And then he retires, stumbling over the door-mat, and walking off with one of Mr. Heathcote's whips instead of his own. I like Lord Launton so much, mamma," said Lucy. "What a pity he is so shy!"

"If he asked my girl to have him, I don't know that she should," thought Mrs. Heathcote. "They're so poor."

Lord Launton turned off along the lane which led to his father's park. A pretty, tree-shaded lane in summer, where blackberry bushes across the ditch sent trailing branches over the abyss, pitfalls into which the children fell in the autumn, and scratched themselves; where honeysuckles, too, twined about among sweet wild roses, and long foxgloves shot up in July; but now, in February, a dismal place enough, with its two frozen ruts, each a foot and a half deep, and the unrelieved brown of its hedgerows.

Two persons found, even on this cold afternoon, some pleasure in the scenery. They were walking slowly down the lane, side by side; and one of them, a girl, had her face bent downwards.

Lord Launton's cheeks flushed a deep crimson when he saw them. He half stopped, as if he would turn back-but changed his mind; and making an effort, rode on with head tossed back, and a curious flash in his blue eyes. At the sound of his horse's (hoofs, both looked up. He took off his hat, and held out his hand.

I have just been to the farm, Miss Heathcote."

"Indeed, Lord Launton. Do you not recognise Mr. Melliship?"

His lordship began to stammer again.

“I—I—I—think we were at Eton together, Mr. Melliship, but you were in a higher form, and you can hardly remember me, I suppose."

Frank Melliship laughed.

"In any case, after five years, we can hardly be expected to remember each other. You are spending the vacation at the Towers ?"

F "Yes-yes-until I go back to Oxford."

Then Lord Launton left them, riding on fast to conceal his own agitation.

"Heavens!" he thought; "he is a man; and what am I, who cannot for five minutes preserve my presence of mind?" And then was miserable the whole evening, with the feeling that he had made a visible fool of himself. Of course, he had done nothing of the kind.

Of the pair whom he left behind, the girl was taller than the average stature of her sex. Her warm winter dress, with its sealskin jacket and furs, was not so thick as to hide altogether the graceful lines of her admirable figure; nor could her thick veil altogether conceal the roses of her cheek and the brightness of her eyes-eyes with the clear brown tinge, the colour of truth and loyalty. Nor could the dank and misty atmosphere of the winter's day take its gloss from the glorious brown hair, as profuse and as abundant as her sister's, which wanted no artificial helps to set forth its wealth. Grace Heathcote is so lovely, that Lord Launton's boyish infatuation is easily understood; so lovely, that we seem to know what is passing in the breast of the young man who walks beside her. For a beautiful girl is a treasure-more priceless than any work of art-which makes every man long to call it his own; to envy him who has the happiness to dwell for ever in the magic of her eyes, to revel in the sunshine of her love, We love them at random, and all for the sake of their beauty: we know not what may be the soul that lies beneath we stake our life and its happiness upon the chance that, under so fair a form, God has given the world as fair a heart. We have an instinct-whether true or false, Heaven knows-that goodness and truth, and fidelity and honour, accompany beauty; that where the loveliness which moves our heedless natures is found, there also those things which make life happy when passion is spent, are found also. If they are not there, we believe them to be; and so life goes on, and our love becomes our wife, and remains an angel still. Socrates treated Xantippe kindly, forgetful of the high spirits which had once carried her so far as to pour the basin of water over his head; the judicious Hooker rocked the cradle, doing his wife's work, while he was writing his "Ecclesiastical Polity," without a murmur; and the illustrious Dr. Johnson never ceased to mourn the loss of the painted old woman whom his fancy had endowed with the virtues of the celestials.

Grace Heathcote being a woman, was, of course, not an angel. But there were more than one who thought her so. Lord Launton, as we have seen; Frank Melliship, as we have to see; and, at a distance, George Ghrimes-the sturdy bachelor of five-and-thirty, who had her in his heart, laid by like a pleasure to be enjoyed stealthily and in secret, and to be worshipped with the hopeless devotion of one who battles for a hopeless cause-like a Communalist of Paris.

"You were at school with Lord Launton, and yet you forgotten him, Frank?" asked Grace.

have

He has been away whenever I was at home, and I have not seen him for five years. Do you often meet him?"

This with the faintest tinge of jealousy.

"Oh, yes-very often. And I like him extremely. He used to come to Parkside when he was quite a little boy." "So did I."

"Yes; and you used to break my dolls, and make me cry." "But we always kissed and made it up again.”

Oh, of course.

Children always do.'

"Well, then, I wish we were children again.” Grace laughed.

"That you might destroy my dolls again? "No."

Frank Melliship was silent again. It is not always easy to approach a difficult subject.

Grace took up the talk.

"And now you have really left Cambridge, and come to Market Basing for good; do you think you will be happy in such a dull place ?"

"That depends on one or two things." Grace did not ask what they were.

"There is something wrong about my father," said the young man. "Something seems to be worrying him. That will have to disappear first. He seems very well; but he is sometimes distrait, and returns answers showing that he has not been attending to the questions. And well, we shall see ?"

"And what is the next thing to make you happy?" "A hope, Grace."

"But any man may have a hope. Then what is yours ?" "I hope to realize the dream I was telling you when Lord Launton passed us, and interrupted me. May I tell it you again ?"

"Yes," said Grace, softly.

"Then stand still, for we are close to home, and listen again. I dreamed that a childish fancy was to be the settled purpose of a man, and that what I had thought of as a boy was to be the only thing which could give me happiness when I grew I dreamed that what might make me happy might make another too. Grace, tell me if my dream was presumptuous. Tell me―my darling—for I love you!"

up.

She put her hand in his, and looked him frankly in the face. "You may hope, Frank, if it will make you happy."

66 And you, Grace-can my love make you happy? My words have not offended you ?"

This time she looked him full, without blushing, for she saw no reason for shame.

'Frank, nothing that you could say is able to offend me. Nothing will ever make me happy but your love."

For an answer, he lifted the veil from her face, and kissed her lips, and cheeks, and eyes, and white brow. No one saw them; and the last ray of the early setting sun, as it shone out from the clouds for a moment before it sank, lay upon the pair, as if with the blessing of God.

Then Grace broke from her lover, and laying both her hands in his for a moment, she turned the corner by the great yew-hedge, and fled into the house.

CHAPTER THE NINTH.

frequented the place.

E left Dick Mortiboy fast asleep at madame's the blanchisseuse, in Greek-street, Soho, at a few minutes past twelve a.m. on Thursday morning-alone with his purse, his pistol, his bowieknife; with the great toe of his right foot communicating with the handle of the door. But his ingenious device was thrown away. He was as safe in the second-floor chamber of madame's house as he would have been in the strong-room of the Bank of England. The people were honest; conspirators, not burglars,

Dick got up at half-past ten: breakfasted with Lafleur at eleven, at the Sablonière, on oysters, galantine, watercresses, black coffee, and the little glass of white brandy. Then came the time of business. He completed his cabinet of specimens, and touched up the map of his Madagascar estate. Dinner at

seven, at the Café Quatre Frères, just out of Leicester-square, Euchre till bed-time-winning instead of losing. On Friday, having completed his business in town, he took the afternoon train to Market Basing.

Saturday he walked abroad, and found himself famous.

His father had parted reluctantly from his long-lost son, even for a couple of days. Nothing but the urgency of Dick's London business reconciled the old man to his going.

When he came back after his short visit, old Ready-money showed more delight than he had done when his son came back, and first introduced himself after a twelve years' ab

sence.

66

Then, Richard Melliship Mortiboy was as a shadow. Now, My son Richard" was a reality. The old man showed his pleasure in many odd ways. He believed in Dick: he swallowed as gospel all he told him : his name was for ever on his father's lips

me.

"Richard come back again to his old father. A credit to What things he's seen! Nobody here like him." These were the things he said. And he would press his lean hands on Dick's stout sides a dozen times an hour.

The sense of touch assured him of his reality.

He walked from Derngate to the bank that morning with his father. It was market day, and the little town showed its wonted busy aspect-an appearance it put on only once a week. Everybody stared at him as a wonder. People they passed on their way turned to look after old Ready-money and his newly found son.

Dick's return was likely to be a wonder in Market Basing for more than nine days.

At the bank, Ghrimes and the old clerks welcomed him as the prince come back to his father's kingdom.

They bowed down their necks before the heir.

And Dick had a pleasure in their friendly recognitions, and greeted all whom he remembered in his most kindly way, graciously acknowledging the homage they paid him.

After an hour's talk with his father, he said

"It would be just as well if I looked up a few people to-day; and in the afternoon I shall go over to Hunslope, and spend the evening with the Parkside people, I think."

"Very well, Dick-very well. It's Grace's birthday tomorrow. Richard, I'm afraid Cousin Lyddy isn't very glad you're come back. She'd booked my money, and she might