she could not shake off, chained Dorothy to silence and reserve. Gervase, on the other hand, presented such a striking contrast to his sister, that Dorothy almost forgot his claim, and soon began to laugh and talk with him unrestrainedly. He was, like a great overgrown school-boy, very awkward; but with a fine handsome face, ruddy cheeks, white teeth, and smiling blue eyes. Gervase seemed quite afraid of Dorothy at first, very much as if he dreaded a whipping; but by degrees they became the best friends in the world, for morose, indeed, must that creature have been who could have resisted the good nature and infectious gaiety of the hobbledehoy. To his sister, Gervase looked up as to a superior being, and it was quite touching and beautiful to behold his brotherly affection, whilst she, on her part, regarded him with unceasing solicitude and earnestness; gently, oh, so very gently, curbing his hilarious spirits, and keeping him in chains of roses within the bounds of conventional propriety. As to Gervase, he did not look more than seventeen; and Dorothy, although two years his junior, felt so much seniority, and so much experience and self-possession, that she soon began to regard him as a mere boy, quite forgetting that he was nearly twenty-one, and, according to her uncle's will, her future husband.

It was not long before Gervase confided to Dorothy, whom he had learned to designate as his 'fair coz,' the first wish of his heart-which was to enter the army, and to see service. This wish had strengthened with his growth, but Dr Emslie had not encouraged or fostered it, and Mr Hardinge had lived in uncertainty regarding his children's ultimate prospects, always procrastinating till to-morrow what ought to have been done to-day. Dorothy listened to the martial visions of her good-humoured cousin, and her sympathies were all enlisted in his favour; and the sympathy and smiles together proved so genial and charming to the raw youth, that his increasing show of fondness for Cousin Doll at length quite perplexed the latter, nor was her perplexity lessened when one day Gervase blundered out something about what he would do when they were 'spliced.'

'What do you mean, Gervase, by being spliced?' innocently. demanded the simple Dolly.

'Oh! what a goose you are, Cousin Doll,' replied Gervase laughing: 'don't you know what spliced means? Why, it means married, to be sure. You and I are to be married whenever I am of age, you know; and when I'm off soldiering, I shall leave Matty to take care of you.'

Poor Dorothy was not confused by this process of wooing, but she was startled and dismayed; with difficulty she articulated: 'But, Gervase, you have never asked me yet if I wish to marry you: suppose I do not, what then?'

Gervase looked at her in blank surprise, ejaculating: 'Why, Cousin Dorothy, I thought it was a settled thing before we came here. I thought you'd be a fine lady-airified and all that, and

your cousin, and he is eager to fulfil it forthwith. I must convey your final answer to him.'

'O father! what am I to do?' murmured Dorothy, weeping. 'What are your wishes, dear father? By them I will abide, if– if I can'

Here a fresh burst of weeping checked further words, and Mr Cheyne, looking commiseratingly on the bowed lily, impressively said: 'My wishes, my beloved child, are solely for your happiness, temporal and eternal. If you can love your cousin Gervaseif there is no reservation in your mind respecting him—then, assuredly, it seems to my short-sightedness best for your temporal welfare to espouse him. But perish the fortune rather than you should be forsworn, Dorothy Cheyne! Your sainted mother would gaze down from heaven reprovingly upon me, were I to urge you to commit this great sin against God. To Him I commend my fatherless girl, when it pleases Him to summon me home.' Mr Cheyne had spoken with unwonted energy and decision, but his voice faltered, and the tears stood in his eyes, when he added in a lower voice: And now, Dorothy, my dear child, in His name I entreat, nay, I command you, to give me a candid answer.'

Throwing herself into her father's arms, the trembling girl whispered: I will stay with you, father. Tell Mathilde the fortune is hers!'

A half-sigh, stifled by strong resolution, broke from Mr Cheyne: the hope of years was annihilated. He spoke not, but silently embracing his agitated daughter, endeavoured to assume a composure he was far from feeling; and never had Mr Cheyne felt his powers of endurance and forbearance more sorely taxed, than when called upon to perform the duties of a courteous and kind host to the grave Mathilde, whose lovely countenance lit up with an expression of delight when informed of Dorothy's decision. This unusual animation nettled and annoyed the old squire to a great degree, and unconsciously he ejaculated-for he had acquired a habit of speaking much to himself: 'My poor beggared girl! it is bitter to see a stranger step into the golden slippers you expected to wear!'

A gentle tap on the shoulder caused him to start, and looking round he beheld Mathilde's pale face close to his shoulder, her dark eyes intently regarding him, while softly the words fell from her lips, as she placed a hand impressively on his arm: It is true that I rejoice at Dorothy Cheyne's noble resolve; but judge me not harshly for this. We are told not to judge, lest we be judged.' With impressive sweetness she spoke, and Mr Cheyne was fairly puzzled. He had always regarded Mathilde with emotions of curiosity and interest, but she so completely baffled conjecture, that in this instance, as in many others, the worthy old man contented himself with merely gallantly bowing, and apologising for his bad habit of thinking aloud. Yet the

wan face, and the dark speaking eyes, haunted him when alone, and he vainly wished that he could comprehend Mathilde's character and motives of action.

As to Gervase, he loudly and clamorously expressed his chagrin and disappointment when his cousin's final rejection was communicated to him by Mr Cheyne; yet he stood in the somewhat ludicrous predicament of not wishing to exhibit his disappointment before Mathilde, declaring to Mr Cheyne with boyish earnestness, that he had not a farthing of his own in the world to purchase a commission with, so now he must look to Matty, and trust to her liberality.

III.

There was an evident and palpable accession of affectionate regard in Mathilde's demeanour towards poor Dorothy after these events. Mathilde sought Dorothy's society, but she was received with coldness-for human nature was not proof against this corroboration of the suspicion of mercenary motives. Dorothy would not barter her own faith; but this was no reason why she should not feel a jealous pang at Mathilde's carrying off the thousands she had lost. Mathilde's assiduous kindness she attributed to self-complacency and triumph; Mathilde's gentle meekness and endurance of suspicion, to a consciousness of selfishness and duplicity. But Mathilde was persevering, and not to be easily cast aside; and Dorothy, with a pang of self-reproach, marked the patient sweetness so ill requited, and a rare and silent tear, the only reproof Mathilde gave way to. Dorothy's opinion began to waver, for she had a tender heart; her reserve by degrees relaxed; and when Mathilde spoke of herself, of her past history, Dorothy no longer turned a deaf ear. Imperceptibly this interest in Mathilde deepened, as general discussions were abandoned, and more of the heart-history laid open. Many such conversations recurred, and Dorothy with conflicting emotions listened to the recital of her sorrows.

'I owe you some recompense, cousin,' the latter proceeded mournfully, for the disappointment you have endured; and as I wish you to cherish my memory with some degree of pity and affection when we separate, a narrative of my simple history may perhaps sufficiently account for my regarding a marriage of convenience with dismay, and explain my wish to prevent your union with my dear and only brother, when your heart is in the keeping of another. We become strangely, luminously clear-sighted, Dorothy Cheyne, when our lamp is lit by experience and observation! Your decision on the side of truth and constancy won my love and respect. Even if you had acted differently, it was my intention to have interfered, in order to save you both; although, in that case, this confidence on my part

I was terribly afraid of you at first. I am always afraid of fine misses! But when I found you such a nice, smiling, good-natured little creature'—here he sidled towards Dorothy, and endeavoured to pass his arm round her waist, but Dorothy in her turn edged off—' why, then, I was all right and comfortable, and made my mind easy, and determined to say nothing to any one until the time arrived when we could be married all quietly and nicely: and now you are for a put-off, Cousin Doll. I declare it is very unkind of you; that it is.'

6

Dorothy could scarcely refrain from laughing at this pathetic appeal, but striving to look serious, she merely rejoined: This is a grave subject, Gervase, and involves other interests than ours. We will not pursue it at present.'

'Very well, very well, Dorothy dear, just as you like; that is what Mathilde said when I alluded to our marriage the other day. Do you know, Cousin Doll, that, between ourselves, if I didn't know for a certainty that Matty loves me, and isn't selfish, I should really begin to believe she wasn't altogether so much in favour of our coming together as she ought to be; not that she ever said so, in a direct way, but that in her manner there is a something or another which I cannot make out, but which seems to express a wish that you and I, Dorothy dear, should not have much to say to one another. I cannot make it out, because Mathilde, I'm certain, does not care for the fortune; and you know that if we don't marry, and that soon, it all goes to herHardinge Hall and all! I've heard that Hardinge Hall is a fine old place; what rare doings we would have there! Hey, Cousin Dorothy, hey!'

'When you return from the wars victorious! hey, Cousin Gervase!' cried Dorothy, laughing and running away.

Now, although Dorothy laughed and mimicked Gervase, yet she felt the truth of what he said, for she, too, had become impressed with the indefinable conviction, that Mathilde was averse to her union with Gervase. There was a spice of obstinacy or Tony Lumpkin self-willedness about the lad, which required much humouring and management; and if he had found out that his sister wished to lead or sway him on such a grave question, he would have been resolute to have his own way, if only for the purpose of shewing that he was 'every inch a man.' Therefore Mathilde was very cautious, very gentle in all her proceedings with her brother; and yet he was so unconsciously accustomed to watch her looks, to read their meaning, and to depend on her advice, that he had intuitively gained the knowledge disclosed in his conversation with Dorothy-the knowledge that Mathilde disapproved of the condition which kept the fortune from herself! Dorothy felt that Mathilde watched her, and also that Mathilde read her secret heart. Frank Capel had paid one of the formal visits, which were not prohibited, in company with Sir John, when Mr Cheyne, with courteous and gratified demeanour, received both father and son.

The visit was a lengthened one; luncheon was eaten, the garden viewed and commended; and Frank, the moment he beheld Gervase, lost all his previous hauteur, and entered into a friendly alliance with the delighted youth, who declared Frank Capel to be the best fellow in the world.

But Mathilde was present also. She afterwards spoke of Frank to Dorothy-and it was sufficient: from that time henceforth, she silently watched and waited; she had a painful and harassing part to act, and on Dorothy's faithfulness and constancy only to rely. If Dorothy was true to Frank, then the fortune would be hers. Who might read the secrets of Mathilde's heart, or penetrate the dark mysterious shadows which shrouded them? When Dorothy, with woman's fine tact, found that Mathilde endeavoured furtively to impress her mind with a sense of the misery she would entail on herself by marrying Gervase, whom she could not love or respect with the love and respect a wife ought to feel for her husband, then were Dorothy's suspicions aroused, and she began to doubt Mathilde-almost to despise her-saying to herself: Can it be, with so heavenly an exterior, that the interior is defiled with mammon-worship?'

Sir John Capel gave a general invitation to Gervase to visit at Capel House-a licence which the youth was not slow to avail himself of, as he had no companions of his own sex; and in Frank Capel and his younger brothers, George and Adolphus, he found congeniality in many respects, particularly in the latter-Frank very cavalierly turning him over to them whenever the martial youth bored him too much. Smilingly he encouraged Gervase to talk of Cousin Dolly. Frank had no fears now; and from having been prepared to hate his rival, the sudden revulsion of feeling caused by his appearance and manner almost ripened into a sentiment of affection. Gervase confided to Frank that he wasn't quite sure of Dorothy: she was a kind little soul, to be sure, but still he wasn't quite sure whether she meant to take him. Frank smiled, but held his peace. Mr Cheyne had not thought it necessary to enlighten either Gervase or Mathilde on the matter of Frank's attachment to his daughter. Gervase would have groped his way blindly on till doomsday; Mathilde read the secret at a glance.

In the meanwhile, who would have imagined that the quiet greenwood-bower in Deepdean Valley contained within its bosom such conflicting interests and opinions-such elements of pain and pleasure, of romance and reality? Still did Mr Cheyne pace undisturbedly the sequestered nooks of the pleasant garden; still did he pore over the pages of Evelyn, and lament the degeneracy of modern taste; but the squire was more aged, more bent than of yore; the lines in his fine old face were deepening, and his sighs were frequent and audible, as he gazed round his beloved ancestral domain. He had received many letters of late-many which amazed and perplexed him sorely, despite all his efforts to