'I don't believe I should have liked her a bit the better at the height of prosperity. Still, if anything can redeem such a person from dislike, it is misfortune."

"Let misfortune then be her plea, and let us never speak of her in this way again. Remember, she is my guest."

"What? Is there then another subject excluded? What shall we come to after a while?"

"When you find our subjects for conversation so few that it ceases to amuse you, it is easily given up altogether."

"Is it easily given up, do you think? Alas! there are some things much more easily taken up than laid down again! Good morning."

"Good morning," said Ella, and her guest was gone. Had his visit been altogether satisfactory? Had she gained or lost in the good influence which she had endeavoured to exercise? The case appeared very doubtful, as she looked back upon it. She would try to do better, and accomplish more, the next time. She thought she should perhaps feel stronger as she went along from one duty to another. Thus far, she did not feel strong at all. So far from that, she even questioned whether she had done right, as a whole. If the young man should be driven entirely away, he might seek worse companionship, and there would be an end of her usefulness in that quarter.

Ella was not herself so far gone yet, but that she drew up her head after this mental calculation, saying to herself, "Then let him go, if he will not bear the truth." And with this most wise and prudent conclusion she walked into the house. Her guest was much more curious than she wished her to be about the young gentleman; and through the remainder of the day kept up a continued allusion to his appearance, his age, his circumstances, or whatever she could think of as in any way attaching to him. If Ella was rather taciturn while plied with these inquiries, it was not from want of interest, but simply because she had no wish to place the subject in such hands. Alice Greyburn, however, contrary to her usual habits, became exceedingly talkative, and Ella had the mortification of hearing

her detail everything she knew or had heard; beyond this, a great deal which she only imagined, in relation to Arthur Grahame, all which tended to prove that he was a most noble, generous, and praiseworthy young gentleman, cruelly maligned, and altogether very unjustly treated in the neighbourhood. And all the while, as Mrs. Lorrimer listened with eager attention, Ella had the additional mortification of seeing an expression upon her countenance which indicated less of interest in the subject, than in the feelings of those who spoke an expression which might easily be interpreted into these words, "Sits the wind in that quarter?"

Perceiving very clearly the manner in which the information obtained from the unguarded girl was received, Ella determined on her own part to be doubly careful. But she was no match for the character she had to deal with in this respect, and in a single moment might at any time betray even more than her young and inexperienced companion. That is, supposing there was really anything to betray. At present, however, there was nothing to guard against, but the false and erroneous construction which a suspicious mind would be likely to put upon words and actions, innocent enough in themselves.

Early on the following day, a note was laid upon the breakfast table, addressed to the lady of the house. It was from Arthur Grahame. There seemed to be perpetually something coming from that quarter now. The note was couched in very respectful terms, but the writer complained of not being able to see Ella alone, and expressed great regret on this ground, as having something very particular to communicate, the writer said about his own affairs; and yet felt that he ought not to make so unworthy a subject a plea for soliciting the favour of an interview, especially on his behalf.

Ella rose and rung the bell. "I suppose no one is waiting?" she said to the servant who entered.

"Yes, ma'am," said the servant, "the boy who brought the note."

"He may tell," Ella began to say, but hesitated. "No,"

she added; "bring me my desk. Stop one moment," she said to the servant. "I will go and write my note up stairs. You will excuse me, I am sure," she added, turning to Mrs. Lorrimer, as she left the table.

That lady bowed, but the moment Ella had left the room she glanced with a meaning look to Alice, whose eye had caught the handwriting on the back of the note.

"Something rather bewildering in that document, I am afraid," said Mrs. Lorrimer, still keeping her eyes fixed upon the face of the blushing girl.

"Oh! I should not think so," said Alice, smiling.

"You may depend upon it there is," said the elder lady. "I am afraid there is some trouble too."

"No, not from that quarter certainly," Alice replied. "You know who the note is from, then ?"

"Oh, yes; quite well."

"And you know that trouble would not come in that form?" "I should think not."

"You are young, my dear Miss Greyburn-you are young yet. One never knows at your age from whence trouble may come. A pair of eyes that have looked upon life twice as long as yours, although not quite so bright, might help you a little in this respect sometimes."

"But I don't want to see trouble before it comes," said Alice, with a little more sharpness than was usual with her. "What! not to guard against it, my dear?"

"No. I shall never guard against anything."

"Oh, for shame! I must teach you to be a little wiser than that."

Ella now returned. She resumed her place at the table with the air of one who has discharged a duty, or rather with the air of one who wishes to be regarded as having done so. At all events, she was unconscious of doing anything to be ashamed of; for that very evening, when Mr. Grahame was again announced as having called, Ella spoke openly and frankly of having occasion to speak with him alone on some matters of

business, which would not detain her long; and so left the room where Mrs. Lorrimer and Alice were sitting.

If Ella did remain long absent, she was not aware of the fact; and if either she or her visitor had found occasion to speak on any subject which could not properly be called business, she bore no trace of it on her countenance. In fact, her manner was never more entirely unembarrassed, nor indicative of the absence of all idea of having done wrong. With a pleasant and good-humoured air she now proposed a walk in the garden. The day had been intensely hot, and the coolness of the twilight hour was most welcome and refreshing.

It is not easy for a party of four persons to walk in a garden without separating into couples, and Ella was soon engaged in earnest conversation with Arthur Grahame, while Mrs. Lorrimer and Alice walked behind.

"You are grave, my dear, this evening," said that lady to her now silent companion. "Your thoughts are wandering. I hope some shadowy trouble is not already beginning to darken your path."

Alice Greyburn was so little accustomed to be watched and talked about-so little accustomed indeed to be particularly noticed by any one, that she was always startled and embarrassed under such circumstances; and now, whenever she found the large searching eyes of Mrs. Lorrimer fixed upon her face, she blushed and grew quite uncomfortable.

At last, on the meeting of the little party in an open terrace, to see how beautifully the moon was rising above the trees, it was discovered that Alice had disappeared-that she was gone, no one knew why, nor where; and no one gave themselves the trouble to ask. Her presence was not essential to the happiness of any one there, and she knew this fact quite well. Perhaps it was such knowledge, stealing as it sometimes does almost like a natural instinct into a woman's breast, which made her now so frequently withdraw herself even from the society which most interested her, to shut herself up in a little chamber, there to think, and brood over strange unformed images of

things; if indeed that may be called thought, which consists entirely of a succession of emotions, some strong and deep, and all unutterable.

Lost in a world of this kind, but a world entirely her own, unshared and incommunicable, Alice now closed the door of her little chamber. She had no light, and the shadows of evening had already darkened the apartment. But a darker gloom lay on her heart and soul. Ah! what a calamity it is to possess all the attributes of a strongly feeling, impulsive, and even passionate character, without occupation, or discipline, or intellectual balance to keep the human machine in any kind of regular or healthy action! Totally destitute of all those resources which a well-conducted education would have supplied, Alice Greyburn had to contend, in her ignorance and poverty of mind, with a power of loving, and perhaps of hating, beyond the common order of human capability; and greatly exaggerated in its force and strength by the fact of reigning and ruling alone, over a soul which had never been taught to aspire after anything higher, purer, or more noble--which had never been taught even to recognise its own existence and capabilities, or to realise its own indestructible and eternal nature.

All dark, confused, and bewildered, were the feelings with which the orphan girl now shrouded herself and her poor soul; and it was chiefly because her condition was so dark, her perceptions so imperfect, and the whole of her experience made up of emotions so strong, and yet so contradictory, that she liked nothing so much as to hide herself from human observation, and to give full range to her fancy and her feelings, over whatever field they might choose to stray.

On the present occasion, however, there was no repose in her seclusion. Her bodily presence was withdrawn, but she could not so easily withdraw her thoughts from those whom she had left. What would she not have given to believe that she had been asked for-wished for. No; that would have been too much. Her fancy seldom, if ever, aspired to anything so