arms sparkling with pearls and diamonds, were no apt illustration of economy; but her modest, kindly bearing, certainly proved the absence of

airs.

"By George," said the captain, energetically, "that old Seton is a lucky dog; but then, you see, she's a Shrugg, and that sort of thing's nothing new to her. You wouldn't be puffed up, either, would you, if you married a fellow

like me?"

"No," she exclaimed with genuine mirth. "No, indeed, I shouldn't."

"Well, I might do worse," he added admiringly. "Tell you what, cousin Bell, you've got all the beauty of the family on your side of the house."

"We didn't get any from the Shruggs," she retorted.

"Conceited little ape!" she said afterwards to Linda. "I daresay he thinks I would have

him."

Emily Clayton was cruel enough to ask Bell

to be her bridesmaid, for the wedding was to come off almost immediately. But Bell thought there was no occasion to put herself to unnecessary pain, and absolutely declined; thereby gratifying Mr. Seton so much, that he bought her a handsome bracelet, to signify her complete restoration to his favour.

"I'm glad it is to your taste," he said, as she exclaimed with girlish vehemence at its beauty. "Now go and practice like a good girl; Mowlam will bring his flute to-night. We'll try a quartett if you please."

Mr. Mowlam eulogized Bell's playing that evening very much; and Mrs. Burcham, who was also spending the evening in Hyde Park Gardens, smilingly nodded her approval too. Mr. Mowlam proposed having the pleasure of presenting Miss Shrugg with a bound copy' of Beethoven's Sonatas, and Mrs. Burcham said it was a very nice idea of his. Mr. Seton meanwhile looked almost beaming as Bell blushingly uttered her thanks; but he resented his sister's

continual interference, and looked at her crossly for persisting in sharing the conversation. But he was downright angry when her carriage was announced, and she asked Mr. Mowlam to let her drive him as far as their ways lay together.

She went off downstairs on the old bachelor's arm, smirking at her brother, who followed savagely.

Linda softly clapped her hands, and danced lightly round a chair.

"Don't you see?" she cried; "she means to have him herself. Oh, I am so glad; you will be free!"

Free!" Bell exclaimed; "do you think any one could make me marry unless I chose? and now I shall never choose!"

The two girls exchanged deep sighs at what these last words implied; but Linda nevertheless doubted whether her sister would have dared to refuse a suitor backed by Mr. Seton.

T

CHAPTER XII.

DIANA.

WHILE Bell mused on broken hearts and base deceivers, and believed her hopes were blighted for ever and her affections withered, and the canker-worm of sorrow had taken deep, undying hold upon her heart, as young people of both sexes like to fancy when Joan proves a flirt, and John loves and rides away, there was a truer and stronger contest between love and duty going on in another sister's heart up in wintry Yorkshire.

The new year had come, and the short days were colder and darker than were even the proverbially cold, dark days before Christmas. Clack folk looked dyspeptic and blue: the reaction after the festivities of Yule-tide was hard for their digestions and spirits to bear

patiently; even the Shruggs, who had scarcely shared in their neighbours' gaieties, looked out of health.

Mr. Shrugg had an anxious mind-the shop's accounts were bad; he had been generously unwilling to put himself forward as a rival to the other druggist, and he had also proved himself a careless book-keeper inexperience is a deadly enemy to talent, and with all his talent Mr. Francis Shrugg knew he was a child in the art of bread winning. He had stocked his shop with the best and most expensive drugs, and the majority of his customers preferred old Clacker's pungent doses and cheap and nasty nostrums. He had shrunk from serving in the shop; and his shopman being a sentimental young man, who imitated all the weaknesses, and possessed none of the sense, of Mr. Theodore, was not a favourite and the custom, which had begun to decline in old Jeremiah's time, had already further fallen It was a dark look-out for Mr. Francis,

away.