raged him to speak out, by every means except the most effectual-sympathy, which he could not make use of; and the next most effectual-strong opposition, which he dared not make use of, lest his son's brain should not be able to bear it. Troubled at heart and sorely perplexed, he now came again to consult with his old friend, Miss Hastings; and, as he pulled the bell, the object of his solicitude approached the gate from another direction.

They entered the garden together, and parted, as has been described.

By the time Lord Carleton had lifted the curtain of tangled wreaths which veiled the entrance of the bower, Miss Hastings had recovered her usual calmness of manner. She held out her hand with the seriousness, almost amounting to solemnity, which always characterized her greeting of Lord Carleton; she never smiled or affected indifference when they met; she was above all small womanly deceits, and would not belie the feeling which the sight of him always produced in her.

She was of a sallow complexion generally, but Lord Carleton thought there was something almost deathly in her hue as he took his seat beside her.

"Your niece told me you were unwell. You are very pale to-day!" he said, looking kindly at her.

"Paler than usual am I? I dare say the greenish light which struggles into this place has something to do with it. Are you well? And your sons? I saw Arundel come in with you."

“We are all well," he replied; "at least physically. Ah! I remember when we selected this spot for a bower!" he exclaimed, half to himself. "That shrubbery has grown out of all memory; the house is mantled with creepers now; the acacia, the two elms, and even the slow-growing arbor vitæ there, on the lawn, have improved wonderfully in a quarter of a century. Those things are longer lived than we."

"And lower lived. There is nothing to envy in their state!" said Miss Hastings.

is

"No? Not even their passionless repose ?-which seems so like that of conscious existence? Well, well! This garden young still; but we who were not born when it was made, we are growing old. Margaret, a thought has been gathering strength in my mind lately; will you listen to it? I need not ask; you have never refused to hear me; you will not, after I have spoken my thought, even though it should not please you."

"It is not whether it please or displease me, but whether it be right or wrong, that is the question, I suppose," said Miss Hastings.

"Still as full of moral principle as ever!" he said, smiling somewhat bitterly.

"Did you expect to find me changed this morning?"

66

Nay; but I may have had a faint hope that old times and old feelings were not quite forgotten; and that when you and I sit on this seat together, marked with our entwined initials -(see they are not yet quite effaced, Margaret)-I may have had a faint hope that you would listen to what I am about to say, with something of the woman, and nothing of the moralist. You were not always so purely rational, Margaret.”

She looked at him for a moment, steadfastly; and then,

turning away her eyes, gazed in the distance while Lord Carleton went on.

“You know, from my letter on the subject, my position with regard to these daughters of my old friend. In a few months they are to be under my roof. They need a wise female governance, for hitherto they have had an eccentric, puritanic, and, perhaps, a foolish one. They must be brought out in the world in a manner befitting their rank and fortune. I have no wife-no sister. Lady Fortescue is not the woman I would entrust with the charge of these girls, even if she could be spared from her own family to attend to mine. Miss Price is too old; besides, she is but a governess. What must I do for my wards ?"

"You must marry again," said Miss Hastings, quietly, but without looking at him. "Was that your thought ?"

"It was.

Is the thought right or wrong?"

"Men are not wont to be guided by the opinion of others in such matters,” replied Miss Hastings, closing her eyes for a moment, and placing her hand on her side. did not observe the movement, so indicative of pain, and went on with what he had to say.

Lord Carleton sharp physical

“Yes, I think I must marry again !—Caroline foresaw that circumstances might render such a step desirable for me; and two days before her death she wrote a letter on this subject, which she enjoined me not to open until a year after her death. When I did open it, I understood better than I had ever done before the enduring and unselfish nature of that woman's love! Love was all in all with her; every faculty was made subordinate to her love as wife and mother."

"Happy woman!" murmured Miss Hastings.

"Nay; I would to God she had been happy!—above all, that I had not been the instrument of her unhappiness! Sweet Caroline! gentle, loving, self-sacrificing,-prematurely killed by brooding over the ills that encompassed those she loved! No! she was not happy; and that thought haunts me like the memory of a crime."

Miss Hastings turned towards her agitated friend. "Do

not reproach yourself too much. She was happy as your wife -she loved you! There was no reason why she should not stretch a hand across the grave to aid you in your earthly course. She was one of the most generous, most amiable beings I ever knew. You will not have a second wife like her."

"Like her! There are none like her. Few women are capable of such love. No; I do not, at my present age, seek a renewal of that blessing of my manhood. With Caroline I buried all love for woman. I think you know this! But perhaps you do not know how thoroughly both Caroline and I understood and appreciated your character."

A momentary elevation of the eyebrows was all the reply which Miss Hastings made to this; but she listened attentively, with slightly compressed lips, as if she suffered pain,— whether mental or physical it would have been difficult to decide. He continued—

"She knew of our early girl and boy attachment, and gave me credit for my taste-and for my constancy, too." And he smiled. "Now that the feeling has quite gone, I can speak to you openly on the subject. You, with your quiet, passionless nature, will scarcely credit it perhaps; but my love for you, or, rather, for my own imagination of you, as a girl, lasted till after my marriage. What absurd mistakes about character we make when we are boys! I used to think you were of a passionate, loving nature—that your heart controlled your intellect, and would force it to minister to its demands. In short, I fancied you were what I found Caroline to be. It was long before I read your true character in your conduct. A noble, lofty character-loving work and science for their own sakes, and for the sake of the general good-as unselfish in your universal benevolence as Caroline in her particular affection. She used to say that you were the most unselfish person she knew.

I re

“There is no one on earth, except my boys, for whom I entertain so strong an affection as for you, Margaret. spect and reverence you for your intellect and your steady

adherence to principle. I am bound to you by gratitude as a father-by the memory of my early love—although it was mistaken, and you never loved me, as I once fancied. You, with your calm. nature, discovered your error soon enough not to suffer much from it. Was it not so, my friend ?"

"I never deceived myself on that point!" she replied faintly, finding that he waited for an answer.

"No matter. Whether you were loving or loveless in those past days, you and I can never be wholly indifferent to each other, Margaret."

"Never!—neither here nor beyond the grave!" she said quickly, and as if the words were forced from her.

Lord Carleton's manner became warmer.

"God bless you, my friend! There was something like affection in those words-something which makes me hope you will let me add to your happiness by enabling you to exercise your benevolence in a larger sphere than you have hitherto done. Something that makes me almost sure my Caroline's wish was prophetic, and that you will consent to become the second Lady Carleton-rule my household-be a mother to my boys-and the best and wisest friend to one who tells you candidly that he has no love to give. Will you be my wife, now, Margaret? You refused me once, twice, thrice. We were young then, and we loved—at least, I loved. We are growing old now! Shall we grow old together, Margaret ?" He had taken her hand. She returned the pressure of his, and looked at him with a strange expression.

"What is this? You are ill? I have been thoughtless to enter on this matter now! Let me lead you to the house,” he said, with alarm.

Stay!—one moment!-it will keep off one moment!". she spoke in a gasping, broken voice, and with a strong effort to master some physical pang. "Listen!-you do not know me!-my life!-you are wrong! all wrong!-Frederick! Be your wife ?—not the wife of your love-the head housekeeper -care for your sons-your wards-talk with you when you are in the mood-I would even degrade myself to serve you