high, or so satisfying as that. She only wanted-she believed that she only wanted, to be missed when she was absent. And as she realised to her heart this little want, and felt how humble it was, and how easily satisfied, a gush of tears came suddenly into her eyes, for she thought how much more than this it was the lot of others to enjoy.

Alice wondered what the little party she had left were talking about. Most of all, she wondered what the private interview had disclosed. Perhaps she might gather something without being reduced to the painful necessity of inquiry, which always rendered her liable to a repulse. She could hear from her low window the pleasant and familiar tones of those who conversed below. How happy they appeared to be. What a blessed thing it must be to make any one happy! thought Alice. Any one? no, she did not mean that either some one that was her meaning that was the far-off bliss that never, never could be hers!

"Oh! that I had been lost, like my father, in the deep sea!" was her mental exclamation, whenever the cloud upon her brow was darkest, the burden heaviest upon her heart. "For what was my useless solitary existence reserved? Every one seems to have a place in the world but me. Ah! there, they talk-they laugh-they make merry together-they were four a little while ago, now they are only three; but they never ask who it is that has disappeared, or why. They gaze upon the moon-they listen to the fountain-they look into each other's faces, and are satisfied. Is there no way by which my existence may be blotted out of creation? It is better not to live at all, than to live as I do, just to cumber the earth, and neither to be welcomed when I come, nor missed when I go away."

Alice pressed her hand upon her hot brow: her tears no longer fell. And yet the scene before her was beyond all expression lovely, soothing, and attractive. Dark shadows deepened on the ground, and in the same proportion the soft moonbeams grew into life and beauty, until every flower and leaf which caught their gentle influence seemed bathed in silvery

light. The three figures, not ungracefully grouped together, sometimes stood out in the full clear moonbeams, with their black shadows stretching at their feet; or they retired behind the yew trees, with easy sauntering steps pursuing some darker path, until again they emerged into the broad light, in which they seemed to bask, as spring flowers bask in the first warm genial day. And all the while their voices murmured softly; and when too distant for words to be distinguished, kind, pleasant, musical tones could still be heard by the lonely listener; with now and then a laugh that rung into her very soul; for there is nothing so sad as laughter, listened to by those who are drinking draughts of bitterness, and cannot echo back the least approach to any glad response.

And all this came-and worse than this is ever liable to come, out of that howling wilderness-an uncultivated heartout of affections-passions-moral capabilities, all run to waste, existing in riot, and excess; yet all undisciplined-not understood-scarcely even believed in, or recognised, as necessarily filling any portion of existence. And yet how often is the situation of those who have received, what is popularly called the best education, no better than this, except that their intellectual nature has been a little-and a very little better cultivated

CHAPTER LIII.

THE report which found its way to Lowbrooke cottage, that Miss Cawthorne was expected at the rectory, was all true. She came at the appointed time, and from that day perplexities seemed to thicken on every hand. There soon were others, besides Ella, who regarded the circumstances and the character of Arthur Grahame with more of pity than of blame; and, contrary to all expectation, Miss Cawthorne was one of these.

With regard to the poor, especially, young Grahame, as he was familiarly styled, had exactly the kind of frank, off-hand manner, which is so popular with them, and which often goes farther in winning their attachment than substantial services, when unaccompanied by the same freedom. As already observed, a half-crown from Arthur Grahame was thought much of, because of the open-handed, easy way he had of giving it; and it was the same with many whose position placed them above the reach of bounty. It was the same, in fact, with almost all who happened to come in contact with his social habits, and good-humoured manner of doing little services, wherever they might chance to be needed, without respect to persons. Thus the farmers in the neighbourhood, especially, soon began to speak of the young gentleman as having kindly opened a gate for them in the fields when driving their cattle; to one he had even sent a famous horse medicine from London; and for another he had procured a valuable sheep dog from Scotland. In short, it was impossible to say in how many ways the young gentleman managed to make friends; for his faults, though pretty generally acknowledged, were of a kind not the most likely to be objected to by this class of persons. They