schemes and the follies of every one-her own included, for having ever permitted an acquaintance between Luce and Mr. O'Hara; she felt certain it was on that account that Luce had refused to marry the Comte de Senlecq-but never, never should those two young people exchange a word again; she wondered that she had ever given a thought to "that absurd Mademoiselle de Woos' chatter about a castle in Ireland," she thought, looking resentfully at the dragon-fly buzzing and nodding in the distance, "it is as I expected-he has no castle at allthe adventurer! only one in the family somewhere, very probably some horrible tumble-down old place, which might never come to him at all, and for this the broad acres of the Château de Senlecq had been thrown away!"

The tears almost started into Stephanie's eyes, and she had to lower the fringe of her parasol; "Oh! she had managed very, very badly; she had never hoped for such a marriage for Luce-and then when it did present itself, it was only to be cast aside by the caprice of that blind and foolish girl; to imagine what might have been! what a step gained in the world to have had Luce with a good house and position in the capital, where she herself had but an appartement, the relationship with Madame Mère,' that proud old Comtesse de Senlecq, whom they had seen driving on the boulevards last winter, the entrée to some of the best circles' to which she could not now aspire-what a triumph over her friends!" Long vistas of vanished glories such as these passed before poor Stephanie's mind; and then a poignant pang as she thought of all she might have been enjoying that very afternoon if M. de Senlecq had been there in the character of her sister's fiancé, made the parasol go down again for a bitter moment. However she still clung to hope, taking special comfort from the benevolent little note of farewell and sympathy which she had written to the Count with a promise to inform him of any change in her sister's feelings, and things might after all come right. At all events Luce must never speak again to that Irishman. Luce with her handsome dot to think of an artist indeed! not if he had twenty tumble-down castles! She would not have brought the silly child here to-day, but that Mademoiselle de Woos had informed her that Mr. O'Hara had gone upon a sketching expedition in a barge up the Ghent Canal. All this, Stephanie was thinking as she leant back in her chair chatting languidly, and keeping a watch upon Luce's white dress amongst the croquetplayers; but now the game was over, and Luce had wandered away

with some of the other young people, to the lake with the stiff little island in its midst, to feed the swans.

And oddly enough the "adventurer" himself, instead of being safely away on that sketching expedition, had made his appearance among the group, and was at this moment, with a great white lilyhead stuck in his coat, very composedly leaning over the rail of the miniature bridge which spanned the lake, to the apparent imminent risk of that frail structure and himself. The breeze ruffled the water into white ripples beneath; the swans came sailing along in the sunlight with puffing feathers like great snow-balls, with double swans sailing below them in the bright water; the young group on the bank and the bridge were laughing together, and talking airy nothings all at once; Philip O'Hara was standing beside Luce supplying her with biscuits to throw to the birds; Luce's cheeks had a faint glow like the dog-roses in her dress, and her eyes seemed full of the sunlight.

"Mademoiselle de Woos said you had gone up the Ghent Canal!” said Luce.

"I have been: I saw the Golden Dragon' rise above the reeds, and heard the great bell shake the towers, and then as I knew four o'clock was the hour of Mademoiselle de Woos's fête champêtre I hied me back

"Not in a canal-boat?" laughed Luce.

"Oh no! of course not; but a moth's wings or a bat's back like Ariel, or some equipage of that kind; but are you sure that it is really I? Just now I fancied I was climbing S. Bavon's tower, and looking down upon all the world, feeling half way to the sun."

"How dull we should be if we had not the power of transporting ourselves away in imagination," said Luce, watching the ripples, "as if our spirit must always be in the same place where our body is! but imagination gives one a double life."

"And so why may I not be really on S. Bavon's tower ?" said Philip, taking elaborate aim with a bit of biscuit at a duck who was disporting himself under the water, with his tail appearing above the surface," and this is my spirit beside you where it often is; do you think I am always in that painting sanctum of mine? not at all, only you never saw me in tangible shape before ::-see this poor fellow! you do not give him any biscuit, and he seems ruffling up for a speech on equality of rights."

He was watching Luce's reflection gleaming whitely under the rip

ples. "Do you like that picture? Fancy painting on water for canvas, with sunlight for colours!-that's how they painted in old times, you know the first pictures that ever were made." And then he took the lily and laid it in her hand, smiling—

"Would you care for it amongst your roses? It is like youLuce-flower-de-luce! do you know that I have watched it grow? and it has grown for you;-the sun has warmed it, and the rain has watered it for you ;-it has a secret in its heart, and that is only for you."

The words might mean little, but they made the girl's heart beat, hearing the thrill in his voice, and then he suddenly added:

"Do you remember that night at the ball, telling me that I was like Sir Percival on his quest? and you said you hoped it would be successful, did you mean the quest for happiness that I was speaking of ?"

"No," answered Luce, "I was thinking of Sir Percival's search for the Sangréel."

"And what is the Sangréel ?"

"The highest happiness-if you like to take it so.'

"I think," said Philip, thoughtfully, "that would be the consciousness of living a really noble life-all for others, and nothing for oneself, but I should like you to tell me what you think is the highest happiness."

Luce hesitated for a moment whilst the laughter and voices of the others broke in, and then she answered simply: "I think it is to love GOD with all one's heart first, and then one would be able to live the life you speak of."

"Ah, you have seen the Sangréel!" said Philip.

"No. I am only seeking it," answered Luce, softly.

"You will find it; and then will you pray that I may find it too ?" said Philip, in a low passionate voice.

Yes; I will," said Luce, and then they paused, for their talk had grown so grave; but it was only for a few moments more that the two reflections in the wavering water below stood together, who were never so to stand again, before a voice broke sharply in—

"Oh, here you are, Luce! I have been looking for you everywhere-" and they turned to see Madame Dambricourt looking almost as pale as the parasol she held in her hand.

"Good-day," she said, bestowing a stony stare and careless nod

upon Philip. "Come, Luce, they want you to take a mallet for the game that is just making up, and then we must be going," and she swept Luce away, leaving Philip amazed and indignant.

He went to pay his adieux to Mademoiselle de Woos, and then hurried home to think.

He looked pale and tired when he lit up his lamp at last, and scattered the darkness into the nooks and corners of the old painting

room.

"Yes," he said to himself, "it has come to this! It is a bold step to take, but I had better know the worst at once."

CHAPTER VIII.

"She might have gone on talking half-an-hour,
And I stood still, and cold, and pale, I think,

As a garden-statue a child pelts with snow

For pretty pastime

How she talked

To pain me! woman's spite! you wear steel-mail;
A woman takes a housewife from her breast,
And plucks the delicatest needle out,

As 'twere a rose, and pricks you carefully

'Neath nails, 'neath eyelids, in your nostrils,-say
A beast would roar so tortured,—but a man,

A human creature, must not, shall not flinch,
No, not for shame."

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

As Madame Dambricourt and Luce went home that afternoon Stephanie kept an ominous silence, and Luce, feeling confused and miserable, did not care to break it.

But in the evening when she had seen her father and husband sit down to the inevitable game of dominoes, Stephanie said,

"Come, Luce, for a turn on the terrace."

So the two sisters went out together, and there the long pent-up anger of Stephanie burst forth in bitter upbraidings.

"Do you think that I have not seen the true reason of your refusing to marry the Comte de Senlecq? Oh! do not speak to me, I understand everything. Your foolish little head was full of novels, and you fancied yourself a heroine of romance. Oh, very beautiful indeed! A heroine in a rat-haunted old castle, with a beggar for a husbandan adventurer—a painter !"

"Stephanie!" ejaculated poor Luce, vainly trying to stem the torrent of her sister's scorn. She could not tell what she felt then, walking by her sister's side in the sombre light, listening to the taunting voice subdued into a shrill half-whisper: she knew that what Stephanie was saying was unjust and untrue, and yet as she spoke she almost felt as though it were all true; it was as though a veil was roughly torn from her eyes, and she saw bewildered what had been hidden before. Poor Luce! it was a revelation of herself to herself held up before her by an unkindly hand, and she quailed before the guilty thing as we do when that spectre looks out upon us at some rare moment, from the thick darkness of that mental cupboard of his where he is so snugly double-locked away.

She

The revelation had come to her, but in what a terrible way! knew that she loved, but that she had acted as she had done for that reason, she was no less sure was false.

Stephanie was not endowed with much fineness or delicacy of feeling; her love of the world, and ambition made her hard, and so she continued emptying the heavy vials of her wrath upon Luce's devoted head, till the girl could bear no more and burst into tears.

"There now!" said Stephanie, "it is all your own fault; you have played your game very badly, and it has gone to pieces in a way you did not expect, but tears won't mend it."

"I have played no game," answered Luce, indignantly. "I don't understand what you mean.

It was curious to observe Stephanie when she was thwarted, and gave vent to passion, which was very rarely; all her smooth polish of conventionality gone, and nothing left to withhold what was worst in her from coming to the surface.

"Well! I watched it with much interest, I assure you, and allowed it all to go on a little while; you made one or two points, Luce," she said, laughing vulgarly, "especially that one of leading our father by the nose as you did, that was very cleverly done, but you won't win the game against me, my dear; you may be sure of that!"

Stephanie! you shall not talk to me so," exclaimed Luce, passionately through her tears. "I refused to marry the Comte de Senlecq because I did not like him enough, and because I had rather stay at home, and because I do not think that happiness consists in having a fine house, and carriages, and a title-every word of what you say false. Oh, you are cruel! If mamma had been here you would not

is