her resource at Carnochan when no one else was there,-to paint her over and over again, as the two had agreed should be done in those halcyon days to the poor boy, when she had sat before him instinct with every grace and outward charm, irradiating his little dingy studio, and seemingly willing to be shining there for him, and for him alone. At odd hours the silent worship of her artist cousin had been quite to Marjorie's mind; and she had provided, as she thought, a good store of it, which should come in again presently on dull and rainy days. It was too bad of Kate to put in her oar. She might at least have left her Walter, considering that she had-stolen Rupert.

CHAPTER

XXXIV.

AN INTERVIEW IN WHICH NO ONE BEATS ABOUT

THE BUSH.

"Sincerity is a most compendious wisdom, and an excellent instrument for the speedy despatch of business. It is like travelling in a plain beaten track, which commonly brings a man sooner to his journey's end, than byways in which men lose themselves."-TILLOTSON.

It will be borne in mind that everything Evelyn had heard of or from the Newbattle family during his term of absence, had served to corroborate Pollaxfen's story.

He had corresponded uninterruptedly with his mother -greatly to that lady's delighted astonishment-hoping against hope, as every mail arrived, that it might contain some tidings which should show that the hasty step he had taken had been a mistaken one; but none had ever come. On the contrary, every effusion of Lady Olivia's contained about that time some special reference to Kate's illness. The illness was real, being no unnatural outcome of all that had been undergone by one whose health and strength had barely been re-established ere they had again to be severely taxed, and who, on her return home, had been ill fitted to find there only new and distressing varieties of trial. An easy and quiet life had been absolutely required, and the very reverse alone had been obtained. The consequence

had been a fresh breakdown; and the whole had been made much of, and put forward by Lady Olivia for reasons which, as they have been already hinted at, need not further be enumerated. Directly her pen was in her hand, she fell into the vein, and Evelyn was treated to "dear Kate's state of health," long after dear Kate was walking about again as well as ever.

He had accepted it all, and told himself that he had looked for nothing else.

He had tired of a military life, had left the service, and had set off homewards without any definite object in view,— or so he had imagined,—but it is possible that underlying the yearning desire to return to his native land, which had increased at length to such a point as to make him act upon it despite the remonstrances of his less fortunate brother officers, it might have been that at the root of all lay still one spark of mingled hope and regret unquenchable.

How amazed was he, then, to find his lost love, the ailing girl about whom his mother had been so plaintive, the fragile creature whom fancy had painted, drooping, and perchance already preparing for an early grave,—how could he believe his senses on finding the subject of such sorrowful musings being brought out as one of the stars of the London

season!

He had never forgotten her; his passion needed no rekindling. But had it done so, beholding Kate, as he now did, with all her early promise of infinite beauty fulfilled, without a charm missing,-no more would have been needed. From the first hour of reunion he was hers.

He had then resolved to find out for himself how matters really stood; but such investigations on so delicate a ground proved to be scarcely feasible. Who was he to ask? What was he to say? Sometimes the answers he received in reply to carefully-prepared speeches were so ominous to his ears, that he himself started aside from the topic he had introduced, in terror of what might be coming next.

No; he could not bear to be told in plain terms the truth. He would wait and watch,—and the result had been continual fluctuations of opinion. Like a man of sense, he had at once perceived that it would be folly to take any account of Miss Newbattle's behaviour in his presence, until some sort of understanding had been established between them; and accordingly he had, as we have seen, quickly accom

plished the explanation which was to relieve her of embarrassing reminiscences. He had then thought to see clearly.

But who can rid himself of suspicion ?

A thousand trivial circumstances that at no other time would have had even a passing attention, now carried weight. A word let drop would be brooded over for hours.

Lady Olivia had but to whisper, "Don't disturb Kate;" Marjorie had but to throw up her little hands, wag her head knowingly, and cry, "How shall we tell Kate?" and the phrases seemed pregnant with terrible meaning.

If Miss Newbattle came in hot and flushed, he fancied her eye wild; if she talked, as she did at times, with that brilliant dramatic effect which invariably made Lady Olivia bridle and look around for applause, he durst not answer her. He trembled to let it be seen how her words moved him. Marjorie's sparks of small pleasantry would die out to their last glimmer when Kate was at her best, and every eye and ear would be drawn towards her alone. Then would come the other mood. As though the fire had spent itself, had burned out, and left no glow, no warmth behind, the strange creature would hang her head, and sit silent for hours afterwards, in melancholy, brooding silence. Who was to tell Rupert that he was the cause?—that she was hungering and thirsting for some kind word or look from him who had once been so keenly appreciative? and that when none came, and when, with cold, unmoved face, he heard and took no part in all, the plaudits and laughter sounded harshly in the retrospect?

He only saw what he saw a temperament fitful and variable as the winds, a fragile frame, a girl whom he had once loved, and who had loved him to her own hurt; and ignorant as he now was of the state of her heart, he felt that it was not for him to venture all at once upon the tender ground he longed to tread. He could not again risk a mental shock, he told himself repeatedly, and resolved to control his desires, at whatever cost to himself.

But it must be confessed that, as the days rolled on, his patience gave way. Again and again he was ready to fling aside prudence, caution, every hindering sentiment, and heart and soul enter the lists wherein he daily saw others competing; but so surely as this happened, something occurred within the next hour or so to upset all again, and

once more he would be left in the dark, afraid to face the disclosures which the light might have in store.

Pollaxfen's last effort brought matters to a climax. He was on the verge of knowing all when he implored Kate to tell him the cause of her brother-in-law's persistent enmity; but the end of that interview had again been sorrowful. No, he could not.

However, to go on as he had been doing of late, was not now to be thought of; and having obtained from Marjorie all that she knew, he was off to have it confirmed by Mademoiselle. Should the governess be explicit, and her information appear to be founded on substantial grounds-hey for the bonnie woods of Carnochan, and the hours he would have among them! He would no longer hold back, but set to work on the instant to woo and win.

He laughed at his own presumption, as he told himself it should be to woo and win.

He was not a vain man; but he had always been successful, and why should he be unsuccessful now? He could not, by any reasoning, silence the instinct within, which was jubilant at the prospect now before him. At last there was

something he could do-some step he could take. After all the inactivity, the dumbness, the standing aside to which he had been condemned of late, he was once more upon the road, pressing forward.

He had been, as we said, in Chirk Street the night before his northern start, and something of all this had been visible throughout his stay,-that is to say, there had been an interest, an animation, a lingering by the side of Kate, and a softness of air and tone whenever she was addressed, which the one sister had almost sunk under, and which had fairly betrayed him to the other.

Marjorie saw that she had lost, and that Kate had won; and though it cannot be said that her heart suffered, her vanity, her consequence, and her spirits did.

She could have liked Rupert better than any one, had he chosen her.

As he had not, she-could do without him.

But, under such unflattering circumstances, she felt that she must really outweigh the big fish in the neighbouring creel by a host of a smaller fry in her own. She must

go in for quantity instead of quality. All the Teddies, and Neddies, and Walters that she could count over as

her own, might surely be considered equivalent to one Evelyn.

And therefore, when defrauded by Kate on all sides,— when she was not allowed to have the sturgeon, and when another hand had tossed back the smelt into the waterthat is to say, when Rupert had been carried away from her, and she had been forced to let Walter go free,—she felt that it was a hard case.

Throughout the homeward journey she was fretful and peevish, would not have her cup of tea when the others did, and wanted to eat when there was no prospect of a stoppage. Then she must needs lie down on the sofa opposite to that on which Lady Olivia reclined, and make believe to be asleep. They only wished she had been. In ten minutes she was up again, fidgeting hither and thither; vexed with herself for getting travel-soiled, and with her maid for leaving her dressing-bag behind; particularly anxious—or so it seemed to her sister-to look trim and spruce on their arrival in Liverpool.

This must all, then, be on Rupert's account, since he was to meet them there.

If so, and if his feelings were reciprocal, how little it signified that one of the other travellers was pale and sad! He had been cruelly kind the night before, and had set Kate thinking throughout all the short, light July night afterwards, - and now, unable to dwell on any other subject, unable to keep from recalling those hurried glances, those strange expressions, she felt that just for once she would grant herself a little licence. Just for once she might give the reins to fancy and remembrance. Why not? She had no proof that there was anything between Rupert and her sister still less had she any reason for supposing that a union between them would have tended to happiness. She would let Marjorie alone.

And so, with nothing in the world to do but sit still and watch one fair pastoral landscape after another come and go, she gazed and dreamed. Far and near the land through which they passed lay bathed in sunlight, tempting with fair, subtle, treacherous suggestions. In that leafy lane she might have watched for Evelyn; by that limpid streamlet she might have stood with him; through those laden orchards, and level meadows deep in grass, they might have roved together.