not have told whether he most liked or disliked this old-new thought. But he cherished it secretly, and never permitted himself to breathe a word about it to any one. And under its influence it began to seem possible to him that all might be for the best, as people say that Brownlows might melt away like a vision and yet nobody suffer. Sara was going to Masterton with her father to the old house in which she was born. She had refused Sir Charles and his title, and all the honours and delights he could have given her. Perhaps another kind of reward which she could prize more might be awaiting her. Perhaps, indeed-it was just possible-she might like better to be happy and make everybody happy round her, than to have a fine house and a pair of greys. Mr Brownlow felt that such an idea was almost wicked on his part, but yet it would come, thrilling him with anticipations which were brighter than any visions he had ventured to entertain for many a long year. "Sara is going with me," he said to everybody who spoke to him on the subject. And he grew a little irritated when he perceived the blank looks with which everybody received the information. He forgot that he had thought it the most dreadful downfall that could overwhelm him once. That was not his opinion now.

Brownlows lost its agitated aspect from the

moment when Mr Brownlow and Jack came out of the library, having finished their consultation. Jack went off, whistling softly, taking three steps at a time, to the drawing-room, where Pamela still lay on the sofa under Sara's care. Mr Brownlow remained down-stairs, but when he rang for lights the first glance at him satisfied Willis that all was right. Nothing was said, but everybody knew that the crisis was over; and in a moment everything fell, as if by magic, into its usual current. Willis went down to his cellar very quietly and brought the plate out of it, feeling a little ashamed of himself. And though the guests were dismissed, the house regained its composure, its comfort, and almost its gaiety. The only thing was that the family had lost a relation, whose daughter had come to live at Brownlows-and were in mourning accordingly,— a fact which prevented parties, or any special merrymaking, when Christmas came.

Though indeed before Christmas came the little invalid of the party-she whom they all petted, and took care of-began to come out from behind the clouds with the natural elasticity of her youth. Pamela would shut herself up for a whole day now and then, full of remorse and compunction, thinking she had not enough wept. But she was only eighteen-her health was coming back to her-she

VOL. III.

T

was surrounded by love and tenderness, and saw before her, daily growing brighter and brighter, all the promises and hopes of a new life. It was not in nature that sorrow should overcome all these sweet influences. She brightened like a star over which the clouds come and go, and every break shone sweeter, and got back the rose to her cheeks, and the light to her eyes. It was a pretty sight to watch her coming out of the shadows, and so Jack thought, who was waiting for her and counting the week. When the ice was bearing on Dewsbury Mere-which was rather late that year, for it was in the early spring that the frosts were hardest-he took her by the crisp frozen paths across the park to see the skaters. The world was all white, and Pamela stood in her mourning, distinct against the snow, leaning on Jack's arm. As they stood and looked on, the carrier's cart came lumbering along towards the Mere. Hobson walked before, cracking his whip, with his red comforter, which was very effective in the frosty landscape; and the breath of the horses rose like steam into the chill air. Pamela and Jack looked at each other. They said both together, "You remember?" Little more than a year before they had looked at each other then for the first time. The carrier's cart had been coming and going daily, and was no wonder to behold; and

Hobson could not have been more surprised had the coin spun down upon his head out of the open sky, than he was when Jack tossed a sovereign at him as he passed. "For bringing me my little wife," he said; but this was not in Hobson's, but in Pamela's

ear.

CHAPTER XLV.

THE LAST.

WITHIN Six months all these changes had actually taken place, occasioning a greater amount of gossip and animadversion in the county than any other modern event has been known to do. Even that adventure of young Keppel of Ridley, when he ran away with the heiress, was nothing to it. Running away with heiresses, if you only can manage it, is a natural enough proceeding. But when a family melts somehow out of the position it has held for many years, and glides uncomplainingly into a different one, and gives no distinct explanation, the neighbourhood has naturally reason to feel aggrieved. There was nothing sudden or painful about the change. For half-a-year or so they all continued very quietly at Brownlows, seeing few people by reason of Pamela's mourning, yet not rejecting the civilities of their friends; and then Pamela and