some other time. He might be sure Vaughan wants to see us, after being away nearly a year.'

'My dear child- -'began Mr Hesketh, with a slight smile. But something made him stop, and his smile grew more melancholy than cynical. You remember,' he added, 'it is only two days since you said disappointment was right and proper, and did people good.'

Another pause, during which Caroline pulled the feathers from her pen, scrap by scrap, and flung them on the air. She was annoyed, grieved, pained, more than she would confess; but the strong, healthy young spirit righted itself very soon.

'Well,' she said, presently, half laughing, 'I suppose I am being done good to; but it isn't very pleasant; I don't like it, uncle. I am not a stoic after all, I'm afraid.'

'Promise never to be either stoic or sophist, and I'll forgive you all your sins against grammar,' the old gentleman replied, drawing her towards him, and kissing the frank, sweet face. 'I'm afraid poor Miss Kendal, in her devotion to Lindley Murray, must have had a hard time with her rebellious pupil.'

'Poor Miss Kendal!' echoed Caroline, with a brief sigh, and then turned to her invitation notes again.

Mr Hesketh's remark, that Vaughan 'would be at Redwood in time for the ball,' proved literally prophetic. The morning of the fifteenth of August dawned, cloudy and threatening rain, and Vaughan and his friend were only expected to arrive in the afternoon. The day proved rainy, one of the most dismal of wet summer days, with a chill and dampness in the air, and the trees looking forlorn and spiritless.

Caroline had plenty to do: she went about the house from early morning, either completing preparations in one room, or admiring them in another, or altering them somewhere else. Besides, as flowers were to form the decorations, there was necessarily much left to be done on the last day. The gardener brought in huge bunches of his most gorgeous dahlias, and other floral magnificence. Festoons of ivy, with glowing groups of flowers inserted here and there, were arranged on the walls of the dancing-room, and long wreaths of roses and myrtle reached from each corner of the room to the central chandelier. The wax-lights rose, slender and snowy, from luxurious nests of soft, rich colour-geranium, and verbena, and heliotrope, artfully inserted into small dishes of water among the glass facets of the chandeliers. It all looked very pretty, Caroline thought, as she gave the finishing touch to the great wreath of cedar and oak, which she had arranged round Mr Hesketh's picture over the mantelpiece. And with a look of mutual congratulation, she and Mrs Brownlow, the housekeeper, who was serious and solemn, with a sense of heavy responsibility, left the room. Then there were

the drawing-room bouquets to arrange, books and prints to fetch from the library, the supper table to inspect, the decorations in the hall, executed conjointly by the gardener and Stokes, the tall groom, to duly admire. Finally, she led Mr Hesketh through the rooms, was satisfied with his warm appreciation of all the arrangements, and then gave him his tea in the study, chattering busily all the while.

"We shall have just enough people to fill the room without crowding it,' she observed; 'thirty-five ladies and twentynine gentlemen. An admirable proportion, isn't it?'

'Is that counting Vaughan and his friend?'

'No; I forgot them-at least, I did not count them. But there will be plenty of cavalieri, after all your ill-natured doubts on that point. You see, sir, I feel quite proud of living in a neighbourhood that can furnish a ball-room so well.' 'Do you intend to enjoy yourself very much this evening?'

'Indeed I do,' she replied, with great emphasis. 'I have been looking forward to it for nearly three weeks.'

'Does it look more radiant now that you are close to it?'

'I don't know; I haven't stopped to think-I have been too busy. Of course it does, though; it must. A ball. real ball! I never was at a real ball in all my life.'

-a

'In all your life!' repeated Mr Hesketh, with his old, amused, affectionate smile at her. What a long waste of existence to look back upon. Hark! was that the gate-bell? Is it time for them to be here?'

'Not yet,' said Caroline, composedly. But the flush came into her cheek, and her hand shook as she gave him his second cup of tea. However, it proved to be no arrival, and Caroline went on talking, while the old gentleman sipped his tea, and listened in a very genial frame of mind. Nevertheless, he looked grave when he noticed, by the sudden brightening of the western sky, that it was sunset. They must have missed the train,' he said. 'It is really inexcusable of Vaughan, to leave it so late, and on your birth-day, too.' He muttered the last words displeasedly, as to himself. But his companion heard them.

'Oh, they will be here in time to dress, and nothing else signifies,' said Caroline, carelessly. She rose from her seat, and walked to the window. Only see how the day has relented, now it is going away,' she cried; 'it is the clearest, softest evening. I think I will run out on the terrace for half-an-hour before dressing.'

'Do so, my dear. I fancy you look tired with being in-doors all day; and I want my little Lina to look blooming this evening.'

'You are very good to your little Lina, always,' cried she, with sudden earnest ness. You think about her so much. I wish I deserved

But even while Mr Hesketh looked round, surprised and touched by the tone and manner with which she spoke, she slipped from the room. And presently he saw her, wrapped in a mantle, and with a hood about her head, walking rapidly to and fro on the terrace. There she was finishing in full the abrupt sentence she had commenced in the room.

'Yes, I wish I deserved what I have: and I wish I had more of that which I do deserve. Why is it, I wonder, that these kind of things are so unequal? I behaved absolutely ill to Miss Kendal, yet she loved me; slighted her, but she was careful and thoughtful over me. And my uncle, how tender and kind he is to me. Why don't I love him better than anything in the world, I wonder? I owe him most; he loves me more than any one else loves me

At this point a burst of tears-grieved, pained, proud tears-came, and would have their way. It was a remarkable instance of the utter vanity and impotence of circumstance over happiness. Caroline, on her birth-day, within two hours of the long-looked-for bliss of her first ball,

leaned against the large silver birch at the end of the terrace walk, and indulged in a hearty fit of crying. In the midst of it, the outer bell sounded again; she fancied she heard carriage-wheels, and she fled into the house, through side corridors, and up the back staircase, and shut herself in her own little dressing-room.

There she sat, quiet and unmolested, for half-an-hour, till the tears were well dried, and the trouble subsided. She began to wonder if the expected arrival had taken place. She consulted her watch; it was late, time for her to begin to dress. She looked at the beautiful dress, Mr Hesketh's birth-day gift to her, which lay already spread out on the sofa. She was too much of a girl not to take pleasure even then, in regarding the delicate white lace of the robe, the tasteful fashion in which it was made, and the completeness of all the appointments, from the embroidered satin shoes to the exquisite fan of snowy feathers and mother-of-pearl. Also, it gave her comfort, regarding all these as visible signs of the thoughtful love and indulgent kindness that one, at least, had for her.

She was musing thus, standing draped in a long, white dressing-gown, with her beautiful hair tossed about her shoulders, when a quick footstep along the corridor made her heart leap. And then came an eager knocking at her door.

Let me see you for a minute, Carry. Mayn't I come in?'

She went to the door and opened it. She had an idea of looking very cool and indifferent, and certainly her figure grew erect in an involuntary stateliness, as she stood facing him. But the first glance at the familiar face overset everything. He looked so eager, so earnest, and his eyes lit up as they met hers with such an expression of pleasure, and surprise, and admiration. He took both her hands and kissed her.

'Carry, you have grown!'

'I have had time to grow since you saw me,' she said, with the least bit of reproachfulness in her tone, and the quivering, smiling glance, that went with it. But look, and tone, and gesture, were all loving; there was not the smallest attempt at dignified reticence. Caroline had no talent for little or great hypocrisies; as she felt, she looked. All the pride and indignation had gone out from her; she was simply and solely happy, now that he was before her, holding her hands, and

looking down on her with the old look, the dearest and pleasantest to her in the world.

He released one hand, to draw from his pocket a morocco case of ominous appearance.

'What do you think it is? What should you like best?'

'I shall like anything.'

'But I don't want you to be so easily pleased. I ransacked half the shops in London, before I found what contented me for your birth-day present.' 'Dear Vaughan! good of you!'

How kind-how

He opened the case, and drew therefrom a bracelet of pearls. He clasped it on the round arm, from which he turned up the long hanging sleeve.

'How pretty it looks! Do you like it?' 'Like it? Oh, I am so pleased.' She was, indeed. The flutter of happiness was almost painful, it was so exquisite for the minute. He had been thinking of her; she had wronged him. How delicious it was to hate herself, for having been unjust to him.

Yet another look was exchanged, an uplift one from her, eloquent of gladness, and of frank affection; while he gazed down at the sweet, girlish face, with a smile, the full meaning of which it might not be quite easy to interpret. He pressed one more kiss on the rosy cheek, murmuring 'birth-day wishes' to her as he did so.

'For, you know,' said he, 'when we next meet, it will be in state. Oh, Carry, how came you to have a ball? A quiet evening would have been bliss. I'm wearied out with gaieties.'

'Redwood will be quiet again after tonight,' said she, apologetically, and when once the ball begins you won't mind it, will you?'

'I can't say. No-not even your smiling shall win me to like it.'

But he answered her radiant smile with a glance that was neither one of discontent nor disapproval. Then he let go her hand, and she closed the door, and ran in to dress, as quickly as she could, while looking ever and anon at her bracelet, and trembling with happiness, real, present, tangible, and recognisable, such as seldom comes within the experience of human beings after they have passed the rubicon of childhood. How is it that the instinctive comment on such a state of beatification is always compassionate?

Poor Caroline, how happy she was! The handmaiden who waited upon her came to assist her in dressing, bringing with her the dainty bouquet for which the gardener had reserved his choicest flowers. That was pleasant. She laid her flowers, and her pearls, and her pretty fan on the table, that she might look at them while Rachel brushed her hair. Sometimes, too, she looked for a moment at the reflection in the long glass before her, for that was very pretty to see, likewise the white-stoled figure, with the abundant golden shower of wavy hair falling to the waist, the arms, shining from the full cloudy muslin sleeves of the loose robe, and the face, with such a vivid colour tinting its fairness, such a dewy lustre in the eyes, such a tremulous, dawn-like beauty over it all.

It was a different vision, less picturesque, perhaps, but hardly less attractive, that a little time after descended the wide staircase. Two gentlemen were standing at the foot of the stairs, and looked up, hearing a soft rustling, and being aware of, without seeing, a very snowy presence approaching them. Dainty and deliberately, Mistress Caroline descended, feeling for the minute fully conscious of her lace, and pearls, and gold-embroidered slippers. At the last stair she paused. Vaughan held out his hand, as if to lead her into the room by the door of which they were standing. But before passing in, an introduction was to take place.

་

Caroline, let me introduce my friend Mr Farquhar,' he said, with some empressement.

Caroline saw a brown, intelligent face, and a pair of dark eyes bent very earnestly on her, as they exchanged bows. She had only time further to remark, that the figure was somewhat undersized for a man, or, at least, it looked so to her, leaning on the arm of Vaughan, whose stature was of the tallest. Then they all went in to Mr Hesketh's study, where the old gentleman awaited them.

'Well, Lina, the truant has found his way home at last, you see. Ah! Mr Farquhar, we shall make you pay, by a long sojourn at Redwood, for the time you have kept this boy from us.'

'Do you always punish sinners after that fashion, sir?' said the gentleman addressed; 'because, if so, dishonesty is the best policy, and I shall give up being virtuous."

'I am glad the renunciation is in your

power,' said Mr Hesketh, laughing; at which Vaughan and his friend exchanged a rapid glance, and both the young men smiled slightly. A very faint smile, but a very disagreeable one, Caroline thought, and she instantly decided, with the usual deliberate judgment of seventeen, that Mr Farquhar was a most unpleasant character.

'George has heard a great deal about Redwood,' said Vaughan, rather hastily; 'he is all anxiety to make personal acquaintance with its attractions. Aren't you, old fellow?'

'I was,' the old fellow replied, looking up from his coffee cup, with an instant's glance at Mr Hesketh and Miss Maturin. Then he turned to the latter, with the bending air of deference, the softened voice, which a gentleman naturally and becomingly assumes when he speaks to a lady, You have a beautiful country around you, I believe?'

'It is considered so,' she replied, with embarrassed politeness.

She was too much of a child to be at all expert in that art of cold courtesy which drops sentences like icicles, as chilly, as smooth, and as pretty-seeming. For Caroline to be cold and repellant, was to be very much not at her ease. However, Mr Farquhar seemed un-repelled. He proceeded:

'You must be very fond of such a pretty place?'

'Redwood? It is my home,' with a flush of warmth.

'Ah, and the rest follows, as a matter of course,' he said, half questioning, half asserting, and looking at her with a sort of amused interest and admiring curiosity. I suppose you cannot conceive the possibility of having a home, and not being very fond of it?'

'I know it is possible. I know it is the case often,' she returned, coldly, again. 'People are either very much to be pitied or blamed who are in such a position, I think.'

Do you pity or blame them most?'

'I cannot possibly do either, till I know the circumstances,' she said, with a judicial gravity at which he found it impossible to restrain a smile.

She detected it. Mr Farquhar's smiles were peculiarly obnoxious to her, it would seem: at this one she turned away with a degree of dignity that ought to have been absolutely awful to any but a very hardened and misguided young man.

But the guests began to arrive, and Miss Maturin and the three gentlemen went into the ball-room. The melancholylooking persons who attended in the capacity of musicians struck up a lively strain, in direct and grotesque contrast to their lugubrious faces and air of resigned depression. The room began to glow with colour; brilliant dresses and laughing faces reflected back the light; the flowerfragrant air grew warm, and the buzz and hum of many voices sounded with a vague sense of festivity, Caroline thought.

Caroline forgot Mr Farquhar; everything that was unpleasing to her faded away at once. She had all her acquaintance to greet; they were all acquaintances; she had formed few intimacies, no friendships. This arose partly from circumstances, but far more from her disposition, which, while it led her to feel kindly to all, allowed her to entertain love for very few. And we know that the friendship of a young girl of any depth of nature scouts the idea of degree; it must be superlative, or it is nothing. Caroline did not see in Bessy Windleton, pretty little sylph as she was, or in either of the two accomplished, handsome daughters of Sir John and Lady Bracebridge, that ideal perfection which she could fairly and fully adore, or that community of feeling in which she could repose, ergo, she was to them Miss Maturin, and no more. If the enthusiasm of youth gives us something, it also loses us a great deal. Older people are apt to talk with regret of the generosity, the confiding faith of early years. Is it not somewhat hollow, this generosity that is so thoughtless? is it not spurious and not to be relied on, this faith which only holds its existence by virtue of its blindness? After all, is not a kind of passionate eclecticism one of the most salient characteristics of a young mind of any force or originality? True, its ideals are angels, let them fall ever so short of perfection; but then, the rest of the world are nullities, no matter how good, how true, how noble, they may really be. Youth bears with it its own crown, its own divine atmosphere of light and fragrance, its own armour of hope and illimitable and dauntless ambition. Its good gifts suffice it, without taking from those which belong to another period of existence. The wide charity which believes none are all evil, and can bear to

find that none are all good; the strong faith which can survive the know

ledge of the shortcomings of its ideal, the clear-seeing love which can triumph over all the phases of idolatry-steadfast, enduring love, one day of which were worth a cycle of blind adoration-such is the abiding faith, the catholic generosity, which rarely enters into the composition of early youth. We are too proud when we are young, too haughty and uncompromising in our loves and our ambitions. Afterwards, we grow humbler, and are content to love even what we know to be imperfection, and to aim at-what God wills, whether high or lowly in our own sight. It was not a young man who wrote, 'They also serve who only stand and wait;' and humility and patience are not young virtues; they grow out of knowledge, and walk hand-in-hand with faith. To all this we may come in time. Thank God, he gives a special heritage to every time of life. Childhood, youth, maturity, decline, each hath its dower; and no man needs to look back with yearning or regret to what has been, when he may open his eyes and see, stretch out his hands and receive, the good that is.

There was no looking back, no looking forward even, and still less any regret, in Caroline's mind that evening. Keenly, fully, she enjoyed the present. Her ordinary life was too quiet and secluded for her not to overrate the attractions of society when they came in her way. Her love of variety, her appreciation of whatever was tasteful, brilliant, and graceful, were in some measure gratified by the welllighted, decorated rooms, and the troops of smiling, soft-spoken, gently-gliding guests that peopled them. Caroline did not require much more to delight her. Vaughan came and sat beside her, and talked to her at every opportunity; she danced as often as she chose; Mr Hesketh was happily established over a rubber of whist in his study: what more had she to wish for?

'What a number of strange faces!' was one of Vaughan's first exclamations, as he looked round the room, wherein, at present, a select portion of the guests were writhing in couples, with all the spasmodic contortions of that triumph of modern inventions, the graceful valse à deux tems. 'I had no idea we knew so many people. Quite a numerous assemblage.'

Isn't it?' she rejoined, exultantly. 'Nice-looking people, too, are they not, Vaughan?'

'Well, I can't say much for the gentlemen, Carry-white cravats with human appendages to them, for the most part. Just now, they look remarkably like cockchafers spinning on pins, but, perhaps, you never saw that cruel schoolboy operation? You may see a highly graphic illustration of it in that long young officer who is waltzing with Miss Windleton.'

'You must not laugh at my guests. Do you see that gentleman standing by the door! That is Mr Bracebridge, Sir John's only son, just returned from travelling in the East. Don't you think him picturesque-looking?'

'Picturesque? Yes, I suppose so. Pictures are of various kinds. Do you admire that style of picture?'

'I do,' she returned, looking up with her candid eyes; 'he looks pleasant, good, intelligent. And I believe he is so.' 'Do you -Innocence?' He laughed, as he returned her look. 'Well, I know nothing about him; but, as a general rule, I hate fellows with eccentric beards and outré style; a sure sign of a coxcomb, take my word for it.'

As he spoke, the gentleman they were discussing navigated his course with some difficulty through the dancers, and came up to them. His mission was to ask Miss Maturin to dance the next quadrille, and she had half bowed her head in acquiesence, when Vaughan interfered.

'Caroline, do you forget you promised it to me?'

She looked at him, wondering and perplexed. Mr Bracebridge still stood in the attitude of appeal, but with ready courtesy smoothed away the embarrassment at once. "The next following, then, may I hope for?'

'If you please,' cried Caroline, artlessly enough showing her own pleasure. The gentleman with the beard then moved away, and Caroline looked up to Vaughan inquiringly.

You did not ask me to dance,' she said, gravely; 'why did you say I had promised? I did not even know you intended to dance at all.'

'Well, I intended to ask you, and I knew if I had, you would have agreed. Besides, I did not want our conversation interrupted by that stupid, broad-shouldered animal.'

But Caroline did not smile. She examined her bouquet with some seriousness.

'You don't mean to say you are dis