned Everard, coldly. 

"Take care, old fellow, for she is, without exception, the greatestcoquette I ever came across. She always had crowds of admirers, many ofwhom she contrived to draw on until they came to 'the point, ' and thenlaughed at them. By Jove she will make a fool of you, Everard, if youdon't mind. "

"I assure you, Louis, that you are quite mistaken. Miss Leicester isquite a different person to what you imagine. "

"Ha! ha! so you may think, but I knew her intimately, and I must saythat I was surprised that your mother should trust her young daughtersto her care. "

"Be quiet, Louis; I think her as near perfection as possible. "

"Well, they say that love is blind--stone blind, in this case, I shouldsay. She must have played her game well, to deceive you so thoroughly. "

"I am not deceived, neither has she played any game, " returned Everard, with warmth. "She gives me no encouragement whatever--very far from it. "

"Oh, that is her new dodge, is it? Beware of her; she is a mostaccomplished actress. "

"You are mistaken, " replied Everard, indignantly, "you know some oneelse of the same name. "

"Not a bit of it, my dear fellow; I saw the young minx at Elm Grove, andknew her directly. 'Beautiful, but dangerous. ' I know her well. "

Everard's cheek flushed with anger. "Louis, " said he, "I will not hearany one speak disrespectfully of Miss Leicester. I consider any insultoffered to her as a personal affront; therefore, if we are to remainfriends, you must say no more on that subject now or at any other time. "

Louis saw by Everard's countenance that he was in earnest, so answered, "as you will. I have satisfied my conscience by warning you; of course Ican do no more. Won't you dine with us to-day?"

"No, really, I cannot possibly; I have no time to go anywhere. "

"Take care you don't work too hard, and have to give up altogether. Youlook as if you were overdoing it. Too much of a good thing is good fornothing, you know. Come when you can--if not to-day, I shall be alwaysglad to see you. "

"What object can he have in speaking thus of Isabel?" Everard askedhimself when Louis was gone--his beautiful and beloved Isabel, the charmof his existence, yet the torture of his life--(for was it not tortureto be forever dwelling on her perfections, only to come back to the sameundeniable fact that she had refused him--that she either could not, orwould not, be his)--and now to hear _her_, the personification of hisown ideal, spoken of as an accomplished actress and deceitful coquette, was almost more than he could endure. Then he asked himself what he hadgained by his constant and excessive study: had it caused him to forgether? no, he could not forget she seemed ever with him in all her beauty, gentleness, and truth. He would win her yet, he told himself, and thenowned he was a fool to indulge such thoughts, and determined to studyharder still than ever, to prevent the possibility of his thoughtsrecurring so often to Isabel. Nevertheless, he would believe nothingagainst her--nothing. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

"Louis, I wish you would look at baby before you go; I do not think sheis well to-night. "

"What is the matter now? You are always thinking she is ill: she seemedwell enough this morning. "

"I don't know. She is restless and uneasy; I wish you would come. "

"Of course I will, but I am in a great hurry just now; Mrs. Headley hassent for me, and old Mr. Growl has another attack. I must go to thepeople in the office now, but I will come up to baby before I start. "

"Had you not better see baby first? Perhaps you might forget, with somany people to attend to. "

"Forget? Not I. Why, Natalie, how do you think I should ever get on if Ihad no better memory than that?"

But he did forget, and was gone when Natalie again sought him. "I thought it would be so, " she sighed. Baby became more and moreuneasy, and moaned and fretted in her sleep. Natalie knelt beside thebed, and tried to soothe her darling, thinking sadly of the long hoursthat would elapse before Louis's return, but all her efforts were invain. Izzie did not wake or cry, but this only alarmed Natalie the more. The deadly palor of her countenance was the only sign of the anguish shesuffered; outwardly, she was very calm. If she could only have doneanything for her pet! but to wait, and watch, not knowing what to do, this was unendurable; and she was just debating in her own mind if sheought not to send for another doctor, as Louis might be detained allnight, when she heard him come in. She pressed her cold hands upon herbrow, and ordered Sarah to bring him immediately; while she rose fromher knees, and breathlessly waited for his coming. 

"What's the matter with popsy?" he asked, cheerfully, as he entered theroom, but his countenance became grave as his eye rested on the sickchild. "What is this?, " he inquired, "why was I not told before? Tut, tut, what have you been thinking about, Natalie, " he added, as he feltthe child's pulse. 

"I asked you to come and see her before you went out, " Natalie answered, in an almost inaudible voice. 

"Yes, but you did not say that there was anything particularly thematter. " He stooped over the child and examined her more carefully. "Sheis seriously ill, " he said. 

And the words sent a thrill of pain to Natalie's aching heart. 

"Why do you treat me in this shameful manner?" he continued bitterly. "Why let the child go on until it is almost past recovery, and then sendfor me in the greatest haste?--just the same way when she had the croup. I am surprised at you Natalie; it is really quite childish. " He orderedthe bath to be brought immediately. 

Impatiently waving Natalie aside, he took the child in his arms and puther into the bath; while Natalie stood by, in speechless agony, Louisrefusing to allow her to assist in any way. How cruel! To have doneanything for her darling would have been an unspeakable relief. As itwas, she could only stand by while he murmured, in a tone which greatlydistressed her "poor little popsy, " "Did they neglect papa's darling?"He would suffer no one to touch her but himself, and what assistance hedid accept was from Sarah, it being into her arms he put baby while hewent for the medicine she required. Poor Natalie, how this grieved her;for though she took the child from Sarah, the slight was the same. "Oh, baby, baby!" she murmured, as the burning tears fell on little Isabel'sface, "what should I have left if you were taken from me?"

When Louis returned, he took the child, administered the medicine, andwas about to lay her in the bed. 

"Let me take her, " whispered Natalie, in a tone of tremulous earnestnessand passionate entreaty. 

"No, she is better here, " he replied. 

"Oh, please, Louis!" she pleaded, but he was firm. 

She stood, with clasped hands, silently gazing on the babe with astrange sensation of awe and dread, and a yearning wish to do somethingfor her. 

"You are not required, Natalie, " Louis said, "you had better go to bed. "With a gulp she restrained the rising sob, and stooped to kiss herdarling. "You will only disturb her, " he said, putting out his arm toprevent her doing so. Then Natalie could only steal away to herdressing-room, and there, alone in the darkness, she crept to the sofaand hid her face in the cushion, to hush the tumultuous sobs, while shebreathed fervent prayers for baby's recovery. But a horrible dreadsurrounded her: she could not endure to be absent from her pet, andnoiselessly she stole back to the nursery. She was glad that Louis didnot observe her entrance, and retreated to the dimmest corner of theroom, and there, in the old arm-chair, listened to baby's uneasybreathing, which caused her an agony of grief and pain. Yet she could donothing but sit and suffer--suffer, oh, how deeply! Thus the night woreaway, and Louis was not aware of her presence until, as the day dawned, he beheld the wan, wretched face of his poor little wife. Going to herside, he said, "this is wrong, Natalie; go and rest. " She shook herhead. "You must, indeed: you know I have to leave her to you the greaterpart of the day, and this is no preparation for the watchful care shewill need. "

"She cannot need more care than I will gladly give, " returned Natalie, with trembling lip. Her face wore an expression, so sad--sosuffering--that Louis must, indeed, have been adamant if he had not beensoftened. Stroking her hair caressingly, he was about to lead her fromthe room with gentle force, when, grasping his hand convulsively, shesaid, in an almost inaudible voice, "I cannot, cannot go; have pity, Louis, " she added, raising her tearful eyes to his. 

"For an hour or two, and then you shall take care of baby. "

"If--if--you would let me kiss her, I will lie down here, but I cannotleave her, " she answered, almost choking. 

"You may do that, " he said, with a disagreeable sense of the fact thathe had been unkind, to use no harsher term. And he lifted a weight fromNatalie's heart, as he placed a shawl over her, saying, "try to sleep, dear; you know how much depends upon you, " in sweet, modulated tones ofthrilling tenderness, such as Louis knew well how to use--none better, when it suited him to do so. 

It mattered not to little Izzie who tended her for many days; not so, however, when she began to mend, for now she would suffer none but mammato touch her. She would scarcely bear to be put out of her arms. IfNatalie attempted to lay her in the cradle, thinking she slept, instantly the tiny arms would be clasped round mamma's neck, and shewould take her up again. No more could papa usurp mamma's rights; nocoaxing or persuasion would induce her to allow him to take her. Onlyfrom mamma's hand would she take her medicine. On more than one occasionNatalie had to be aroused from the little sleep she allowed herself, toadminister it. All this annoyed Louis beyond measure, but he did notagain give way to his temper before the child, except on one occasion. He had, in the strongest terms, urged upon Natalie the importance ofgiving the medicine with regularity. The bottle was empty, and Nataliesent it down to be filled, but by some means it got mixed with the othermedicines to be sent out, and was not returned to her. She sufferedtortures for the want of it during his absence. When he returned, comingstraight to baby as usual, he learned how it was, and found her worsefor want of it, his indignation was extreme, and he heaped upon Natalieunjust and unmerited reproach, in harsh and bitter terms. His cruelwords cut her to the heart, but her only answer was a gentle requestthat he would get it at once. Truly Isabel had not much to regret. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

"What do you think?" cried Rose, bursting into the school-room. "Everardis coming home. "

"Oh, is he? I'm so glad, " returned Alice. 

"Yes; mamma had a letter to-day. He is better, and is coming home forchange of air and mamma's good nursing. It was not Everard who wrote theletter, but the doctor, who is coming with him as far as Markham, andpapa is to meet them there. "

"When?" inquired Alice. 

"To-morrow. "

"And papa is away. "

"Oh, he will be back to-night. Why, there is a carriage; I wonder who itis, " she exclaimed, running to the window. 

"How can you be so silly, Rose, " interposed Isabel. 

"Oh, it is Everard, " she shouted, without heeding Isabel's remonstrance, "and that must be the Doctor. Oh, I'm so glad Everard has come, " and shedanced about the room with glee. 

"Rose, what a noisy child you are!" exclaimed Isabel, going to thewindow with the rest; but when she saw the Doctor, she became deadlypale, and had to lean against the window frame for support, but she hadample time to recover herself, as they were all too much occupied toobserve her. 

"How terribly ill he looks, " said Rose. 

"And how dreadfully weak, " returned Alice. "I'm sure that gentleman wasat Grace's party, only I forget his name. "

"Oh, mamma and Grace are both out; who is to do the honors, won't you, Miss Leicester?"

"Oh, no. "

"Do, there's a good creature, " pleaded Rose. But Isabel was firm. "Itwill seem so queer, " urged Rose. 

"Alice, dear, _you_ must go. "

Oh no, indeed, I can't; please excuse me, Miss Leicester. "

"Oh let _me_ go, " pleaded Rose, "I shall manage far better than Alice. "

"You!" exclaimed Isabel, "nonsense! Alice has more thought, besides shehas the advantage of two or three inches in height, at all events. "

Alice remonstrated. 

"Not another word, Alice, you have to go, " said Isabel; and Alicethought she had never seen Miss Leicester so peremptory. 

Isabel was not afraid to trust Alice. Once fairly installed as hostessshe would do very well, though shy at first. 

"But he seems so very ill, and I shall not know what to do, " said Alice. 

"You must tell them they were not expected until to-morrow, to explainyour mamma's absence; and I will order up some refreshments, and tellNorris to have your brother's room ready for him. "

Poor Alice looked quite scared at the ordeal that was before her. 

"Mind you manage nicely, Allie dear, and make your brother comfortable, "said Isabel, kissing her. And Alice, with a great sigh, left the room. 

Isabel would have been content to have done "the honors, " as Rose termedit, had the Doctor been any other than Louis, but under thecircumstances she was determined not to do so. Though firmly resolved toabide by this decision, she did not feel very comfortable, as shethought it not improbable that Everard would send for her. Indeed, hedid tell Alice to bring her, but Alice, with her usual blunt manner, answered that Miss Leicester had refused to come, and had sent her. AsIsabel had foreseen, Everard soon retired to rest after his journey, andshe would have been nicely in for a long _tete-a-tete_ with Louis, whichshe did not choose. As it was, she sent Rose to help her sister toentertain the Doctor until her mamma came home; and, taking Amy withher, Isabel retired to her own apartment, to prevent the possibility ofmeeting him. 

The absentees returned early, and Mrs. Arlington came herself to requestthat Miss Leicester would endeavor to make the evening pass pleasantlyto the gentlemen, as she and Grace had an engagement that evening, andas it was to be the ball of the season Grace did not wish to give it up. 

"Pray, excuse me, Mrs. Arlington, " Isabel began. 

"Stay, Isabel, I know what you would say. The Doctor goes with us. Everard and his father will be alone, and I think you can find a song, a book, or something to amuse them. "

"I will try, " said Isabel, well content now that Louis was not to be ofthe party. 

"One word more, Miss Leicester, " said Mrs. Arlington, dismissing Amy. "I disapprove very much of the children being sent to entertainvisitors, and I hope it will not occur again. "

Isabel felt hurt, but merely replied, "under the circumstances it mightbe excused. "

"No, Isabel, no; I cannot see any justifiable reason. It is more thantwo years since Dr. Taschereau was married, and if you have not got overthat affair you ought to have done so, that is all I can say. "

"I have, I have, " exclaimed Isabel, warmly, "but still you could notexpect me to meet him. "

"I don't see why you should not; it would have been better to have doneso than, by acting as you have, lead him to suppose that you have notovercome your former attachment. "

"It is utterly impossible, for him to think that, " returned Isabelhotly, "I told him differently long ago; no, " she added indignantly, "I have not the slightest shadow of affection for him; but I cannot, will not, subject myself to his insufferable insolence. You don't knowhim, or you would not expect me to do so, " and the hot tears welled upinto her eyes. 

"I cannot hear my son's friend aspersed, Miss Leicester, especially whenhe is my guest, " said Mrs. Arlington, stiffly, "at the same time Idon't, of course, mean to justify his former conduct towards you; andwith regard to the children, do not let it occur again. You may makeyourself happy about the doctor, as he returns by the early train in themorning, for he is anxious about his little girl, who is only nowrecovering from a serious illness. "

On entering the drawing-room, Isabel found Everard on the sofa lookingvery pale and rather sad. "I am sorry to see you so ill, " she said, "I came to give you a little music, but I'm afraid you will not be ableto bear it. "

"On the contrary I think it would do me good; but why would you not comethis afternoon?"

"I am here now. "

"But why not before? Was it not unkind?"

"It was not so intended. "

"Will you not give me the reason?

"You must not ask me; believe that I had sufficient cause. " The wordswere not such as he would have, but the manner was so winning that hecould not choose but be satisfied. "I am here now, solely on youraccount, to amuse you as you like best. You must have been very ill, "she said, regarding him kindly. 

"Yes, I am awfully weak, " he returned, "it seems so strange to me, I have usually been so strong. "

"You will soon get strong here, " replied Isabel, cheerfully. 

"Not if you plague me as you did this afternoon, " he said reproachfully. 

"Don't be angry, " she pleaded. 

"Not angry, but hurt, " he said. 

"I couldn't help it, " she answered, almost with a sob. 

"It did seem a chilling reception, a strange coming home, so cold, soutterly without welcome, and I had longed so much to come. 

"It was not my fault they were all out. "

"Yes, they were all out, and you wouldn't come. "

"You are angry, " she was crying now, her face down on her hands. 

"I am a brute, " he said. 

"Oh, no; but I am a naughty girl, " and seating herself at the piano, sheasked what he would have. She had not thought of the seeming neglect, she had not thought what he would feel at finding Alice the only one toreceive him. She could not help it she told herself, perhaps so, but shehad been selfish, very selfish; she was sorry, sorry that Everard shouldtake it so hardly; but even so, did it occur again, she could not actdifferently. "What will you have, " she asked. 

"You know my favorites. "

"Ah, that is right; I was just going to send for you, " said Mr. Arlington, who now entered. "I see you know what will please him most;I don't know what we should do without you, " he added warmly. "You don'tknow how good she has been to me, Everard, she is a good substitute formy gay party-going daughter, but for her I don't know what I should donow Emily is away. " She is not good to me, thought Everard, and then aray of hope sprung up, as he thought of her very kind manner, but no, had he not been led into thinking so before, but whenever he had touchedever so lightly on the old topic, he had been repelled. 

Isabel felt sad to-night, and could only sing plaintive melodies, andthen felt annoyed to think that she had failed to accomplish the purposefor which she came. But she was mistaken, these songs harmonized betterwith his present mood than more gay ones would have done. 

Everard did not seem to gain strength. Isabel did her best to relievethe weariness of the long, long days: bringing the children into thelibrary in the afternoon in order that he might share their amusement asshe read aloud, and in various ways endeavored to lessen the monotony ofthe time. She would, perhaps, have acted more wisely had she not doneso, for Isabel's was a very tender nature, and her gentle sympathy wasvery pleasant to Everard, but it only served to keep up the conflictbetween hope and fear, which was specially hurtful to him just now, whenhe needed perfect repose. But she thought Grace and her motherneglectful, and strove to make up for it. She often sent one of hisyoung sisters to sit with him, but Rose was not allowed this privilegeas often as the others, though on the whole she was best. Alice was tooquiet, and Amy too apt to dwell on the perfections of her dear MissLeicester, while Rose, her wild spirits subdued in the presence of hersick brother, but only sufficiently so to prevent her being oppressive, was just the cheerful companion that was good for him, her vigorous, healthy, happy-in-the-present style had a good effect. She was never ata loss for a topic for conversation, and her quick perception enabledher to detect at once when he grew tired, and then she would immediatelyemploy herself in some quiet manner. She never sat contemplating himthoughtfully with eyes so like his own, as Alice too often did, as ifshe would read his very soul. 

There did not appear to be much of "Mamma's good nursing" to which Rosehad alluded. True it was a very gay season, and Mrs. Arlington's dutieswere very onerous. "You know, Everard, " she said, "that Grace cannot goout alone, so that my time is so much occupied, that I fear I mustappear very neglectful, but you understand it is not my wish to leaveyou so much, " and Everard assented. But when he had a relapse, then shegave up society, and was all the attentive mother. 

Louis was very skilful and had got him through a very severe illness, how severe they had not known till now. Mrs. Arlington sent the childreninto the country to be out of the way, and Isabel of course went withthem. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Baby is quite well and happy, in fact all trace of her illness haspassed away; but Natalie is worn and weary with tending her pet andbearing with Louis's hasty temper; she is pale and wan, but ever sweettempered. "Hark, baby, there's papa. " Izzie ran to meet him. He raisedher in his arms and caressed her, scarcely noticing his fond littlewife, who would have been made happy by a kiss or kind word. Tired andweary, but with a heart ache which was harder to bear, Natalie lay onthe sofa, she was nothing to him, that was clear. 

"Love papa, baby, love papa, " he said. Little Izzie threw her arms roundhis neck and kissed him, then struggled to get away, "What's thematter, " he asked. "Love mamma, Izzie want's to love mamma. " She ran toher mother and repeated the action. Natalie caught the child in herarms, kissing her passionately. "Izzie, my darling Izzie, " she murmured, while large tears fell on the child's face. Taking up her pinefore Izziegravely wiped her own face, and then tenderly endeavored to dry hermother's tears, whispering don't cry mamma, Izzie don't like to seemamma cry, " and she nestled to her mothers side, stroking her hair andkissing her repeatedly. Nothing would have induced Izzie to leave hermother then, even had Louis attempted it, but he did not, he stood bythe mantlepiece watching them, with an unpleasant sensation, that babyhad no power to dry those tears. He remained there a long time, his headresting on his hand, while Natalie and baby fell asleep together. Fromtime to time a deep, deep sigh would escape from Natalie, which was notpleasant for Louis to hear. Sarah came for baby, but he desired her toleave her there. After a while, he thought it was not best that sheshould be there, and went softly to the sofa and took her away. As hedid so, he remarked for the first time--aye, for the first time--theworn unhappy expression of Natalie's sweet face, which did not leave iteven in sleep, and stooping over her gave the kiss and kind words to hissleeping wife, which he had withheld when she might have been made happyby them. He carried the child to its nurse, then went to his surgery, busy among his drugs he could not but think of Natalie. How pale shelooked, how fragile she had become, how languid and listless she seemedof late, he had noticed that, and with no pleasant feeling did heremember, that he had done so, only to chide her for being lazy. Howblind he had been, he saw plainly enough that she needed change of air, she should have it, she should pay his uncle Macdermott a visit, andtake Izzie with her, but what should he do without Izzie, he askedhimself, but with surprising magnanimity, he refused to consider thatquestion. He had been a little inattentive perhaps lately and owed hersome amends, so Izzie should go with her. He knew very well that Nataliewould never go without her, and, truth to tell, he had his misgivings asto how Izzie would behave without her mother, so, as he really thoughtit needful, it was as much necessity as kindness, that brought him tothis decision. 

Natalie submitted passively to all their arrangements, but, on theevening previous to their departure, when Louis was enjoying a cigar inthe library, after superintending all the preparations for the nextday's start, Natalie came fondly to his side, and laying her hand softlyupon his shoulder, said in a voice that trembled with emotion, "I cannotgo, do not ask me, Louis, I cannot, will not leave you, " and her headsank on her hand, as she again murmured "do not ask me. "

"Pooh, Natie, what nonsense, " he answered, laughing. 

"No Louis, I cant, you promised that you would come for a week, so Iwill wait until you can take the week, and then we will go together, butnot now alone, O, not alone, " and she sobbed out on his shoulder thepent up anguish of her heart. He drew her to him with more kindness thanhe had shown for a long time. 

"You will not send me away, " she whispered. 

"Now, Nattie dear, be reasonable, you know you are not strong, and Iwant you to get your roses back, and a week would be too short a time tobenefit you much, so in four weeks time I will come for two, that willdo, won't it. "

She shook her head, "I have a terrible dread of the journey, no Louis, I will not go, I will wait till you can come with me. "

Louis was not one to submit to opposition, his brow grew dark and thefierce light was kindling in his eye. She should go, once for all hewould not brook this resistance. After he had decided to let Izzie go toplease her, and save all fuss, was this to be the end of it? no. "It istoo late to say that now, " he said, "a few weeks will soon pass, andthis idle fear is childish. "

"I should have spoken before, only I did so wish to please you if Icould. "

"No, Natalie, " he said, sternly, "you do not care whether I am pleasedor not, you think of nothing but your own foolish fancies. "

"Don't be cross, Louis, it is because I love you so much that I want tostay, don't send me away, O Louis, don't. "

"Now, Natalie, you are enough to provoke a saint, " he said, angrily, "cross, indeed, no wonder if I am, don't let me hear another word aboutit, you go to-morrow. "

Natalie saw that any more opposition would inevitably cause one of thosefierce bursts of passion of which she ever stood in mortal dread; sheglanced at his darkened countenance and was silent, but her heart washeavy. 

"Come, we will take a turn on the lawn the moon is so bright, " he said. They walked in the moonlight, those two, husband and wife not threeyears, but the happy brightness had faded out of her face, and the girlnot twenty walked by his side with a weary step, as if life were almosta burden. She resolutely checked her tears, and silently paced the lawn, while her thoughts wandered back to the beautiful home in the south ofFrance, where she first met the man who had proved so different apartner to what, in her love and trust, she had fondly imagined, andthen she wished so fervently that she might even yet be to him all thatshe had hoped. But he did not want her with him, he would be glad whenshe was away, oh, he did not love her, or he would not thus cruellyinsist upon her going. She had it in her heart even yet to throw herselfinto his arms and entreat him to let her stay, but she felt that itwould be useless, besides she dare not offer further resistance to hiswill. She looked up into his face and knew she dare not. 

His eyes were fixed upon her, "why Natalie, " he said, laughing, "anyonewould think I was an ogre to see your countenance. " But it was not apleasant laugh. Then the hardest thought that she ever had towards him, came to her mind, and she thought that he was acting very like one. Louis paused as they were about to enter the house saying, "You will notworry me any more, if you do it will be useless and only make me harsh, "his manner was stern, determined and chilling in the extreme. Natalieshivered, "I will go, " she replied in a choking voice, then flew up thestairs and alone in the dark gave vent to the grief that was breakingher heart. "Little fool, " murmured Louis between his firmly closedteeth, "what a plague she is. "

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

"O Isabel, it is nearly time for the train to pass, do let us go andwatch for it, " said Rose, and they went accordingly. "Here it comes, here it comes, " she shouted, and the iron horse came on snorting andpanting; nearer, nearer it approaches the bridge. 'Tis on the bridge. Crash--and in an instant, it is gone; the train with its living freightis a mass of broken ruins. The screams are appalling; the sight fearfulin the extreme. The children ran back to the house trembling and awed, and huddled together in a frightened group. Among the first to be takenfrom the _debris_ was a lady, and a little girl about two years old. Isabel offered her own room for the use of the sufferers, and some mencarried them to the cottage, where kind nurse Bruce did all in her poweruntil the doctor should arrive. Isabel took the beautiful child, who afew moments before was all life and animation, and laid it upon Bruce'sbed; the poor little thing must have been killed instantly as there wasno sign of suffering upon its face, but a large bruise on its temple. The doctor feared that the lady had received fatal injuries; all throughthe night she continued insensible, and the morning brought no change. Who she was they could not tell, but as Isabel sat watching her throughthe long night, she felt that she had seen her before, but where shecould not recall. Late in the afternoon consciousness returned, and witha feeble moan she opened her eyes. "Where am I, " she asked, "Oh, whereis my little Izzie?" Isabel's only answer was a kiss. "Don't say it, "she cried, grasping Isabel's hand convulsively, "O, not that, not that!but I see it is so--I see it in your face without you saying so. " "O, mybaby, my baby, my little Izzie!" she moaned, covering her face with herhands; and then she lay quite still, her lips moving as if in prayer. The doctor, who came in shortly after, called Isabel from the room. "Miss Leicester, " he said, "she will not live many hours, we had betterfind out who she is and summon her friends by telegraph. We can do so bysending to W----; I tell you candidly that she is past all human aid. Poor thing, she need not grieve for her child, she will be with hersoon. " They returned to the room to gain the desired information. "Sendfor Dr. Taschereau, at H----, " she replied to the doctor's question. NowIsabel knew where and when she had seen her. But it grieved her to seewhat a change there was in the bright sunny girl who had cast such acloud over her path at the ball at Elm Grove. 

"Am I dying?" Natalie asked anxiously. 

"I dare not give you false hope, " the doctor replied. 

She covered her face with her hands for a few moments. "Do you think Ican live till Louis comes--Dr. Taschereau you know. "

"I hope so, " he answered, evasively. 

"Make the telegram very strong; O, very strong. Say that I am dying, butbe sure you don't say that baby is--you know--I can't say it, " she saidin a choking voice. "He will come, O, surely he will come, " she murmuredto herself. The doctor left promising to send immediately. "You areIsabel Leicester, " Natalie said as soon as they were alone. "I am sureyou are, for I have seen your picture. "

"That is my name, " replied Isabel, smiling, while she wondered how muchNatalie knew about her. 

"You loved Louis once?" she asked. 

"Yes. "

"You love him still?"

"No; that is past. "

A smile of satisfaction illumined Natalie's countenance for a moment, but quickly left it. "I was always sorry for you, Natalie, " Isabel saidkindly. 

"Sorry for me, why should you be sorry for me?" she asked quickly, thenpausing a moment she added, sadly, "I see you know how it is. "

"Ah, I know too well, I hoped, I prayed it might be otherwise. "

"He does not mean to be unkind, " she said, "but it is a cruel thing toknow that your husband does not love you When I first found out that hedid not, it almost killed me. He insisted on calling our little girlIsabel, in spite of all I could say as to my dislike to the name; so Ithought it was his mother's name, though he would not say. But when Ifound out that it was yours, I was very angry; O, you must forgive me, for I have had very hard thoughts towards you, and now I know that youdid not deserve them. O, Isabel, you are too good; I could not nurse youso kindly, had I been in your place. Let me see my little Izzie, " shepleaded. Isabel brought the child to its mother; it looked sweetly calmin its marble beauty. "Bury us both together in one coffin, " she said, while her tears fell fast upon its icy face. Natalie complained of greatpain, nothing that the doctor could do seemed to give her any relief, and she lay moaning through the night. About six o'clock in the morningthere was a quick step on the stairs which did not escape the ear of thesufferer. "Oh, Louis, Louis come to me, " she cried. In a moment he wasat her side, and her arms clasped round his neck. "I knew you wouldcome, " she said, fondly, "I could not have died happily unless you had. "

He pressed her closely to him, while the hot tears fell upon her face, for he was now suffering bitterly for all his neglect and unkindness tohis gentle little wife. 

"O Louis, I have always loved you so much, so very much!" she said, clinging more closely to him, and gazing into his face with an intensitypainful to witness, then smiling sweetly, she closed her eyes and allwas over. The others retired from the room, and Louis was left alonewith his dead wife, and had yet to learn the fate of his child. 

During the time that elapsed before the funeral, Isabel carefullyavoided meeting him, and hoped that he had not noticed her on themorning of his arrival. But just as he was about to leave, after thathad taken place, and she was congratulating herself for having managedso nicely, a message was brought her that Dr. Taschereau wished to seeher before he went. Though annoyed, Isabel did not see how she couldvery well refuse, so complied with the best grace she could. She foundhim in the sitting room, looking very pale. "I could not leave, MissLeicester, " he said, "without thanking you for your kindness to my wife. I had no right to expect it. "

"I merely did my duty, and do not require any thanks. "

"I would ask one question, " he continued, with a strong effort to becalm. "Was my little girl dead when first taken up?"

"Quite dead, " she answered. 

"It is a bitter trial, " he resumed, "I loved my child unutterably; theblow seems to have crushed me, I have no longer any interest inanything, I have nothing left, nothing!"

Isabel was silent, she was thinking of the time when she had nothingleft but him, and he had deserted her. And now it was the child hegrieved for and not his dear little wife. His treatment of her, hadalways appeared to Isabel as his greatest fault, and her indignation wasaroused as she saw, or thought she saw, that he did not feel her loss ashe ought to have done. "I cannot but think, " she said, "that the blowwas sent in mercy to her, in whose future there could only be pain, weariness and silent suffering, and had she alone been taken, I can seethat you would soon have got over it. "

"You have no idea of the agony and remorse I have endured or you wouldnot be so severe; you think because you know that I did not love my wifeas I should, that I do not feel her loss, but you are mistaken, herangel gentleness and patience seem forever to upbraid me for my neglectand unkindness. " And unable any longer to control his feelings, he laidhis head on the table, while heavy sobs convulsed his frame. Hispassions were strong, and it was something fearful to witness theviolence of his anguish. Isabel could not see his deep grief unmoved, yet dared not attempt to comfort him. Oh how she had wronged him; howkeenly he felt his loss. She would not leave him, and yet she did notwish to stay, and turned away to hide her emotion. When he grew morecomposed, he advanced towards her saying, "It is getting late, MissLeicester, once more I thank you for all your kindness. "

"Do not think any more of my cruel words. " said Isabel, the tearsstreaming from her eyes. 

"Then you do not withhold your sympathy, even from me, " he returned, offering his hand. 

"How can I, " she replied, taking, though reluctantly, the offered hand. "I am very sorry for you. "

"Good news, Isabel, good news!" cried Alice coming in shortly after withan open letter in her hand. "Everard is out of danger, and is recoveringrapidly, so we can soon come home, Mamma says. "

"That is indeed good news, " replied Isabel, who was really anxious toget the children home, as the late events had cast a gloom over all. Little Amy had more than once asked if Everard would die like the poorlady, and all three had cried very bitterly about the pretty little girlthat was killed. 

In three weeks more they were back at Elm Grove. 

Everard was on the terrace to welcome them. He seemed very glad to seethem again, but his manner towards Isabel was changed, he was cordialand kind, but still there was a difference. There was somethinginexplicable, and shall we say that it pained her. Why did she onretiring to her own room, shed bitter, bitter tears? She could scarcelyhave told, had you asked her, but so it was. 

Now that Everard had resolved to turn his thoughts from Isabel moreresolutely than ever, as it was useless any longer to indulge the hopeof one day possessing her, and had determined upon becoming a divinitystudent, and as soon as possible be ordained and go as a missionary tosome distant land, and there amid new scenes and duties forget his dreamof happiness. Isabel found that she was not indifferent regardingEverard, and often drew comparisons between her old love and thewould-be missionary, much to the disparagement of the former, andthought that he was unnecessarily strict with regard to the forbiddensubject. Confess now, Isabel, do you not fancy since your return, thathe has discovered the alteration in your feelings and is paying you inyour own coin? Believing this, and thinking also, that he has ceased tocare for you, is there not a coolness gradually springing up betweenyou? Oh, Isabel, why did you on the night before he returned to college, throw his favorite song into the fire, saying that you were tired ofthat old thing, and did not think that you would ever sing it again?Were you not watching him when he took one step forward as if to saveit, then turned away, the color mounting to his cheek and the veins ofhis forehead swelling? Oh, Isabel would you not gladly, gladly have sungit all the time if he had only asked you in the old way? Ah, it will bea long, long time before he will ask you again. You did more than youintended when you burnt that song. When at his father's request yousang, did he not instantly leave the room? Yes; and confess, Isabel, that you could with difficulty conceal your vexation. Did you not longto sing it with all your heart, and bring him back again? Oh, what afarce to burn that music; and yet, when he did return, did you not showhim more coolness than you had ever done before?

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A year has passed since the events recorded in the last chapter; thingshave gone on much the same, Everard trying to appear indifferent, whilein reality he was not so, but succeeding so well that Isabel felt almostashamed of her preference for him, and was, also, only too successful inconcealing her true feelings. She is now paying Emily a visit, though itwas seldom that she could be persuaded to accept any invitation. But injustice to her old friends, it must be said that they often endeavoredto do so. Ever since she came to Elm Grove she had always receivedabundant invitations for the holidays; but, with the exception of theMorningtons, Isabel had never been able to overcome her pridesufficiently to visit, in her present position, those she had known whenin such different circumstances. 

Harry and Emily, after travelling about for some time, had settled inH----, not far from the college, and had insisted upon Everard spendinga great deal of his time with them, as they had fitted up a nice littlestudy for his especial use. 

Emily was very anxious for the ordination, and had announced herintentions to hear him preach his first sermon, let it be when and whereit might, in spite of his saying that he would go where he was quiteunknown. 

"Now, Everard, I'm going to have a party on the fifth, " said Emily, "andI want you to bring some of the students, and I should like very much tohave tall, handsome ones, and none of your little 'ugly mugs. ' I wantparticularly that nice Mr. Elliott you introduced to me the other day. "

"I do not choose my friends merely for their appearance, and Elliott isnot one of the students, " returned Everard. 

"Never mind who he is, I want him to come. "

"I will ask him if he is in town; but I can't come, I am altogether toobusy. "

"Nonsense, Everard, you only say that to vex me. I mean you to come, that's pos'. Isn't he provoking, Isabel?"

"Perhaps his business is as important as it was that Christmas, " saidIsabel, quietly. 

Everard looked up quickly from his book, but Isabel was fully employedwith her tatting. 

"What do you know about my engagements at that time?" he asked. 

"Oh, nothing; only, perhaps, you can as easily put aside your work asyou did then. "

"How do you know that it was so easy?" he inquired. 

"Only from appearances. "

"Appearances are often deceitful. "

"Very. "

Again the rapid glance of inquiry, but he could make nothing of herplacid countenance; and the single word "very, " it must have been hisown imagination that gave significance to the very decided manner inwhich she had uttered it, or did she, indeed, see through his assumedindifference?

"You speak as though you had some experience, " he said. 

Isabel crimsoned, for she felt very guilty. 

"Do you try to appear different to what you are in reality?" heinquired. 

"Do you?"

"Why do you ask?" he said. 

"Why do you?" she retorted. 

"Isabel, Isabel! the carriage will be here in five minutes, " interposedEmily, "make haste and put your things on. "

The fifth came in due course, and Mr. Elliott with it. "Let me introduceto you a partner, " said Emily, taking him up to Isabel. 

"We have known each other too long to need an introduction, have we not, Isabel?" he said pleasantly. Then turning to Emily he added, "Thanks, Mrs. Mornington, for an unexpected pleasure. "

Everard, who was near by, heard him call her by her Christian name, andsaw the warm welcome accorded him, and the evident pleasure the meetingcaused Isabel. He was furiously jealous, and walked away intenselydisgusted. 

"You are a stranger here, are you not?" asked Emily. 

"Oh, quite. "

"Then I leave you in Isabel's hands. "

"Could not be in better, " he said, smiling, and Charley Elliott's smilewas a very pleasant one. Emily was enchanted, and went to sing hispraises to Everard, much to his annoyance. 

"Upon my word, Emily, if I were Harry I should be positively jealous. "

"Oh, jealousy is not Harry's _forte_; he leaves that to Mr. EverardArlington, " she said saucily, with a low curtsey and a most provokinglywise expression. 

"Emily!"

"Don't be a goose, Evie. "

"Where have you been this long, long time, Isabel?" asked Elliott, "I have missed you so much. "

"Have you, Charley? I'm glad to hear that some one has missed me. Thehappy past seems almost like a dream, it seems so far away. "

"It was too bright to last; don't you think so, Isabel?"

"Perhaps so. "

"Ah, those were days to remember, the excursions I had with you andHarley. But I, too, have had my troubles, " he added, gravely. 

"Who is exempt?" she returned. "But what of Harley, foolish Harley?Whatever possessed him to go to India? But, " she added, with a sigh, "itwould not have availed him much to have stayed, as it turned out. "

"I don't know; I think he would have done more wisely to have remained. "

"Why he went, I never could fathom. "

"You never knew?"

"Never. He assured me that he had good and sufficient reason, and thatpapa thought so, too. "

"I didn't think them good, or sufficient either, but he wouldn't take myadvice. It was our only quarrel, and I believe I have scarcely forgivenhim yet for going. It would, I am convinced, have been better for all ifhe had not done so, " and the tears stood in the young lieutenant's eyes. Though brave as a lion, Charley Elliott had a kind and loving heart. There was a soft, warm light in the deep-blue eyes; no one could knowCharley Elliott without loving him. Everard had no mean rival, ifCharley was one. But he was not. He loved Isabel, it is true, with allthe warmth of his ardent nature, but he loved her as he might abeautiful sister. He thought her worthy of Harley--his Harley--the prideof his boyhood, who in his eyes could do no wrong, until one day when hetold him that he was going to India. Charley's grief was excessive, buthis indignation arose when he learned the cause. 

Harley Elliott was ten years his brother's senior. He was the favoriteclerk in the firm of Leicester & Co. Had Isabel to be met anywhere, and her father was unable to go, Harley was invariably sent; he wasconstantly at the house for one thing or another. As Isabel grew up hewas frequently called upon to escort her and her young friends to placesof amusement. As might be supposed, he became deeply in love with her, until at last life was almost a burden, for Harley was sensitive andhigh-minded to a degree: as a poor clerk, he was too proud to woo therich merchant's daughter. He determined, therefore, to try to amasswealth in another land, and, if successful, to return and endeavor towin her; if not, to remain forever away. 

But Charley, a boy of sixteen, could not appreciate this course. "Stayand be brave-hearted, Harley, " he said, "she will, she must, love you, and the Governor will not refuse. " But all he could obtain from Harleywas a promise that he would tell Mr. Leicester the true cause of hisgoing. Charley had great hopes as to the success of this course, butHarley was not so sanguine, and Harley was right. Mr. Leicester quiteapproved of his going, and offered him letters of introduction toparties at Calcutta. True, he inquired if the attachment was mutual. Butwhen Harley confessed that he had not sought to know, consideringhimself in honor bound not to do so in his present circumstances, he waswell satisfied that it was so. He took care, also, to find out if Isabelreally had a preference for Harley, lest by urging his departure hemight make her unhappy. And it must be admitted that he was glad to seethat she was heart whole as yet, for he wished her to make a morebrilliant match. So he wished Harley success, and did all in his powerto hasten his departure. 

Poor Charley had missed his brother sadly. He would have accompanied himbut for his mother, who was not strong, and certainly could not haveborne the climate. 

"But your troubles, Charley; you have not told me of them, " said Isabel. "Is not Harley doing well?"

"Yes, now; but it was some time first. I am going to see him soon. Butit was my mother's death to which I alluded just now. "

"Oh, have you lost your mother? Poor Charley!"

"Don't talk of her, Isabel, I can't bear it, " and Charley brushed away atear. 

Dance succeeded dance, and Isabel was still Charley's partner. "Thereare half-a-dozen gentlemen dying to be introduced to Miss Leicester, andyou give them no chance, Mr. Elliott, " said Emily. 

"Very well, but remember, Isabel, that we are engaged for theafter-supper galop. "

"I'll not forget, " she returned. 

Now it so chanced that Everard had so often been Isabel's partner forthat dance, that he began to consider it a matter of course, and washighly offended when, after keeping away all the evening, he approachedher, saying, "This is our dance, is it not, Miss Leicester?" and shereplied, "You are too late, Mr. Arlington, " and whirled off with CharleyElliott. 

"Why did you do that?" he asked, when Isabel was again seated. 

"Was I to refuse a partner in case Mr. Arlington, after keeping away allthe evening, should condescend to ask me? I think you expect too much. "

"You knew I should come. "

"How could I know?"

"I always do. "

"And do you always keep away all the evening?"

He bit his lip. "Will you dance this?"

"I am engaged. "

"The next. "

"Impossible, my card is quite filled up. "

"Never mind, you can strike out one of the names. "

"Why should I do so? You had the best chance; you were here from thefirst, but from some whim determined not to put down your name, andlooked glum whenever I passed you, and now you think that I will treatone of these young men so unhandsomely. No, Mr. Arlington, I will not. "

"You chide me for not coming sooner. I thought you so well amused that Iwas not needed. "

"Needed, no; but still you have not been commonly civil to-night. "

"You are very unforgiving. "

"No, but I will not encourage your whims; you chose to sulk, it was nofault of mine. "

"As you will. "

"I think this dancing awfully stupid, " he said to Emily, as Isabel wentoff with her partner, "I shall be glad when it is over. "

"Of course, " she replied, with a most provoking laugh. 

"Parsons don't usually care for dancing, " added Harry, in a tone equallyirritating. 

But for Charley Elliott the evening would have been dull enough toIsabel. She would far rather have had Everard for a partner than any ofthose whose names were on her programme, but she believed that he hadpurposely avoided her all the earlier part of the evening: besides, Everard's manner towards her of late had become quite an enigma--nowcold, almost haughty, then again soft, even tender, thenindifferent--and Isabel resented its variableness. She was the moreannoyed, as she knew that Emily was not quite in the dark. 

"I think Mr. Elliott is a very nice young man, don't you, Isabel?" saidEmily at breakfast next morning. 

"Very, " replied Isabel, coloring warmly as she caught Everard'spenetrating glance. 

"A done thing, I see, " laughed Harry. 

"How can you be so absurd, Harry?"

Are you fond of sea voyages?" he continued. 

"I think them delightful. "

"Capital. Did you know that he was going to India?"

"Yes. "

"You did? Well, really. "

"Oh, Harry, be quiet. "

"I thought you two seemed awfully good friends. Did you know him beforelast night?"

"Certainly. "

"I am sure you don't agree with Everard that the party was a dreadfullyslow affair?"

"Oh, no; it was very pleasant. "

"I was very sure that Miss Leicester did not find it dull, " said Everardcoldly, almost scornfully. 

"Goosey, goosey!" said Emily, later in the day, as she came upon Everardin the music-room. 

"Why do you go on in this provoking way, Emily?" he said, angrily. 

"Because I have no patience with this stupid jealousy. If you care forher, why not try to win her in a straightforward manner; if not, why bevexed that another should?"

"Why do you strive to undo that which has cost me so much? She isnothing to me; I have determined that she shall be nothing. "

"Then why so jealous?"

"I cannot help it; you know that I cannot. "

"But why force yourself to give her up?"

"Why, indeed, " he echoed, "is it not worse than useless to cherish anattachment for one who is so perfectly indifferent?"

"I do not believe that she is as indifferent and inaccessible as youimagine. "

"Why do you tempt me, Emily?" he returned, almost fiercely. "Let me be;the ordination will be very shortly, and I am sure of an appointmentdirectly after. "

"Ah, goosey, goosey! 'Faint heart, ' you know, " she said, and lefthim--more angry with his favorite sister than he had ever been before. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

"Isabel, you said something about going home this week; now I havesettled that for you. I wrote to mamma, saying that you were going tostay until after the ordination, and then we would all return together. "

"I declare those children will get quite unmanageable with such longholidays. When will the ordination be?"

"The beginning of next month. "

"Dreadful! I do not think that Mrs. Arlington will consent. "

"Oh, yes, she will. What a state Everard is getting into about thatordination!" she continued, "and I am nearly as bad. I suppose we shallall go to see it. "

"I shall not, " said Isabel. 

"Why not?" asked Emily. 

"I had rather not. "

"What a strange girl you are! I wouldn't miss it for the world. He willbe so vexed, too. "

"Why should he?"

"Of course he will. "

Isabel protested that she would not go; but for all that, when the timecame, she could not resist the desire to be present, even at the risk ofbeing thought changeable. She went, after the rest, and from her cornersaw the whole. From where she sat she had a full view of hisface--grave, earnest, calm, evidently feeling how much was implied inthe ordination vows. As she returned before the others, they were quiteunaware that she had been there, and she, little hypocrite, listenedgravely to all Emily's descriptions. 

In the evening Isabel walked on the lawn in the pale moon's silverybeams, musing of all that had taken place that day, and thinking howvery happy Everard must feel to-night. Suddenly that gentleman accostedher: "Why did you refuse to be present at the ordination to-day?" heasked. Isabel was silent. "How is it, " he continued, "that while otherswere so anxious, you manifested no interest at all? It is, to say theleast, unkind. "

"You may be sure that I wish you all prosperity in your new vocation, "she said. "I would have said so before, had I thought you wished orexpected it. "

"I did not expect, " he said, almost angrily, "such a calm expression ofa cold regard; I wished and expected kindly sympathy, if nothing more. "

"As you think I should say more, accept my sincere wishes for yourhappiness; and believe me when I say that the lot which you have chosenis, in my estimation, the highest to which man can aspire, and may yourlabors be blessed with abundant success. "

"Your kind wishes, though so reluctantly expressed, are not leastvalued, " he returned, warmly. "But, Isabel, you say that you wish myhappiness. My happiness, as I told you long ago, rests with you. Here Ican refer to the old subject without breaking my promise, and I cannotleave for my distant mission without making one more appeal. Listen tome patiently for a few minutes. You seemed to adhere so strictly to whatyou said, that I considered it my duty to give you up; but it was a dutythat, with all my endeavors, I was unable to perform. I sought relief instudy--hard, excessive study--almost night and day. You know how thatended. My mother left me much to you, and your kindness only madematters worse. Afterwards, when you were away, I determined on thecourse I am now pursuing, and I persuaded myself that my heart was inthe work, and so it is, but it is not yours the less. What I endure isalmost insupportable--it is too hard. Often I have been obliged toappear cold and variable to conceal my real feelings, and you havedespised me for it. I have seen it, Isabel. To-night I determined toseek you, and plead my cause once more; and though you have received mewith indifference, even coldly, I still hope that beneath this reservethere may be some warmer feeling. "Tell me dearest, " he continued, "willyou not love me? Oh, Isabel, must I go alone?" She was silent. Then foran instant her eyes met his, and the love and happiness in that oneglance fully satisfied him, and he clasped her passionately in his arms. "You loved me all the time, Isabel, " he whispered, "only from a mistakensense of your duty you refused me when I first spoke of my love. "

"Oh, no, I did not love you then; I esteemed you very much, but I wasengaged to another. " Then she told what is already known to the reader. 

"And his name?" he asked. 

"Louis Taschereau. "

"Tell me: did the thought that I loved you tend to soften the blow, whenyou found how unworthy he was?"

Isabel was very truthful; she could not deceive him, even though thosebeautiful eyes were fixed upon her in earnest expectation. As we havesaid, she was very truthful, so answered, "I cannot flatter you so much, Everard; it afforded me no comfort whatever. Indeed I never thought ofit, except when some kind attention on your part reminded me of thefact, and then the thought only caused me pain. "

He looked disappointed. "No, " she added, "it was not until long after, that your worth and uniform kindness won my heart. "

They lingered on the lawn until the chill night air warned them not toremain there any longer. Entering the music-room by the window, theyfound Emily waiting for them. "Oh, here you are at last; Harry had to goout, and I've been all alone this half hour. " Then, starting up, sheseized a hand of each, exclaiming "You need not tell me, I see how itis; I am so glad, so very glad. "

"I saw you at the ordination this morning, " said Charley Elliott, whocame in during the evening, addressing Isabel, "only you were in such afearful hurry to get away that I did not get a chance to speak. "

"Then you must have very good eyes, Mr. Elliott, as Isabel was notthere, " cried Emily, laughing. 

"I beg your pardon, " he returned. 

"I was there, " said Isabel quietly, though she colored hotly. 

"You were?" exclaimed Everard, evidently well satisfied. 

"I declare you--are--a queer girl, " said Emily, opening her blue eyesvery wide, "I'm afraid you have not the bump of firmness. "

"I knew you would think me changeable, but after you had all gone Ibegan to think I should like to see it, so I followed. But I certainlydid not see you, Charley. "

"On, no, I was very sure that you saw no one but the candidates, "returned Charley, laughing. "Indeed you looked so solemn and earnest, one would almost suppose that you were one of them. "

"Is it true, " asked Harry, on his return, "that you have agreed to startfor Madagascar next month?"

"Quite true, " returned Everard, coolly. 

"I protest against it, " said Harry. "And so do I, " added Emily; whileCharley shrugged his shoulders, and Isabel laughed. 

Emily was terribly anxious for Charley to depart, as she longed to tellHarry the news; which news, when Emily told it, Harry received withunmistakable satisfaction, saying he couldn't see why Everard should notsettle down comfortably near home, instead of going to such anout-of-the-way place. 

The following week they all started for Elm Grove, and when, on theirarrival Mrs. Arlington took both her hands and kissed heraffectionately, Isabel knew that the news of their engagement hadpreceded them. They had a delightful evening, Mrs. Arlington being in amost gracious humor. Mr. Arlington shook Isabel so heartily by the handthat it ached for hours afterward. Emily was in the most exuberantspirits; Everard's happiness, from its very depth, was of a more quietnature; while Harry was as merry and joyous as his wife; and Isabel, inher own sweet way, had a kind look and word for all. 

On entering the school-room, next morning, Isabel found little Amysitting upon the floor, her head buried in the sofa cushion, sobbing asif her heart would break, her little form quivering with the violence ofher emotion. 

"What is the matter, Amy dear?" asked Isabel, taking the trembling childin her arms. But Amy could not speak; she only clung to Isabel, andsobbed more bitterly than before. Isabel sat down with Amy on her knee, stroking the shining hair until the child should be more composed. Aftera time, when the violence of her grief had a little abated, Isabelkissed her and inquired the cause of her tears. 

"Rose says that you are going to Madagascar with Everard, and perhaps Ishall never see you any more, " she managed to blurt out amid her sobs. "You ought not to go, for I am sure I love you more than he does. I toldhim so this morning, but he only laughed and said I didn't; but I do, and I think it is very unkind of him to take you away. We know lots ofyoung ladies; I'm sure he might marry some one else, and not take mydarling Isabel to nasty Madagascar. Oh, Isabel, you must not go. Oh, please! please!" she said, coaxingly. "Oh, won't you please tell himthat you have changed your mind, and would rather stay with us?"

"Oh, but you know I promised, Amy. "

"But you shan't go; tell him you won't; there's a dear, kind pet, " andshe threw her arms round Isabel's neck. 

"But don't you think that it is very selfish of little Amy to wish thather brother should go alone to that far country, when she will havepapa, mamma, and sisters?"

"Oh! I wish you didn't love him one bit, and then you would stay withus. "

"Hush! Amy dear, you mustn't talk so. "

"But I can't help wishing it, and I told Everard so, and that I hopedyou would change your mind. Then he said that it was very wicked of meto wish that; and he put me off his knee so quick, and walked out of theroom looking so angry--no, not angry, exactly, but as if he thought, perhaps, you might. "

"But, Amy, if you loved any one very much, would you like it if thatperson didn't love you one bit?"

"No, " said Amy, thoughtfully. 

"Then is it doing as you would be done by to wish such unkind andselfish things?"

"I did not think of that, " replied Amy, resting her head on Isabel'sshoulder, "but it seems as if you did not love me, to go away toMadagascar, " she added, sadly. 

"Oh, Amy dear, I love you very much, " said Isabel, the tears gatheringin her eyes, "and it grieves me to part from you. "

"And then we shall have another horrid governess, like Miss Manning, andthe days will all be long and miserable, like the long, long, weary daythat Emily used to sing about. And what will become of all our niceSundays?"

"Poor little Amy!" said Isabel, parting back the shining curls from thesorrowful little face, and looking into the violet eyes that were fixedupon her so earnestly. "You must not think that I would leave youwithout first trying to fill my place with one who would love you andtry to make you happy. Now, if you will stop crying, I will tell youabout the young lady who, I hope, will be your governess. She is a verydear friend of mine, and I trust you will all be very kind to her, andlove her very much. Her name is Gertrude Hartley. " Alice and Rose nowentered the school-room, and gave a very warm welcome to Isabel. "Pleasego on about Gertrude Hartley, " pleaded Amy. Then Isabel told them howGertrude had gone as a governess to a family who lived far back in thecountry, miles away from any church, and how, by her endeavors, a smallbut pretty one had been erected, where service was held once a month. But Gertrude had grown tired of the country, and was anxious to obtainanother situation. "She will come to see you next week, and I am sureyou will like her. And you know you can often talk about me, for sheknows me very well. I shall write you nice long letters about thatstrange country, and I shall often think of my dear little sisters, foryou will be my sisters then, you know. "

"I did not think of that, " said Amy, smiling. 

"Oh, Isabel, I'm so sorry that you are going away. Don't you think youcould persuade Everard to give up being a missionary? I'm certain hecould have Attwood Church if he liked, because Dr. Herbert once askedhim if he would like it. Please do, because it would be so nice. "

"What! and leave those heathen people still in ignorance of God? Mylittle Rose does not think what she is wishing that Everard would giveup. No, I could not wish him to do so, much less persuade him. "

"But he might get some one else to go, " replied Rose. 

"No, Rose, we must each perform our own duties. "

"You mean that it would be like putting your hand to the plow andlooking back?"

"Exactly so, " replied Isabel. 

"I did not think of it in that way, so you must not be angry with me. "

"I was not angry, dear, only I wanted to show you that your wish was awrong one. What does Alice think about it?"

"I think, " replied Alice, "that he ought to go, and I am very glad thatyou are going with him, for you are so nice and so good that I am surethe little heathen children will listen to what you say, because youhave such a nice way of telling things. Of course I am very sorry tolose you, but I mean to think of the good your going will be for otherpeople, and how nice it is for Everard, and then I shall not care aboutit so much. "

"It gives me great pleasure to hear you say this, and I think that Aliecan no longer be called selfish. Believe me, dear children, that thesurest way to forget our own troubles is to find pleasure in the benefitand happiness of others. "

Everard Arlington was about to enter by the window, but paused a momentto contemplate the group before him. On a large ottoman sat Isabel, withAmy on her knee, one arm encircling Alice, who was standing thoughtfullyby her side, her head resting on Isabel's shoulder, while behind wasRose, half smiles, half tears. 

"Oh, Everard!" cried Amy, "I won't say again that I hope Isabel will notgo with you. But she says that it is not naughty to be sorry. You arenot angry with me now?" she inquired, looking wistfully into his face. 

"No, my little Amy, " he replied, smoothing the glossy curls, as hestooped as if to kiss her, but he didn't kiss Amy. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Mrs. Arlington was not one to do things by halves, so that when shewelcomed Isabel, on her return, it was no longer as "the governess, " butas her future daughter-in-law--as the bride-elect of her darlingson--indeed as one of them, the Arlingtons. She was glad, as he was sodetermined upon being a missionary, that he was to marry before he went, but she would rather--far rather--that he should have chosen any otherthan "the governess, " though she had nothing against Isabel--nothing. Still it was a trial to the haughty mother that her only son--the hopeand pride of the family--should marry a governess. She knew that manywould say she had been imprudent in having so young and pretty agoverness, knowing how fond Everard was of the society of his youngsisters. And, indeed, she did feel she had been wrong when she gotEverard's letter announcing the engagement, and it was some little timebefore she could be at all satisfied with the matter. Grace wasexcessively annoyed, and, by her anger, tended greatly to stimulate hermother's displeasure, saying that it was quite a disgrace to the family, and that she would never receive Isabel as a sister. Fortunately herconsent was never likely to be asked, as her easy-going brother, the petof the house, had a pretty determined will, and her opinion wouldcertainly not influence him in the matter. Indeed, now that he hadIsabel's consent, he would have married her even though opposed by anynumber of relations; and it was with no thought of obtaining their ideason the subject that he had written, but simply to inform them of thefact, little suspecting the commotion it would cause at Elm Grove. 

However, the course he pursued had the effect of reconciling his motherto the match, and it was well that it was so, or Isabel would have metwith a sorry reception on her arrival. 

Very quickly after the letter we have mentioned, came another, such asonly Everard could write--written out of a full heart, telling of hishappiness, and also of his former despair, long probation, and wearywaiting; how his love for Isabel had dated from that Sunday evening whenhe first saw her in the school-room with the children; and expressingthe hope that his mother would give Isabel a place in her heart equal tothat of her own children. 

Tears of sympathy and love fell from the mother's eyes as she read, anda happy smile played around her mouth as she refolded the letter whichwould be read again and again. Henceforth she was won. So, then, whenLady Ashton, who had now returned from England, came to condole withdear Mrs. Arlington upon the ill luck that had befallen the family, shefound that lady quite satisfied, to her profound astonishment. However, she gave a willing ear and ready sympathy to Grace, who was quitedisgusted at her mother's contentment, and returned with Lady Ashton tothe Park, saying, that she was far too angry to meet them at present;and there she remained for weeks nursing her wrath against her onlybrother, who would so shortly leave for a distant land, not heeding thepossibility, nay probability, that he might never return. Who couldforesee the dangers that might be in store for him? Read the dangers andmiseries to which the missionaries sent to foreign and heathen lands areonly too often subjected--dangers on sea and land, and fearful crueltiesat the hands of wild and savage creatures, more ferocious sometimes intheir implacable fury than the beasts of prey. But even overlookingthese more dreadful calamities, there is the climate, so trying to thenatives of cooler countries. Nor was she just to Isabel. She would onlysee a beautiful, designing girl, who had succeeded in catching herbrother. She was angry with Isabel, with Everard, with her mother, and, lastly, with herself, to think that she, too, had been for a short timedeluded like the rest. She felt now that she positively hated Isabel. 

Lady Ashton did her best to fan the flame of resentment. What wonder, then, that under that lady's able management it grew day by day, untilGrace really believed her silly anger to be just indignation at herbrother's blind infatuation. Ah, foolish Grace!

To Emily's great satisfaction, Everard preached his first sermon inthe church they usually attended, and was very calm and self-possessedconsidering the eight eager faces in the family pew, his heightenedcolor being the only evidence that this was the first time he hadaddressed a congregation from the pulpit. It happened, strangely enough, that a collection for the Missionary Society was to be taken up on thisoccasion, and the young deacon delivered an exceedingly eloquentdiscourse advocating the cause of missions, with a warmth andearnestness that carried his hearers along with him, and showed thathis heart was in the work. No one who heard him could doubt his futuresuccess in the cause. 

Then what a happy group waited for him after service, and what approvingsmiles beamed upon him from loved faces when he came!

"Oh, Everard! I should never go to sleep at sermon time if you alwayspreached, " cried little Amy. "It was so nice, " added Rose, warmly; whilethe proud father wrung his son's hand in silence more eloquent thanwords. 

Then Everard disappointed a crowd of admiring friends by disappearingthrough a side gate and going home across the fields, even waving backhis young sisters, who would have followed him. "I could not stand it, "he said, on reaching home half an hour after the others, though his wayhad been much shorter, he having spent the interim in self-communionbeneath the shade of a friendly oak. Oh! that was a happy Sunday at ElmGrove; but, like all earthly happiness, it had one cloud--Grace'sstrange and unkind conduct. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

"Please, Miss Leicester, a gentleman wishes to see you, " said Susan, putting her rosy face in at the school-room door, as Isabel was givingthe children their last lesson. 

"To see _me_, Susan?" exclaimed Isabel. 

"Yes, Miss, he asked for you, but he would not give his name. "

"Very well, Susan. Who can it be?" she asked, turning to Alice. 

"I'm sure _I_ don't know, " answered Alice, laughing, "you had better goand see. "

On entering the drawing-room, Isabel saw to her astonishment that it wasLouis Taschereau. "This is indeed a surprise, " she said, extending herhand, for in her present happiness she could not be ungracious orunkind. 

Encouraged by her cordial greeting, Louis began: "I thought of writing, but determined on seeking an interview, as a letter could butinadequately convey what I wished to say. I have suffered much, as youare aware, and my troubles have made me a very different man; but agleam of light seems once more to shine on my path, and I hope yet torepair the error of my life. Can you--will you--overlook and forgive thepast, and be again to me all that you once were? I know that I do notdeserve it, but I will try to atone for the past if, dear Isabel, youwill be my wife. "

"Stay, Dr. Taschereau!" interposed Isabel, "I am just about to marry aclergyman who is going abroad. "

Had a cannon-ball fallen at his feet, Louis could scarcely have beenmore dumbfounded than he was at this intelligence. He became deadlypale, and she thought he would faint. 

"You are ill, Dr. Taschereau. Let me ring for some wine. "

"Don't ring, I don't want any. Is this true?" he continued, "are youreally going to marry another?"

"I am, and I do not see why you should be surprised. "

"Why do you make me love you so? Why must your image intrude itself intoevery plan, and all be done as you would approve, if, after all, you areto marry another? You would not wonder at the effect of what you havetold me, if you knew how the hope that you would forgive me and yet bemine, has been my only comfort a long, dreary time. "

"You have no right to speak in this way, Dr. Taschereau; it was I whohad cause of complaint, not you. But I am very sorry that you shouldfeel so; very sorry that you should have suffered yourself to imaginefor a moment that we could ever be again to each other what we oncewere. And do not think that my present engagement is the cause of mysaying this; for never, never, under any circumstances, could I havebeen your wife after what has passed. I say not this in anger orill-will for the past, I do not regret it--I feel it was best. "

"Will you not tell me the name of the fortunate clergyman?" he asked. 

"Certainly, if you wish it; it is no secret. It is Everard Arlington. "

"Everard Arlington!" he exclaimed in unfeigned astonishment. "It was theknowledge of his hopeless attachment that made me hope--almost makesure--that you had not entirely ceased to love me, and might yet bemine; the more despairing he became, the higher my hopes rose. "

"How could you, how dared you, indulge such thoughts after what I saidin the woods at D----?" exclaimed Isabel, indignantly. "If Everard hadso long to believe that his attachment was unavailing, it was becauseIsabel Leicester would not give her hand unless her heart went with it;because I respected his affection too much to trifle with it, and not atall on your account. Believe me, that from the time I first learned thatyou were married, every thought of you was rigidly repelled, and it wasarrant presumption in you to suppose anything else, " she continued, proudly, the angry tears suffusing her eyes. 

The conference was here ended, to Isabel's great relief, by the entranceof Everard, who looked inquiringly at each. 

"How are you, old fellow?" he said (for Isabel's proud anger fled at hisapproach), "what brought you here so unexpectedly?"

"Oh, a little private affair, " he replied, looking rather uncomfortable;but there was that in Louis's eye, as he said this, that made Isabeldistrust him; something that made her determined to put it out of hispower to misrepresent and make mischief. True, he had said how changedhe was, and spoken of the reformation his trials had made. Certainly hehad been more calm under disappointment than had been his wont. Butstill she doubted him. She had seen that look before, and knew that itwas the same false Louis, not so changed as he imagined. The dark sidewas only lying dormant; she could read his malicious enjoyment in thatcruel smile, and knew its meaning well. Meeting his glance with one ofproud defiance and quiet determination, which said, as plainly as words, "I will thwart your fine plans, Mr. Louis, " she said:

"You are aware that I was formerly engaged to Dr. Taschereau. Hisbusiness here to-day was to endeavor to renew that engagement. I neednot say how very strange and absurd this appears, as you are acquaintedwith the circumstances under which the former engagement terminated. "

"Yes, that was the 'little private affair, ' but I find that you havealready won the prize; allow me to congratulate you. "

Louis said this in a frank, pleasant manner, appearing to take his owndisappointment with so much good nature, at the same time blending acertain degree of sadness in his tone as quite to deceive Everard andwin his sympathy. But the thundering black look which he cast at Isabelfully convinced her that she was right. 

"You will dine with us, of course, " said Everard, cordially. 

"I shall do so with pleasure, " returned Louis. 

Isabel bit her lip. "Just to see how much he can annoy me, " she thought. But if this was his object he must have been disappointed, so totallyunconscious of his presence did Isabel appear, and when he addressed herpersonally her manner was colder than even Everard thought necessary. 

The heat of the rooms became very oppressive during the evening, andIsabel stepped out on the lawn to enjoy the refreshing breeze, but wassoon surprized to find that Louis had followed her. 

"Let us at least be friends, " he said. "You will remember that it wasnot in anger we last parted. "

But Isabel was silent. 

"You doubt me, " he continued. "I do not blame you, but you are harsh, Miss Leicester. "

"Not harsh, but just, " returned Isabel. "Friends we can never be;enemies I trust we never were. "

"You draw fine distinctions. May I ask what place in your estimation Iam permitted to occupy?" said Louis, sarcastically. 

"No place whatever, Dr. Taschereau; I must ever regard you withindifference, " returned Isabel, coldly. 

"Be it so, " he replied, angrily. "You have obstinately refused alloffers of reconciliation, and must therefore take the consequences. "

"The consequences? You speak strangely, Dr. Taschereau. "

I repeat: the consequences. I determined long since that you shouldnever marry another, and my sentiments on that subject have not changed. No; I vow you shall not!" he added, with the old vindictive expression. 

"How dare you hold such language to me, sir?" cried Isabel, indignantly. 

Without answering, he drew a pistol from his pocket and would have shother, but, changing his purpose, he turned upon Everard, who wasapproaching. With a cry of horror, Isabel threw herself between them, and prevented Louis from taking as good an aim as he might otherwisehave done; for though the ball, in passing, grazed her shoulder, itpassed Everard harmlessly and lodged in the acacia tree. With partedlips, but without the power of speech, she clung to Everard in an agonyof terror for a moment, and then lay motionless in his arms. In terribleapprehension he carried the senseless girl into the house, fearing thatshe was seriously hurt, as the blood had saturated a large portion ofher dress, which was of very thin texture. Of course the consternationinto which the family was thrown by the shot, followed by the entranceof Everard with Isabel in this alarming condition, was tremendous. Buthappily Isabel was more terrified than hurt, Dr. Heathfield pronouncingthe wound of no consequence (to Everard's intense disgust), telling herto take a glass of wine and go to bed, and she would be none the worsefor her fright in the morning--in fact treated the whole thing quitelightly, and laughed at Isabel for her pale cheeks, saying that such analabaster complexion was not at all becoming. He promised to send hersomething to prevent the wine making her sleep too soundly, meaning acomposing draught to enable her to sleep, as he saw very little chanceof her doing so without. Everard volunteered to go with him for it. Ontheir way, Dr. Heathfield remarked that he was afraid Everard thoughthim very rude and unfeeling. Everard, who had been very silent, repliedthat he did. 

"Then do not think so any longer, " said the Doctor, laying his hand onhis companion's shoulder. "I saw how scared she was, and treated thecase accordingly. You are both great favorites of mine, so I hope youwill not be offended. Do you know what became of the scoundrel?"

"He made for parts unknown immediately after he fired, " replied Everard, sternly, while the heavy breathing showed how much it cost him to speakcalmly. "It is quite a Providence that one of us is not dead at thismoment, as he is a splendid marksman. I don't know which of the two theshot was intended for; if for me, she must have thrown herself betweenus. "

"She is just the girl to do it, " cried the Doctor, grasping him warmlyby the hand. "I have always had a very high opinion of her. "

"I should think so, " said Everard, with a quiet smile of satisfaction. 

Fortunately Isabel had no idea that Everard had gone with the Doctor, or she would have been terribly anxious, for fear Louis should still benear. But guilt makes cowards of all, so Louis was now in a fearfulstate of mind: for he was passionate, hasty, violent and selfish, butnot really bad-hearted, and jealous anger and hatred had so gained themastery over him that he had been impelled to do that at which, incooler moments, he would have shuddered. So now he was enduring agony, fearing lest his mad attempt at murder had been successful, yet notdaring to inquire. Ah, Louis! you are now, as ever, your own worstenemy. "

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

"What makes you look so sad Everard; Isabel was not much hurt; not hurtat all I may say. "

"I was not thinking of her just now Emmy, " he answered smiling, but thesmile passed away, and left his face very sad indeed. 

"What is it Evvie, " she asked in the old coaxing way, seating herselfbeside him on the seat round the old Elm tree. 

"I was thinking of Grace, " he replied "you can't think how her keepingaway pains me. "

"I wouldn't think of it, if I were you, it is very mean and ill-naturedof her, but she will get over her huff after a while. "

"That would be all very well, if I were going to remain here, but youknow how soon I go and----"

"Oh Everard, " (Emmy could not contemplate this event with composure) "OhEverard, I can't bear you to go, and she threw her arms round his neck, weeping passionately. 

His sisters were not much given to tears, this one in particular, thebrightest of them all, so that this genuine bust of grief was the moreperplexing. 

He was endeavouring in vain to soothe her, when little Emmy came uponthe scene, and seeing her mamma in trouble, she set up a terrifichowling, and running at Everard, she seized his coat to steady herselfand commenced to kick him with all the force she could muster, exclaiming "naughty, naughty, to make my mamma cry. "

This warlike attack upon her brother set Emily laughing, while hefeigned to be desperately hurt by the tiny feet at which the round blueeyes grew wonderfully well satisfied. Isabel now joined them alarmed bythe cries of her little playmate. Emmy looking very brave scrambled uponmamma's knee, from whence she darted very defiant glances at her uncle. 

"I think I will go to Ashton Park" said Everard. 

"Do you think that it will do any good" asked Emily. 

"I hope so, Grace is not bad hearted, only vexed, besides, I should wishto leave on good terms with the old lady. "

"I have no doubt that she pities you immensely. " Everard laughed "I willgo now" he said, "and we hope you may be successful" returned bothwarmly. 

"Good evening Lady Ashton" said Everard when he arrived at the Park;entering the drawing-room from the lawn. 

"Oh is that you, you poor unfortunate boy, " returned her ladyshipcompassionately. 

"Pray spare your pity, for some more deserving individual, " answeredEverard laughing, "I think myself the most fortunate of mortals. "

"Don't come to me with your nonsense, you are very silly, and havebehaved in a most dishonorable manner towards your family. "

"Will you be kind enough to state in what way, " replied Everardcolouring, "I confess I can't see it. "

"Why, in offering to that governess girl. "

"You are severe. "

"Oh I haven't patience with you; my sympathy is all with poor Grace, whofeels quite disgraced by it. "

"She cannot think so, seriously, or if she does, she ought to beashamed. 

"Hoighty, toighty, how we are coming the parson to-night. "

"Pshaw, " exclaimed Everard impatiently. 

"I think she is justly angry and aggrieved. Of course in receiving soyoung and pretty a girl, as governess for your sisters, (for I allowthat she is pretty. ) "Oh you do, " said Everard sarcastically. "Yourmother" continued Lady Ashton "relied upon your honorable feelings, andgood sense, but you have abused her confidence in a most cruel manner. "

The swelling veins, and heavy breathing showed how annoyed he was, andhe answered warmly, "I deny having done anything wrong or dishonorable, I presume that I have a perfect right to choose for myself. "

"To a certain extent I grant, but you owe something to the feelings ofyour family. "

"They have no cause of complaint, Isabel is quite their equal if notsuperior. "

"In your estimation, " said Lady Ashton contemptuously. 

"I don't care to discuss the subject" returned Everard haughtily. 

"Reverse the matter, how would you like it, if Grace was going to marrya tutor. "

"If he was a worthy person, and Grace was satisfied, I certainly shouldnot object. "

"I doubt it, " cried Lady Ashton angrily. Then she commenced aspersingIsabel in every way, and Everard hotly defended her. "Nasty, artful, designing girl, you will live to repent your folly yet, " she said. ThenEverard got in a terrible passion newly ordained though he was. But LadyAshton was a woman, and Everard Arlington never forgot when he was inthe presence of ladies, so though they most decidedly quarrelled, Everard saying some pretty severe things, he managed to keep the coolerof the two, Lady Ashton being as spiteful as only Lady Ashton could be. So instead of conciliating Grace he had only made matters worse; as hesupposed; but Lady Ashton really loved her god-son, and in her heartadmired him for his spirit. 

Everard's anger once roused was not easily appeased, so that after heleft Ashton Park, he took a ten mile walk in the moonlight before he wassufficiently calm to venture home. "What is the matter" asked his motherwhen he did. 

"I have been in a tremendous passion, and am not quite cooled down yet"he answered, "good night. "

The upshot of all this was, that on coming home one afternoon, Everardfound Lady Ashton, and Grace waiting for him. "Let bygones, be bygones, "said the former taking his hand, while Grace offered hers with adignified condescension that was truly amusing, Everard was only tooglad to have a cessation of hostilities, and responded cordially to theovertures of peace. 

Then Lady Ashton insisted upon giving them a farewell party, she wouldtake no denial, saying that if Everard did not come, that she would notbelieve that he forgave her. "

Grace and Emily were delighted, saying, it was the very thing, and Alicewas half wild with glee at being included in the invitation, and alsoallowed to go. 

So Isabel had a new white dress for the occasion, and now that she wasno longer the governess, she arrayed herself with some of the beautifuland costly jewels, which her fathers creditors had refused to take, (though they were offered them by Isabel, ) which had not seen the lightsince she came to Elm Grove. 

"Oh Isabel, now you look like yourself" said Lucy, who had arrived justin time to be of the party. 

"How sly of you Isabel, not to let us see them before" cried Emilyexamining them "what beauties, " and Mrs. Arlington looked veryapprovingly at her future daughter-in-law. "I think that you are theproudest girl I ever saw, Isabel, " she said reproachfully. 

"Oh mamma, not proud, only sensitive, " interposed Alice warmly. 

"I think you were wrong my dear" continued Mrs. Arlington withoutheeding Alice. 

"Please don't', pleaded Isabel the tears gathering in her eyes "I couldnot help feeling so, indeed I could not. "

"Don't blame her mamma, it does not matter now, " put in Emily. 

"She was a stupid little goose to care so much about it; and I alwayssaid so, " chimed in Lucy. 

"Pray who is a stupid little goose, " asked Everard joining the group inthe drawing-room. 

"Ask no questions----you know the rest" returned Lucy saucily. 

"Dear me, how late we shall be" cried Emily "what can make papa andHarry so long. "

"On arriving at the Park, an unexpected pleasure caused a great deal ofexcitement. On entering the dressing-room they met Ada. "Oh, when didyou come. " I'm so glad. " "How delightful. " Burst from themsimultaneously, as Ada was hugged in a manner that bid fair to ruin theeffect of her careful toilet. 

"Didn't Lucy tell you, " asked Ada amazed. 

"Not I, " cried Lucy triumphantly. 

"Oh Lucy. "

Then a thundering rap at the door from Harry, who was impatient to seehis sister; made them hasten down, all in high spirits at the unlookedfor meeting. 

Lady Ashton hardly seemed herself she was so pleasant, and even Gracedid the agreeable to perfection. 

Lucy, lectured Everard, and condemned severely his taking Isabel to beeaten up by savages; as she persisted would be the case if he carriedout his preposterous intentions. But Everard only laughed. "I cannot seehow you can reconcile it to your conscience, to doom such a girl asthat, to so wretched an existence, look at her, is she fit for such ahum-drum-knock-about life. "

"Everard cast a very admiring glance at his bride elect, but his onlyanswer was a rather sad smile. 

"Oh I see I am right, " she cried, "I know you think that she is morefitted for civilized society, confess now, confess, I used to think youso considerate, but now I see you are very selfish. 

"Perhaps I am, " and he walked out on the lawn, leaving Lucy muchastonished and very indignant. 

"Be merciful Lucy, " said Charles offering his arm. 

"Not I, " returned Lucy, "I think it awfully cool. "

"Then it must be very refreshing this hot evening" said Charleslaughing. 

"Don't be provoking. " I'm awfully angry. "

"Lucy!"

"Charles!"

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

"Oh, here you are, " said Lucy when shortly after breakfast next morningshe found Everard enjoying a cigar in the piazza. "You needn't think toescape by going off in that unceremonious manner last night, so you mayas well listen now, for I intend to express my sentiments some time orother. "

"I am all attention Miss Lucy, only I hope you don't object to mycigar. "

"Not at all, it will make you more patient perhaps. "

"Shouldn't wonder, as I'm afraid from your preamble it is nothing I careto hear. "

"Everard!" then with a shrug. "Of course you don't. "

Everard laughed. "You stupid fellow, won't you be quiet and hear what Ihave to say. "

"Oh certainly. "

"I wish to remind you, that you need not go goodness knows how manyhundred miles to find people to convert, as there are plenty nearerhome. "

"No doubt, and also, others near home anxious to convert them. "

"And do you think, that no one but yourself would go to that outlandishplace. "

"Very few, comparatively; of course there are some. "

"Mighty few I expect. "

"Then you see an additional reason, why I should. "

"I have not seen any yet, so of course cant't see additional ones" sheanswered saucily. "I tell you what you had better do, stay and convertme, and that will take you a precious long time I promise you. "

"Lucy!"

"Oh, how grave you are, I wish you could see your face. "

"You forget what you are talking about, Lucy, or you would not speak so"he said gravely, "I cannot believe that you are in earnest. "

"Of course I don't mean half I say, I never do, I did not think youwould take it so seriously. "

"It is a bad way to get into, Lucy. "

"Don't be alarmed" cried Lucy laughing, "I'm not so awfully wicked asyou imagine. I know, that I am very wild, and thoughtless, and that thatschool did not do me any good, but for all that, I'm not quite aheathen. "

"Be merry and wise, " he said kindly but gravely. "

"That is not so easy" returned Lucy with a gulp, "you may think so, youare so mild tempered; but with one, so impulsive, and high spirited as Iam, it is very hard, almost impossible; that's always the way with youquiet, easy going people, you have no sympathy with us. "

"Oh, Lucy, how apt we are to form wrong opinions, you think me quiet, easy, gentle, I may be so, but I am also passionate, determined, and yousay selfish; be that as it may, I cannot give up without a very hardstruggle, not even then usually. I am unyielding. Persevering and firm, Emily would say, self-willed and obstinate, Grace would call me. "

"I can't believe you. "

"It is true. "

"But to resume our discussion; it is really too provoking to take Isabeloff to that outlandish place. "

"It is settled, all the talking in the world can't make any difference, "he said with the quiet smile, and languid manner, that made it so hardto believe that he was indeed what he had described. 

In the evening Susan brought a note to Isabel, as she and Everard werewalking on the terrace. Isabel turned deadly pale on observing thehandwriting, "it is from Dr. Tachereau" she exclaimed. 

"Let me open it" said Everard seeing her agitation. 

"A poisoned letter perhaps. "

"Oh Everard, such things only happen in story books, but if you reallythink so, it had better go at the back of the fire. "

"The fire is the right place for it no doubt, but I have a curiosity tosee the inside first, some impertinence you may be sure. "

"Perhaps to inform us, that he will bring his pistols to the church, ifwe dare to venture there, said Isabel breaking the seal. She opened it, but a sickening faintness overpowered her, and she was unable to read. He had now succeeded in making her fear him, while his vindictivenesshad been solely against herself, she had defied him, but now, thatanother was menaced she trembled for his safety. 

"Let me see this madman's effusion" said Everard soothingly, "Why Ideclare you are quite ill, take this seat and I will read for our mutualedification. "

Casting an anxious glance towards Isabel occasionally to ascertain ifshe was recovering from her agitation, he read a follow's:

 DEAR ISABEL, --(cool muttered Everard). What a fool I was the other night, can you, will you, forgive me. Could you know the remorse and misery I have suffered since, or the feeling of thankfulness with which I heard that I had not seriously injured either of you; I think you would. What a reward for your kindness to my poor Natalie; what a return for your sympathy in my trouble. When had you rejoiced at my misfortune, I could scarcely have been surprised. But I loved myself, and my own way, and you thwarted me twice; but enough of the past. I dare not contemplate it. Let me however say a few words in extenuation of my folly. You can never know what I endured that evening, to see the regard once bestowed on me, transferred to another, to see that I was nothing, --that I was entirely, unmistakeably forgotten, --perhaps detested; for you treated me with unnecessary coldness. All this so worked upon my unhappy temperament until nearly mad with anger and jealousy, I did that, for which I now beseech you to forgive me. I shall never see you again, as the thought of your marrying another is so hateful to me that I dare not trust myself in your presence after the dark glimpse I have had of my evil nature. I did not think I could be so wicked. Farewell, I still remain your loving, though now unloved--LOUIS. 

Everard deliberately tore the note into fragments, with the sameexpression that Dr. Heathfield had remarked, while an angry flushsuffused his countenance. But there was more of pity, than of anger, inIsabel's mind, and she did not notice his displeasure. And as Rose atthis moment came to call them in, to see Mrs. Arnold, of course nocomment was passed on the letter; though Everard's unusual gloominessthat evening, proved that he had not forgotten it. 

Mrs. Arnold was very fussy as usual, and told many amusing anecdotesregarding her journey, and also gave an immense amount of good advice toboth Everard and Isabel, for which of course they were duly grateful. 

"Really my dear Mabel" said Mrs. Arnold, "I never was more glad in mylife, than when I heard of this match, I was positively delighted. Butyou must not suppose for a moment, that I had any such idea; when I gother the situation. "

Isabel looked annoyed, "naughty girl" said Mrs. Arlington, and then itcame out, how foolishly sensitive, (as Mrs. Arlington termed it, ) Isabelhad always been, regarding her position. "Never mind, dear, " said Mrs. Arnold kindly, "It is all over now, but still I should have thought thatyou had been a governess long enough to get used to it. "

"Please don't pleaded Isabel, resolutely forcing back the tears whichinvariably came, at any allusion to the distasteful subject. AndEverard, who until now had been unaware of her extreme dislike of beinga governess admired her the more, that while hating her position somuch, she had so determinately refused him, as long as she felt, thatshe did not return his affection. 

"How is it my dear" inquired Mrs. Arnold, who seemed destined to-nightto hit upon the wrong topic, "that you have never been to visit any ofyour old friends, Mrs. Price, Mrs. Vernon, Miss Carding, and hosts ofothers, told me repeatedly, that time after time, they have sent you themost pressing invitations, all to no purpose. "

Isabel reddened painfully, Emily and Lucy laughed. 

"That is another of Isabel's 'weaknesses'. " Everard looked annoyed. "Sing some of your comic songs, Harry, " he said, wishing to change thesubject. And Harry sung, to the great amusement of the party generally, and of Mrs. Arnold in particular. 

Before they separated, a moonlight excursion to the romantic dell, thescene of the memorable picnic four years ago, was arranged for the nextevening, and met with universal approbation. All agreeing that thewater-fall could only be seen to perfection by moonlight. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

It had been a dull day, this last day, so that all were glad that theevening was not spent quietly at home, giving time for sad thoughts ofto-morrow's parting. Thanks to Harry and Lucy, the excursion passed offmore cheerfully than might have been expected, all appearing to enjoythemselves. On their return, Isabel did not join the others in thedrawing-room, but went out and lingered by the fountain, in themoonlight, musing on all that had happened since she first came there, now nearly five years ago, and wondering how long it might be, and whatmight happen, ere she would again be there--or if, indeed, she would bethere again. Ah! seek not to look into futurity, Isabel. It is well foryou that you know not all that shall be ere you again sit there. Enjoyyour happiness while you may, and leave the future to unfold itself. Sheremained there a long time thinking of many things, and was still lostin meditation when Everard joined her. 

"A penny for your thoughts, " he said. 

"Oh, Everard, I want you to do something, " she returned, laying her handon his arm. 

"What is it, dearest?" he inquired. 

"I feel so unhappy about Louis. I wish so much that you would write andsay that we forgive him. "

Everard was silent, and his face became very stern. 

"If you would, I should be so glad. "

"You ask too much, " he said. 

"Only what is right. "

"Right perhaps, but hard--very hard. "

"Oh, do, " she pleaded, raising her blue eyes to his so earnestly. "Oh, Everard, it is not the way for us to be happy, to be unforgiving. I should be so miserable: day by day watching the blue waters, knowingthat I had left any one in anger or ill-feeling. Oh, Everard, you willforgive him!"

She looked so lovely there in the moonlight, pleading for one who solittle deserved it of her, that Everard found it hard to refuse her. 

"I cannot write a lie, Isabel, even to please you, " he replied, in aharsh, unnatural voice. 

"Oh, no, not that; but I want you really to forgive him. "

"I do not, I cannot, " and his voice was hard and cold. 

Isabel shuddered. Was this the Everard usually so kind and gentle?

"Oh, Everard, and you a clergyman!"

"Perhaps I am not fit to be one, " he answered. "I have thought sosometimes lately, but I wished so much to be one that, in seeking tofulfil the wish, I may have overlooked the meetness. "

"If you are not, I do not know who is, " she said, "but this is notlike yourself; I should be less surprised if I was unforgiving and youforgave. "

"I hope that I do not often feel as I do now towards him. But you forgethow nearly he took you from me; he whom I trusted and regarded with thewarmest friendship. "

"It is not for his sake I ask it Everard; forgive as you would beforgiven. "

They walked on in silence until they reached the house. Then Everardsaid, "From my heart I wish I could, Isabel, " and abruptly left her. Then, alone in his own room, after all had retired to rest, far into thenight he fought the battle of good and evil. What was he about todo--preach and teach meekness, self-denial, and forgiveness of injuries, while he was still angry and unforgiving? What mockery! Ought he not topractice what he taught? Was theory--mere words--sufficient? No; hemust, by example, give force to his teaching, or how could he hope tosucceed? All this he saw clearly enough, but the difficulty stillremained. He strove hard to conquer, but evil prevailed. "Forgive as youwould be forgiven" rang continually in his ears, but he did not, couldnot, forgive. He laid down, but not to sleep, and the pale moon shonecalmly and peacefully in upon him, as if mocking his disquietude. Atlength he threw the painful subject from him, and sank into an uneasyslumber. 

He awoke, next morning, with the sun beaming brightly in at the window. But dark clouds gathered round him; gloomy doubts as to his fitness forthe office he had taken, and sorrow at the impossibility of hisforgiving Louis. "Forgive as you would be forgiven, " and again the lastnight's struggle was renewed, and even when they started for the churchhe had not conquered. 

Isabel saw how it was, and this was the bitter drop in her cup ofhappiness. Alas! in this world when is it unalloyed?

A burst of music filled the church as the bridal party entered, and verylovely looked the bride, surrounded by her three little bridesmaids, while in the background stood a fourth, the merry Lucy. Bob and threeyouthful Arlington cousins were groomsmen, and Everard, to use Lucy'sown words, was the very _beau ideal_ of what a bridegroom should be, infact "perfect. "

The sun shone with almost dazzling splendor on the group, which Emilypronounced "a good omen, " and again the organ pealed forth its joyousstrains as they left the church, and gaily rang the marriage bells. 

"Everard, " said Isabel, when they were in the library awaiting thearrival of the others, "write that letter now; I know you can, for youwould not look so happy if you felt as you did last night. "

"I can write it truthfully now, " he replied, smiling at her earnestness. And then, with his bride bending over his shoulder, Everard wrote such anote as only _he_ could write, expressing their entire forgiveness, andmade Isabel take the pen and write "Isabel Arlington" under hissignature. 

The others, coming in, insisted upon knowing the subject of their veryimportant correspondence, but Everard pocketed the letter and refused tosatisfy their curiosity. 

The breakfast was but a dull affair, notwithstanding the exuberantspirits of the young groomsmen. The parents knew that they were partingwith their only son, and that it would be years before they would seehim again; and the son, amid his happiness, remembered that he wasleaving father, mother, sisters, perhaps never to return. Isabel, also, felt it hard to part so soon with her new sisters, who hung about herwith every demonstration of affection and regret. 

Then such a scene in the dressing-room (from which Mrs. Arlington hadmercifully contrived to keep Mrs. Arnold. ) Emily, with her head buriedin a sofa cushion, weeping passionately at the thought of parting withher brother, while the children all clung around Isabel in such a manneras to make it utterly impossible for her to don her travelling dress;Lucy trying to comfort Emily, and Grace scolding the children. Ada, taking pity on Isabel, reminded them that Everard was going as well asIsabel, suggesting that they should go down to him. To this they readilyagreed. 

"I ought to go, too, only I'm afraid Everard will be vexed to see me insuch a state, " sobbed Emily. 

"I like to have you here, Emily dear, " replied Isabel, "but you hadbetter go down; you will be sorry afterwards if you don't. He feels itdreadfully, I know, poor fellow. "

"He looked fearfully pale during breakfast, " added Ada, feelingly. 

"I will go, " returned Emily, vainly endeavoring to check her emotion. And Grace went with her, leaving Isabel with Ada and Lucy. 

Isabel, who had managed to keep up tolerably well so far, now gave wayto uncontrollable emotion. This second scene with the children had beenquite too much for her. 

"Isabel! Isabel! you will never be dressed to-day, " cried Ada, indespair. 

"Oh, let her be, " returned Lucy; "they will miss the train, and have towait for the next steamer. What a glorious stew Everard would be in! forthen, of course, they would be too late for that precious Indian ship. Oh, I declare, I hope they will!"

"Oh, Lucy!" and Isabel made quick work with her dressing, to Lucy'sintense amusement. 

Everard, meanwhile, had been undergoing a terrible ordeal down stairs, and was truly glad when Isabel made her appearance. She was met now witha worse storm of grief than any previously encountered; as for Amy, sheflew into the carriage after her. 

So they drove off, amid thundering cheers from the young groomsmen. Papainquired if Amy intended to go to Madagascar, and on Everard's answeringin the affirmative she was wild to get out, protesting that she wouldnot. "But you can't get out until we reach the gate, " said Everard. "Promise me, Isabel, dear Isabel, that you will let me out at the gate, "she cried, in an agony; "pray don't let me go to nasty Madagascar; oh, please don't. " So Everard, seeing that the child was really terrified, stopped the carriage, and Amy instantly jumped out in the greatesthaste, without waiting for any more leave-taking, getting several thumpsfrom the old shoes which were sent in a continued shower after thecarriage until it had passed through the gate, when a deafening "tiger"made the welkin ring. 

 * * * * * * * *

Here we must bid adieu to those whose fortunes we have followed so far, hoping at some future time to hear more about them. But as we do notcare to inquire particularly after Louis Taschereau, we may as wellmention here that he, some time after, married a fine high-spiritedgirl, who was completely his match, the domineering being all on thewife's side. No tears were shed by her during his absence, and ascornful smile was the utmost that his anger or ill-temper everelicited. So they managed to get on tolerably well, the inquiring lookof the cold grey eye often checking a fit of passion. As Louis'smercenary propensities have already shown themselves, it is almostneedless to add that she had what he valued more than anythingelse--money--which, by the way, she took good care to have settled onherself. But this he did not object to (albeit she would have done soall the same if he had), provided there was plenty of it. 

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 [Errata Noted by Transcriber:

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