and only once, Lillie Cawthorne looked full into her face with the long earnest gaze of one who longs to do a painful service for another; but her purpose, in all probability, failed; for she spoke not, but looked away again, and then, resuming the shawl which she had thrown aside, she wished Ella good evening, and left the house.

Thus thrown back upon herself, Ella sat and mused-sadly, silently. "Oh! that I had a sister!" she said to herself. "It seems to me that of all women in the world, I am the most companionless, and yet the most in need of companionship, and sympathy."

Here again Ella deceived herself. It was not companionship that she wanted, at least not on any kind of equal terms. It was only some soft soothing which would lull her into the belief that she had done right, where she had done wrong. This was all that Ella wanted, at present, only she did not know that it

was so.

Long, long, did Ella sit alone in the dark shadowy room that evening. No one came to her there. It was a blank evening for her, because her accustomed visitor had not even been expected. How long did the twilight hours always seem to her when he was not near. She was so dependent upon him now; for the less the world approved her conduct, and the smaller the amount of comfort which she derived from communion with her own heart, the more fervent was the warmth of her affection for him, the more urgent her need for him to be kinder, and kinder, every day. And was he really kinder? Once, or twice, she had fancied he was not. Once, or twice, she missed some little accustomed attention, and had foolishly spoken of it; and then, although he redoubled his attentions, she fancied that he looked angry, and felt annoyed. Ah! was it coming to this? Oh! no, no, not yet. He was still the most earnest, and the most devoted of lovers. It is true, he did not urge her so much as a while ago, to fly with him, and to share their fortunes together; but then she had herself forbidden this style of conversation. She herself had imposed upon him the restraint

which prevented these expressions whenever they rose to his lips. Therefore it was that she concluded all was well, although his manner and his expressions had a little changed. Poor Ella! was there not a dim forewarning of coming trouble in all this? was there not in her horizon a little cloud, which harbingered the coming tempest, a whisper in the wind which spoke to her of blasts that might make shipwreck of all the wealth she had embarked upon a treacherous sea.

Ella had seldom felt more disturbed and unsettled in her own mind than she did on reflecting upon the confession she had made, and to whom she had made it. Had Miss Cawthorne remained longer with her, had she uttered a few soothing words, had she done that womanly act of pressing a kiss upon her cheek, even if she had not spoken, Ella thought she should have been quite happy; but she had gone away in so strange and speechless a manner, seeming just to vanish away; and she had left so little behind her, too; all this was painful to reflect upon, and difficult to bear; yet what could she do? To recall her own words was impossible. The act was done. She would tell no one how rash and simple she had been; and as to Miss Cawthorne, bitter as she might be as an enemy, Ella never once doubted that she would be faithful as a friend. So she went, at last, up into her own room, not to sleep; no, that would have been impossible, but to sit at the dim windows, and to look out into the shadowy night.

We have already said that the window of Ella's sleeping-room was a most attractive and pleasant one, commanding a beautiful view of the garden, the adjoining fields, and even the village church, as it rose above a thick group of trees, forming part of the avenue which led to the rectory. These distant objects of course could not be seen now; but Ella knew they were there, and she knew how they looked when the setting sun was upon them, as well as the early morning light. She loved them under every aspect, and she now stretched her eyes that way, with as much tenderness as if she had been seeking for a well-known friend. Still, the only objects really visible, were the dim out

lines of the old yew tree, and here and there a laurel bush, or a tall juniper. All the loftier trees, and those of more varied foliage, which grew beside the brook, and dipped their drooping boughs into the stream, seemed to have become blended into one general mass, without distinction of form or colour.

Something, however, Ella thought she did see, even here. It was like the flutter of a white dress among the trees. It could be no human form but that of Alice. What a strange girl! What could she be doing, or why wandering there alone at such a time?

Ella felt so sure it was Alice, that she did not even give herself the trouble to look into the adjoining room. She wished the girl had not such strange unsocial habits--she wished she was more like other people. Beyond this, she did not trouble her mind on the subject. She had other things to think about, and she fell into her musing mood again and sat still; until, surprised at last to find herself in total darkness, she lighted her lamp, and drew the curtains of her window, and prepared for going to rest.

A servant came up about the hour at which the family usually retired, to know if her mistress wanted anything.

"Is Miss Greyburn in the house?" Ella inquired.

"I have not seen her," said the servant; "but I dare say is in her room."

she

"No," Ella replied, "I am sure she is not." But she had no sooner said this, than a drawer was heard to open and shut in the adjoining apartment.

Ella started at the sound. "Which of you," she asked, "has been walking in the garden, by the brook?"

"I am sure none of us has been there," said the servant.

"Not half an hour ago?" said Ella.

"No, I am sure we have not," the woman said; "for we have all been busy with our caps this evening; and no one has been here. Besides which, we should be too much frightened to walk there."

Frightened!" said Ella, "why would you be frightened ?"

"Oh! ma'am, we have none of us liked to tell you; but there is something walks there, as true as I am here to say so." "Hush!" said Ella. "How can you be so absurd?"

"It is true, nevertheless."

"What is true ?"

"That something white is often to be seen in that part of the garden, low down amongst the trees by the brook."

"Is it seen at any particular time?"

"Oh, yes."

"Who has seen it ?"

"I have seen it myself, times and often. We have all seen it but cook, and she won't own to it."

"About what time have you seen this wonderful appearance?" "Why, ma'am, if you yourself would please to look that way about the time when I go to the garden gate to let Mr. Grahame out

"You see it then, do you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How often have you seen it?"

"Why, ma'am, so often of late, that I always get Martha or John, when he's here, to go with me; for venture out by myself at that hour, I would not-no, not to save my

You

life."

may go, now; but be sure you let me know if you see the same appearance again."

"I will, ma'am, with the greatest pleasure."

CHAPTER LXV

"POOR Ella!" said Lillie Cawthorne musingly, as she sat at the breakfast-table on the following morning; and she spoke with such evident feeling, that her brother, looking earnestly into her face, asked her what could be the mattter, or why she pitied Ella particularly.

"You must not ask me that question just now," said Lillie. "Let it satisfy your manly curiosity, that I am at last brought over to see as you do ; for I have heard you pity Ella a thousand times."

"Yes, in a general sort of way," replied her brother, "but you look, and speak just now as if you had heard some bad tidings, or had seen something very dreadful at the cottage, last evening."

"Did I?" said his sister, trying to laugh away the impression. "I am sure I was not aware of the expression of my own countenance. But here comes Mrs. More, laden, I am sure by the look of her, with some important intelligence. Now, remember, ladies, and gentlemen all, I give audience in the library for at least half-an-hour, and expect no intruders."

"Your visitors are early," observed Mrs. Stanley, who sat amongst others at the breakfast-table.

"No doubt," said Miss Cawthorne, with an air of mock dignity," their business is pressing and important."

"No doubt," said Mr. Cawthorne, smiling with an expression which seemed to say-"How should it be otherwise, sceing who are the agents employed in it?"

In spite of the sudden air of dignity which Lillie Cawthorne had assumed on leaving the breakfast-table, partly to divert the