mand myself," he thought; and so he looked forward to the coming time, all purple and golden in beautiful cloudland-more beautiful for the twilight gloom which had gone before.

In accordance with William's wish, he found a substitute in his chaplaincy as quickly as possible, and within a month after his acceptance of the living, he had bidden farewell to his small circle of friends, and had paid a last visit to the villa-a sorrowful one, it could not be, though the tears rose in his eyes, as he recalled the gentle voice and kind smile, which were wont to welcome him so cordially. He recalled that well-remembered conversation, and resolved that his better prospect, owing as it was to William, should never lead him to hope for a blessing to be obtained only by

the sacrifice of the deep-seated feeling of family pride, which he so keenly felt was inherent in the brother and sister.

It was in the twilight of an April evening, that Gabriel first saw Gertrude's home. William met him at the railway station, and they drove through the town of Darley, every house of which possessed for him so strong an interest; over a wide moor, and through a green, woody park, to the dark, irregular mass of buildings, to which William warmly welcomed him, as the home of which they had so often talked. They entered, and through a half-opened door came the sound of sweet, unconscious singing, and they saw, against the clear evening sky, a figure kneeling by a chair in the window. It was Gertrude arranging primroses and blue-bells in vases.

"Here is Mr. Fairfield, Gertrude," William said; and she rose hastily, all her flowers falling as she advanced to meet him.

"We are very glad to see you again, Mr. Fairfield," she said, faltering. He was too closely connected with her mother's cherished memory, for her to meet unmoved, and after this short greeting, she was silent, and he also, in the agitation and joy of seeing her again; but William's spirits sufficed for all. He talked of the Church and the parish; he laid a hundred plans for the improvement of both, for a reform in the schools, for alterations in the Vicarage, for introductions to the neighbours; and, by every means in his power, he showed his joy in seeing his valued friend in England. "Poor old Curwen's death was the luckiest thing in the world, wasn't it? At

least-I don't mean that, you know-he was very kind to me, poor old fellow!"

When Gertrude and William returned to Melton, it became necessary to find some lady, who could be something between a governess and a companion, who could give an overlooking eye to the housekeeping, hire servants, and dismiss them, without being the mistress of the house. She was to be discreet, judicious, sweet-tempered, not too old to be a cheerful companion, and not too young to have her authority set at nought. A search, hitherto in vain, was being instituted for this phoenix; and meanwhile, an aunt of Lady Melton's had come on a visit of indefinite length, to supply, as far as might be, her place. This lady, Miss Wentworth by name, had a kind heart, and was sincerely attached to her nephew and niece, and

anxious to make them happy. She was really a good and charitable woman; but possessed unfortunately, of so narrow a mind, and such weak powers of judgment, that unwittingly she fretted and jarred on Gertrude, so as seriously to interfere with her happiness. The strongest feeling in her mind was family pride; perhaps the next so, hatred of parvenus. She recognized no aristocracy but that of birth, and was completely unable to distinguish between lowliness of circumstances, and vulgarity. She considered it a misfortune for a woman to remain single, yet she always coupled together the words "love and nonsense,' and

"love and nonsense" she hated next to vulgarity. To such a mind as this, it was no small shock to hear, that the new Vicar of St. John's Church, Darley, was to be