the Vicarage; our excellent Mr. Fairfield is to marry Miss Waring."

"Indeed! I had not heard it. Is it

announced ?"

66

No, perhaps not exactly announced, but every one believes it to be true. They are always walking about together, and I am delighted. Clergymen ought to be married, in my opinion."

Yes, they are more useful, I suppose.

Is it to be soon?"

"Oh, I should think so, there can be nothing to wait for. By the bye, Miss Melton, can you tell me of a young lady's maid? A plain, nice person, you know, no flowers, or white sleeves, &c., &c." And for half an hour had Gertrude to discuss ladies' maids and cooks, with white trembling lips-her giddy head in a whirl of wounded pride, and clinging affec

tion for the man who she thought had so

easily forgotten her.

Gabriel, Gabriel," she said to herself, "I did not think you would so soon forget me I would have remembered you. I am horribly selfish not to be glad he is happy without me - no wonder he is happy, she is so pretty, and I am not not now at least, whatever I was once. Oh, miserable world, if I could only leave it, and forget everything! but I can't-I must live. He is happy without me—well, let him; I'll be happy too-I will forget him

That miserable evening! when she told William her news, with a smile and a remark on the beauty of the bride-elect, and he made no answer, for wounded pride and anger that his sister should be so slighted,

H

-that miserable night of tears and sobs! and all for nothing his heart was hers still, and hers only. But she could not tell this; what could she think, when the story was in everybody's mouth, when she herself had seen them walking, she looking radiantly bright and happy, and he-she had not seen his face, but she knew well how he must have looked, were it true. This was the worst of all, but good discipline for her character; she had been but a child before, sweet-tempered and well-disposed, indeed, but almost entirely without self-control; thinking life a plaything, to be enjoyed, perhaps used by fits and starts, but always to be happy in. She was so much alone now, that she could think of things as they really were, and, aided by Gabriel's teaching and influence, see them without

the beautiful veil which youth and her happy heart had thrown over the world. The veil had been a little rent away when her mother died, but she had for many months, been accustomed to anticipate that parting, as a fearful trial which must inevitably come, and when it was once over, she knew that all between her mother and herself was at an end in this world, and she had gradually come again, to look forward to the happy life, she could not but believe lay before her. Then, too, the grief of the autumn had come slowly, not with the crushing effect of the last, that horrible, sudden rending asunder of so unspeakably precious a tie, dearer than, while it bound her, she had ever imagined it. And now, to drag on her life through dreary years, so near to him, yet so

hopelessly separated. Truly she could

say, that,

"Out of the day and night

A joy has taken flight.

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief; but with delight

No more,-oh, never more!"

Poor Gertrude! she was no heroine. She could just manage to hide her grief, and make-believe to be happy, but that was the extent of her heroism. She had not a sufficient real love of knowledge, to pursue, without Gabriel, the sort of reading he had introduced her to; so she read a good many novels, and did a good deal of worsted work, and trifled away her time, in a manner which brought her but weariness and self-reproach. She went indeed among the poor,

her brother's tenants and labourers; she