in my room, dressing in my old pink silk, that she used to covet rather last year; but it may be the great heiress, Miss Maynard, who walks into the dining-room."

"I don't at all know what you mean. I have never seen anything of the difference you speak of."

"No, I dare say not; you are too snubby yourself ever to be snubbed; but what induced you to invite them here, and why did they come?"

"I met them on the road between Good People's Hollow and Lenane. They had been spending the morning with Anne O'Flaherty, and said that they had intended to call on our mother, but had been detained at the Hollow, discussing relief measures with Anne. It was raining fast, and Eagle's Edge was nearer than the Castle, so I proposed that they should come on with me and stay the night. I hardly expected they would have consented; but Thornley said that he had business to speak to me about-and I certainly thought that she-that he, I mean-in point of fact, that both of them rather caught at the idea of coming here."

"Ah, I wonder if she can have heard." The words escaped from Ellen's lips involuntarily, and then a look of perplexity crossed her face, and she stopped short.

"What is the matter? What do you suppose she can have heard?”

"Nothing-nothing!-don't look at me like that, Pelham; you know I say silly things often."

He came close to her, and detained her when she would have escaped, by holding her wrists tightly, looking down into her changing face, with eyes full of dark fire.

"Yes, yes!-but silly or not, I choose to hear this!-What have you got in your mind? You have no business to have suspicions of her that you are ashamed to speak out."

"No, I know I ought not. Dear Pelham, I so hate myself for being such a sieve, that I should like to bite my tongue out. It was only that I had a letter from Connor this afternoon, and

I wondered whether by chance she could have heard anything that made her want to talk to me about him."

"By chance! I wish by chance you would give a straightforward answer. How could Miss Maynard possibly know anything about a letter of yours that only arrived this afternoon? You don't mean to insinuate, do you, that she and Connor correspond?"

"No of course not. Please, let me go, Pelham; I know I am very silly-I wish I could hold my tongue.'

"That is not the chief thing to be wished; what I wish is that you would not concoct mysteries. I don't know what it is between Connor and you that makes you always seem to be living in a web of plots. I suppose you like it; but it is perfectly hateful to me to live among people whose doings I can't understand; and I beg, that at all events, you won't draw into your mysteries those who naturally prefer straightforward ways. At least, don't insinuate stratagems that don't exist, as if you could not believe in such a thing as a truthful person."

The indignant tones and looks were very hard to bear; the colour flew to Ellen's face, and an eager vindication of her own straightforwardness rose to her lips. Then she remembered Connor's letter, and the secret sympathy she had that afternoon resolved to give to him and his friends. "I have crossed the Rubicon now, and I don't think you are the girl to shrink from any consequences you may have to face on my account." The inevitable concealments,

the having to seem a traitor to household confidence, would be to her the worst of these consequences; but since she had resolved to run such risk, the best homage she could pay to truth would be not to attempt any self-justification just then. The indignant flush faded out of her face, as Pelham continued to look at her, and tears slowly welled up and drowned the anger in her eyes. She felt very unhappy and helpless, but there was nothing to be said: Pelham relaxed his hold on her wrists.

"You think me very savage," he said,

"and I suppose I am.

sorry

Ellen, I am I have made you cry. I did not think you cared enough for anything I said for that; but I have so much distrust and dislike shown to me out of doors, that I can't help feeling it hard when you and Connor put such a mist of secrecy between us, that I don't know whether you are sympathising with my enemies or my friends."

"Oh, Pelham, how could we sympathise with enemies of yours?"

"The Thornleys are my only friends, and my friendship with them is counted as a crime by the stupid people here, who, because they choose to believe that our father met his death in Thornley's stead, transfer to him all the horror due to the actual murderer."

"No, not all the horror; you would not say so if you knew more about it." "There now, another mystery."

"Pelham, I can't help it; if people tell me secrets that have life and death in them; I can't betray unhappy wretches that trust me."

"Perhaps not; but you can help giving all your sympathy to the wrong side. You ought to acknowledge that the Thornleys are behaving nobly, and to be indignant at the monstrous ingratitude shown to them. I say nothing about their generosity to us, though I wonder where you can think we should be without it; but just consider what a sacrifice they have made in staying through this miserable winter at Castle Daly, toiling night and day, and spending their money to feed a set of people who have no claim on them whatever, and who give them nothing but hatred and misconception in return for their charity. Why does not your sense of justice stir itself on their side?"

"Lesbia is liked-the people are grateful to her."

"She can't separate herself from her brother; she is not content to be adored by his haters."

"Oh, Pelham, no more can I separate myself from my brothers. You don't know how hard it is when there is so much sorrow on every side, that one feels as if one's heart were being

torn to pieces every minute. I can see your hardships at all events, if I can't care as much as I ought for Mr.Thornley's, and I promise you now to be just to your friends, and to stand up for them to the extent of my little power. Indeed, I did not mean to make you suspect Lesbia of anything underhand. You misunderstood me there. Dear Pelham, let us be happy this one evening-forget that I vexed you, dear, and let us all be happy together this once. I want so to have one happy evening, we have been sad so very long." She threw her arms round his neck as she spoke, and tried to draw his face down to hers. The muscles of his countenance relaxed, but he held his head rigidly upright.

"You can be unhappy and happy when you please then?

"No, you uncompromising creature; but to night I could be a little happy if you would let me. I don't know how, but I think some fresh light has come into the house since morning. It won't last long, there is so much to quench it; but let us bask in it for an hour or two. Someone is thinking kind thoughts of us somewhere to-night, and the warmth of them trembles round us."

"I don't understand such nonsense as that. Shall you?"-(hesitating)"Shall you! 1?"-(with a great effort)— "Are you going to read that letter of Connor's to Miss Maynard ? "

No, that I am not; I shall not think of doing such a thing. Pelham, you may say what you like about my secrecies, I can't defend myself; but one thing you must believe about me-that my secrets are not of that kind that I would ever be a clandestine go-between in the way you are thinking of. No, not even for Connor."

Then the stiff neck bent, and the kiss of forgiveness was given, with a warmth and tenderness of brotherly affection that Ellen had never before experienced from him.

Decidedly it should be a very happy evening.

The first thing that Lesbia did when Ellen left her alone to put the finishing

touches to her toilet, was to thrust her hand into the pocket of the wet ridinghabit that hung against the wall, and draw out a somewhat-soiled and crumpled envelope, directed to herself, and still unopened. A lame man-servant, who had come forward to help her to mount her horse at the gate of Happygo-Luck Lodge, had thrust it into her hand as he placed the reins between her fingers, accompanying the action with a look of such reverential admiration towards herself, and a gesture of such cunning caution towards John, that Lesbia could not feel as much offended at the liberty so taken as she believed she ought to have been. Bride was always warning her against allowing herself to be looked upon by the poor people round her, as a possible source of favour independent of John; but what was the use of being an heiress of all the money and power being really hers-if the luxury of dispensing patronage was altogether to be denied her, and no one was so much as to know that she was the real queen? Lesbia believed the paper to be a petition, which she resolved at least to examine herself before referring it to the proper authority, till she brought the writing within the glow of the peat-fire and the light of the flickering candles, stuck on the high chimney-piece, that left the ends and corners of the large wainscoted room to dimness and shadows; then, glancing down upon it, she started, and threw herself into the low straw chair Ellen had drawn in front of the fire, with an exclamation between amazement and dismay. Yes, certainly, this sending her a letter privately by a servant's hand, and such a queer-looking, familiar, lame servant too, was a great liberty for Connor Daly to take. What would Bride and John say? What strong disapproval would breathe from all the grave lines of Bride's face when she heard! how satirical John would be! and how disagreeably their opinion of her easy deceivableness and vanity would creep out! What ought she to do? Give it to Ellen unopened, and beg her to re

turn it to her brother? That would be the truly dignified maidenly course which neither John nor Bride could find a word to say against. And yet-and yet, Lesbia's eyes turned again to the bold curves and flourishes in her name written on the envelope, and all at once the objects surrounding her faded away, and a very different scene came up. The dusty panes of the little conservatory at Whitecliffe and the straggling branches of sweet-briar tapping them, on a windy summer day-herself seated on the stone steps, leading from the house, with Mrs. Maynard's week's mending scattered round her, and an envelope with this same handwriting on it in her hand. What a strange whirl of feeling she had been in when she opened and read that letter. It had seemed like a voice calling her from the shores of an old country which she was in the act of leaving for something new. And now, the new did not look altogether so glorious, and the old was beginning to have a glow of tender recollections round it—not regret, that would be too ridiculous, but an enveloping sentimental haze, as of being hung round with all sorts of pleasant possibilities, which actual experience had robbed of a good deal of their charm.

"Mavourneen wears the poorest gown."

John might say what he liked about fortune-hunters, but that was written about her when it was only too true.

If she dare show that to Bride. Bride would have to acknowledge that it was not only being an heiress that made people think her charming.

My thoughts are born in chains; they move All round and round her in one groove," that was the sort of thing real love was, Lesbia supposed. She leaned her dimpled chin on her hand, and looked fixedly at the fire. Brother's and sister's love

of whose satisfactions she had had such beautiful dreams when she had lived a little forlorn waif in her aunt's house was not like that; or, at all events, it was her thoughts that were expected to be born in chains, and to move round

and round John and Bride in that deep groove of duty and self-culture and intellectual occupation which they prescribed; and which certainly had a great deal of sameness and dreariness in it. If any other gayer privileges or more dazzling homage belonged of right to her youth and her heiress-ship and, yes, her beauty her two conscientious guardians seemed determined not to let her know it. Could anything be strong enough to break through the brazen tower of proprieties and cautions they had built round their poor little Cinderella princess? Was there any knight at hand bold enough or strong enough to pierce even a small chink and let a breath of fresh air and a little music of flattery in? The handsome knight, with the dark eyes that looked quite unutterable things, seemed to be more anxious than even the guardians to keep every chink of the tower in good repair. lt might be gratifying to see him ride round and round, not able to keep away, though too spell-bound to challenge an entrance. But surely the spell ought to be broken some time, some kind of a catastrophe, some new element introduced into the scene, might be desirable. Life was too short now for enchantments to be allowed to last through a hundred years, and it was quite in accordance with all the old stories that letters should come to imprisoned princesses in unorthodox ways. A lame, slip-shod servant, or a talking bird, it did not much matter which was the postman. Lesbia had broken the seal and abstracted the letter from the envelope before her thoughts reached this point, and now, while the candles, which had flickered in the draughty, ill-built room down to their sockets, were giving out their last rays, she read :

"Oh, say, doth any flower blow

Meet to adorn my lady's brow?
The rose is pale with envy grown
To watch the tints her cheeks upon,
And with her beauty to compare
The virgin lilies shamed are;
Nor can she grace or sweetness get
From hyacinth or violet.

But though the flower doth not live
Which to her charms fresh charm can give,

Her beauty yet such power shall show,
To scorn the high and raise the low,
That worn by her this shamrock twine,
Shall seem an aureole divine."

Lesbia turned the leaf, and a little garland of shamrocks, crushed, but still green, fluttered out on the hearth. She stooped and picked it up, and with rather trembling fingers-for just then there came a rap at the door, and she heard Ellen's voice summoning her to tea-she twisted the leaves in among the braids of her hair, which, in spite of Ellen's patient drying, clung in wet coils round her head.

She had not read the verses calmly enough to gather their meaning fully; but it was something flattering, about her being fairer than all the flowers in the world, and this green crown was a badge of sovereignty, and it was pleasant to wear it. How nice it was to be as beautiful and charming as the writer of these verses found her. And how cross of John and Bride to be always trying to persuade her that she was nothing but a sadly undereducated little girl, whom no one would notice if she were not an heiress. As she crossed the room, she stopped before a cheval glass in a corner to interrogate it as to what verdict it had to give between the two contradictory opinions. The fitful light of dying candles and ruddy-peat fire, with the dark background of gloom in the far corners of the room, gave the effect of looking down into mysterious depths at the fairy-like figure that seemed to be rising out of a sea of darkness and red fire. Long trailing pink robes hiding. all but the points of the tiny feet,-a small flushed face above,-eyes like dark diamonds, red lips that trembled into loveliest curves of pleasure as the eyes looked, delicate black brows,—a crown of soft dusky hair with points of green showing in it. Lesbia turned away, quite satisfied to bring that answer into the next room with her.

Eagle's Edge was an irregularly built one-storied house, with no passage but the central hall; the bedrooms, and sitting-rooms all opening into one another. Lesbia had only to turn the

handle of her bedroom door to find herself among the party assembled round the supper-table. The room looked cheerful enough just then, in the glow of lamp-light and fire-light, with the table drawn cosily in front of the hearth, and a circle of animated faces assembled round it. Mrs. Daly invited Lesbia to a seat between herself and Pelham. Even she for once looked happy. The evening was always her best time. The contrast between the anxiety of the day and the satisfaction of having her son safe by her side within sight and touch, was so great as to raise her naturally depressed spirits to a degree of cheerfulness she had not often known in more tranquil days; and to-night the sight of the well-filled table, and of Ellen and Pelham partaking freely, of such fare as there was, the little excitement, too, of showing hospitality again, all helped to swell the measure of her content and make her positively gay. Gracious looks and words from her seemed to mean more and gave far greater pleasure than other people's graciousness. Lesbia. felt a flutter of gratification and pride when she found herself addressed kindly again and again, and when once or twice her replies called up on her hostess' face the rare beautiful smile that Mr. Daly had prized so highly. John observed the unusual attention bestowed on Lesbia, and cast one of his quick criticizing glances

that way.

What could he be thinking of, Babette wondered. A provoking consciousness tingled into her face under his eyes, and she felt as if the shamrock wreath in her hair was pushing itself into undue prominence, and the note in her pocket burning her, almost as if she feared he could read it through the folds of the pink silk.

It was not like the merry evenings of last summer, when Lesbia had come into the Dalys' house after a picnic or a sail, to join in the evening meal, and had been thankful to sit in the background under Ellen's wing, listening to the extravagant mirth and wild jokes Mr. Daly and Connor originated. There would never be mirth like that among them again; yet they

were far from a silent party; and once or twice Ellen caught herself up in the midst of a hearty laugh, startled by the thought that it was the first time gay talking and laughter had been heard in that house since they came to live there, and wondering what the dingy old walls thought of the sound.

When the meal was over and the table pushed back into the dim, halflighted region of the wide room, the party drew their chairs in a circle round the hearth, and the conversation gradually took a graver tone. Lesbia went round and seated herself by Ellen, perhaps with an idea of disarming John in case he should be disposed to criticize the amount of low-toned talk she and Pelham had indulged in at intervals during supper time-perhaps from a secret persuasion that the folds of pink silk and peachbloom cheeks, and brilliant eyes that had looked at her from the depths of the mirror, would be seen to greatest advantage from the other side of the hearth-rug, with the fire-light playing on them. Not that she was so wholly occupied with these as to fail to notice one or two things that passed on the opposite side of the fire, and to be touched. by them in a region of her heart which the surface-flutter of self-occupation and vanity had not yet invaded. She saw the wistful looks Mrs. Daly turned on her son when John began to talk business with him, and she admired the patient tact with which Pelham replied to all the querulous objections her anxiety prompted her to make to every plan that involved a lengthened ride, or a late return home in the evening; not arguing or giving way, but soothing her by reassuring explanations, and sometimes when explanations seemed only to aggravate the nervous terror, by a caressing hand laid on her shoulder, and a word or two of remonstrance in a tone that had a touch of authority in it.

"I can't help it, mother; I have got this business to do, and you would not have me always idling in the house, would you?"

"I ought not to expect it of you;