getting?" he said to me one evening, when I had met him, quite sober, on the road. "What does it mean ?"

“Not much,” I said, and told him the state of affairs. But I did not mention Gretchen. I had not chosen to promise against marriage, that was all.

"You are a fool!" he said, emphatically. "If I were in your place! And who is this old tyrant? And who is the lucky man who will get the money instead of you ?"

I felt reluctant to give names, but Mr. Fairfax had fastened on the story, and was full of curiosity.

"My friend is called Sutherland," I admitted at last, "and I know nothing of the other except the facts I have told you; and that he bears the family name.'

"Sutherland!" echoed Mr. Fairfax, "Sutherland !" He turned red, then white, then green in the face. "Sutherland!" He looked like a man who was going to have a fit.

"Yes," I said, "Sutherland. Good Heavens! Mr. Fairfax, what is the matter with you ?"

He recovered himself quickly. "Matter with me?" he said. "Nothing is the matter with me. But I once knew a man called Sutherland. It must have been the same. Poor Sutherland! poor Sutherland! He was a married man.'

Almost immediately after this he left me abruptly upon "business."

Some days afterwards I went into the cottage, and found an unusual scene going on among the sisters.

"I am sure," Kitty was saying, "it is very strange of you not to be more pleased. The expense of me will be quite off your hands, and, besides, I shall be such a credit to the family."

Kitty, standing in the middle of the floor, thus harangued her two sisters, who were clinging together on Fan's little couch. Tears were rolling heavily down Gretchen's face. Fan had her lips pressed to the elder sister's hand, while she looked wistfully and reproachfully at the other.

"Now look you here, brother Ned," said Kitty, triumphantly, as if glad to see a reasonable being to whom she could state her case. "Here is Gretchen fretting and crying about the finest piece of luck that ever befel this miserable house. Lady Bernard wants to adopt me, and take me for her daughter. There never was such good fortune heard of except in the fairy tales."

chen.

"Go away, Kitty. Go off to Lady Bernard," cried Fan. "And Gretchen, you have still got little me. Don't cry, lovey sweet! Never fear but I will stick to you.'

The little creature meant it. She thought nothing of the long parting that was at hand.

"I shall often come to see you," said Kitty, a little touched," and I shall be able to bring some nice things for Fan, I dare say. It would be a dreadful pity to miss such a good thing for the family."

The good thing was not missed. Kitty went to live with Lady Bernard, and her visits to the shabby cottage were few and far between. And Gretchen bravely put away her sorrow, for Fan was going to die, and it needed all Gretchen's courage to help the little sister through this strait. It took all her nerve, and the nerve of one who was stronger, and ought to have been braver than herself. Many a night we sat up, holding the little hands, and wetting the parched lips. Fan made a generous will, and left me to Gretchen, and left Gretchen to me. 66 Kitty will be sure to be all right," she said. "She always told us she would make a shift for herself."

Kitty had made a very good shift indeed. Sometimes she came to us, dressed in handsome clothes, and bringing grapes or wine, or some other delicacy. But her visits were rare, and she thought more of the things she brought than of noting the changes in Fan. I think she would have come oftener, only she did not like to appear to us without gifts in her hands. She was too elegant a young lady for us now. Her silk dress was easily hurt, and her delicate kid gloves would not readily come off. She had never more than ten minutes to stay at a time, for the carriage was always waiting for her to drive her with Lady Bernard to the park. She grew tall and sleek in the course of a few months, and looked very fair and lovely in her handsome clothes. I could not but own, when I saw her beside Gretchen, that a gem is all the more beautiful for being

richly set. Yet my chosen love in her threadbare gown was all the dearer and holier to me for this thought.

It was agonising, that parting between the two little sisters. Fan held on to Gretchen while the death-struggle was rending her, till the frail spirit was overcome and borne away, and only pulseless hands were found clasping Gretchen's neck. And then we laid her out, and put lilies on her breast, and Kitty came to see her and cried a good deal. The father was not at home, and we quite forgot to miss him. Before the day of burial we had wondered about him a little. A whole week passed and we did not see him or hear from him. Gretchen was troubled, thinking of the shock that was in store for him. I was not uneasy. I thought that, like Kitty, he would be sure to make a shift

for himself.

We laid our dead in a very humble grave, and Kitty dried her tears and went back to Lady Bernard. It was a comfort to her, she said, to remember about the grapes which she had been able to bring. Gretchen's cheeks were white, and her strength was worn out, but she thought she had done nothing for little Fan.

So Gretchen was left alone; for her father did not come back. Weeks passed away, and still there were no tidings of him. For the comfort of his daughter I searched and advertised-made every effort within my power to get a trace of the missing man. All exertions were fruitless. Mr. Fairfax was either dead, or had deserted. Gretchen believed the former; I, the latter. In the midst of this perplexity Kitty went abroad with Lady Bernard. It was uncertain when she might return, as her protectress had some idea of settling in France. Her sister was married there, and lived in a pretty old château with a family of lively French children about her. Kitty was full of pleasant anticipations, and could scarcely tear herself away from her own delightful thoughts to remember Gretchen's loneliness and needs. But she promised to write frequently, and what more could one expect?

It was also at this time that I heard the news of my guardian's death. He had died, as he had expected, suddenly, of a fit of apoplexy. The arrangements as to his will had not been made too soon.

To me

This man was truly the heir, for he had suddenly appeared, and was just in good time to claim his inheritance, being, fortunately for himself, unmarried, and totally unencumbered. He had turned up, in the oddest way, just before the late Mr. Sutherland's death, and had visited the deceased, and been recognised by him. So he was the lucky man; and this was the end of our little day-dream.

The white-headed butler gave me these details when I called at the door to inquire about the funeral. I was too much disappointed to enter the place, or to run the risk of meeting the new Mr. Sutherland.

"A fine figgur of a gen'leman he is, sir," said the old man. Hextremely 'an'some, if it warn't for too 'igh a blush about the nose. Lucky for him, sir, as how he never tried matrimony!"

"That's as may be," I said, sagely. But I sighed a little as I walked down the steps. The sigh was more for Gretchen's sake than

my own.

And now came the question of what Gretchen was to do with herself. We looked in each other's faces and knew we dared not marry: We made our little plan, and agreed to be as cheerfal as we could in carrying it out. I was to go to Paris, and Gretchen was to wait patiently till such time as I could come back and begin life as an artist: I found her a home with a respectable and kindly woman, and she returned to her work in Mr. Jackson's room.

Now ready, price 5s. 6d., bound in green cloth,
THE FIFTH VOLUME

OF THE NEW SERIES OF

VOL. VI.

133

these internal questionings, doubtings, and upbraidings, but the malignant sophistries of the Evil One accusing the just ?

Lady Vernon had made two or three of her domiciliary visits, and was emerging from between the poplars that stood one at each side of old Mr. Martin's door, when her eye lighted upon the figure of Doctor Malkin, in his black frock-coat, newly arrived from his journey, looking a little fagged, but smiling politely, and raising his hat.

his

The doctor had just made his toilet, and was on his way to Roydon Hall to pay respects to his patroness.

Lady Vernon smiled, but looked suddenly a little paler, as she saw her family physician thus unexpectedly near her.

you

"How d'ye do, Doctor Malkin? I did not think could have been home so early,' said Lady Vernon. "You intend calling at Roydon Hall to-day ?"

"I was actually on my way," said Doctor Malkin, smiling engagingly, with his hat still in his hand, and the sun glancing dazzlingly on his bald head. At any hour that will best suit you, Lady Vernon, I shall be most happy to wait upon you." "I shall be going home now; I have made my little round of visits."

"And left a great many afflicted hearts comforted," interpolated the appreciative doctor.

"And I mean to return by the path," she continued, not choosing to hear the doctor's little compliment. "Open that door, please," she said to the footman, who contrived with a struggle, without dropping the volumes he was charged with, to disengage a key from his pocket, and open a wicket in the park wall, which at this point runs only a few yards in the rear of the houses. "And, as you say, you were on your way to Roydon Hall, you may as well, if you don't mind, come by the path with

"You will be glad to hear, Lady Vernon, that everything was satisfactory, and every particular is now arranged. I was detained a little longer than I expected, but I saw Mr. Damian. He read the copies of the papers, and said they are more than sufficient."

A silence followed. Lady Vernon was looking straight before her with an inflexible countenance. They walked on about twenty steps before either spoke.

"We had a visit from Mercy Creswell to-day," said Lady Vernon.

"Oh! Had you ? But I don't think I quite recollect who Mercy Creswell is." "She was once a servant here, and now she is in the employment of Mr. Damian." "Oh! I understand; actually in his service at present ?"

"Yes."

The doctor looked intelligently at Lady Vernon.

"I wished to see her. I knew she would have a good deal to tell me; and I had some ideas of making her particularly useful, which on seeing her, and ascertaining that she is clever, I have made up my mind to carry into effect."

"I have no doubt that anything resolved on by Lady Vernon will be most judicious and successful."

"It is five years since I saw Mr. Damian; how is he looking ?" asked Lady Vernon.

Very well. His hair has been white a long time. I think he stoops a little now; but in all other respects he is unchanged. His sight, his hearing, his mind are quite unimpaired. He is very active, too; everything, in short, you could wish. He is going for a few days, at the end of the week, to his place near Brighton. But it is a mere flying visit."

"I suppose you have had a conversation with Mr. Damian ?"

"A very detailed and full one; a very satisfactory conversation, indeed. I ex plained every point of difficulty on which he required light, and he is quite clear as to his duty."

"And I as to mine," she said, abstractedly, looking with gloomy eyes on the grass; "I as to mine." She was walking, unconsciously, more slowly.

"You have had a great deal of anxiety and trouble, Doctor Malkin," she said, suddenly raising her eyes. "I think have you acted with great kindness, and tact, and energy, and secrecy."

"Certainly," he interposed; "religious

secrecy. I should consider myself dishonoured, had I not."

"I'm sure of that; I'm quite sure of that, Doctor Malkin; and I am very much obliged to you. You have done me a great kindness, and I hope yet to make you understand how very much I feel it. I have still, I'm afraid, a great deal of trouble to give you."

"I should be a very ungrateful man, Lady Vernon, if, in a case of this painful kind, I were to grudge any trouble that could contribute to make your mind more happy. I should perhaps say less anxious."

"I know very well how I can rely upon you, Doctor Malkin," said Lady Vernon, abstractedly. "It will be quite necessary that you should go on Sunday. We can't avoid it. I don't like travelling on Sundays, when it can be helped. But in this particular case it is unavoidable."

Quite; of course you can command me. I am entirely at your disposal."

"And no one knows where you go?" "That of course. I-I that manage very easily. I do all I can by rail, and take the train at an unlikely station."

You know best," she said with a heavy sigh. "I wish it were all over. Doctor Malkin, it comforts me that I am so well supported by advice. I know I am right; yet I do not think I could endure the responsibility alone."

A little pink flush showed itself suddenly in Doctor Malkin's pale cheeks; he looked down.

"I have relied a good deal on Mr. Tintern," he said. "He has had a great deal of experience, and you know he is perfectly conversant with the mode of proceeding, and all responsibility rests ultimately, neither upon you nor upon any of those whom you have honoured with your more immediate confidence, but entirely with other people," said Doctor Malkin.

If you don't mind, I should thank you to call on Sunday afternoon. I don't care to part with the papers until then. Will six o'clock suit you?"

66

Perfectly."

Well, I'm sure I ought to thank you very much, you have relieved my anxiety. Perhaps it is as well that we should part here. Good-bye, Doctor Malkin."

hand gently, with a faint smile round, as if to imply that he need have no scruple in withdrawing his escort under conditions so assuring and delightful. "One thing only, I hope, perhaps, without being very impertinent, I may suggest."

Doctor Malkin hesitated here, and Lady Vernon answered easily:

"I should be happy to hear anything you may think it well to say."

"I was thinking, perhaps, that it might be desirable, Lady Vernon, not indeed to quiet any doubts; for I don't see that any can anywhere exist; but merely by way of technical authority-I was going to say, that some communication, either with Mr. Coke, or some other London lawyer of eminence, would be perhaps desirable."

"I don't mind telling you, Doctor Malkin, that I have already taken that step," said the lady. "You shall have the papers on Sunday, when you call, and for the present, I think I will say good-bye." And so they parted.

CHAPTER LIV. MR. HOWARD'S GRAVESTONE. LADY VERNON'S correspondence with Mr. Dawe was at this time carried on daily. One of the old gentleman's letters intensified her alarms. It said:

"I thought for a time I had discovered a different object of the young gentleman's devotions-Miss Tintern, of the Grange. I did not open my conjectures to him, nor did he speak on the subject to me. I think I was mistaken, and I can't now tell how it is. There is some powerful attraction, unquestionably, in the neighbourhood of Roydon."

Lady Vernon's panic continued, therefore, unabated.

On Saturday by the late post a letter reached Roydon, addressed to Miss Vernon, which took Maud a good deal by surprise. It was from Lady Mardykes, and was to this effect.

The Forest, Warhampton, Friday. MY DEAR MISS VERNON,-You will be surprised when you see that I write from the Forest. I was suddenly called here yesterday by a message from dear papa. I found him so much better, and so entirely out of danger, that I sent by telegraph to my aunt, at Carsbrook, to prevent my friends going away; and to beg of her to stay till Tuesday, where I am quite sure you will find her very happy to take charge of you when you arrive, as you promised, on Monday. Pray do not postpone your