consisted chiefly of a passion for field sports, races, and other amusements of a similar description; with a certain accompanying partiality for the society of grooms and jockeys; of a little more indulgence in after-dinner enjoyments than could be reconciled with a very elevated mode of life; and of a general system of taking things easily, whenever they could be so taken, with about as little calculation about the future, as little regard for any lasting or consistent principle of action, as if he had been no more responsible for an immortal being than was the horse which he rode with so much grace and skill. All the kind acts which he performed were just the spontaneous results of a passing impulse, and they were thought as little of by him who performed them, the moment after they were done, as they had been the moment before. Altogether, then, the summing up of opinions, or rather personal impressions in the neighbourhood, was greatly to the advantage of the young gentleman's popularity, and in no instance more effectually than in one which occurred almost immediately after Miss Cawthorne's return to the rectory.

It happened one morning, when the nurse was out with Mrs. Cawthorne's two little children, that one of them, while gathering flowers, was stung by a bee in so sensitive a part, and so near the eye, that the child became incapable of walking by itself, and cried so violently as to attract the attention of Mr. Grahame, who was in an adjoining field. The nurse had the younger child in her arms, and having wandered that morning farther than usual from the house, was looking around in perplexity and distress for some neighbour or friend who might be passing that way, and who, she thought, might be induced to assist her in getting the children home. She had tried what could be done with them both in her own arms, but this plan did not answer at all, for the screaming sufferer only made the infant cry, and in her blind agony she resisted every attempt at soothing or accommodation.

When all hope of assistance had failed, the nurse saw a young gentleman in the acting of breaking through the hedge

which separated the footpath and its flowery bank from the adjoining green lane.

"Let me have the child," said a pleasant good-humoured voice; and immediately the little screaming creature was in the arms of a strange gentleman, startled into momentary quiet by the suddenness with which she was lifted from the ground.

"What is it?" said the stranger; "surely not a serpent!" "Oh, dear, no!" replied the nurse; "only a bee; but it has stung the child on her forehead, and see how it is swelling up. If I could but get her home-perhaps, sir, you would not mind-if I might be so bold——”

But there was no need to ask what the woman was about to solicit, that the gentleman would send some help. He had a strong arm of his own, he said; quite strong enough for a little burden like that. So he kept the child with its head laid on his shoulder, and walked quietly along beside the nurse, never asking her where she was going.

It was surprising to see the effect which his voice and manner produced upon the child. The nurse believed he stopped her cries by popping something sweet into her mouth; but whether he had the means of showing his desire to please in this acceptable manner or not, he succeeded in so many vocal imitations of cats, pigs, ducks, and donkeys, and kept up such a rapid succession of strange noises, all gentle and low, and half whispered into the ear of the child, that her screams soon subsided; and except for a little half whimper, now and then, she seemed almost to have forgotten her pain by the time the party had reached the old avenue.

Here the gentleman began to feel a little curious about where he was going, and, turning to the nurse, asked her in plain words if these children belonged to the rectory.

"Yes," said the woman, " and I am sure master and mistress will be delighted to thank you for your great kindness."

Humph!" said the gentleman, with a slight grimace, which might have been meant for the child. At all events, the nurse supposed it was, for as to the gentleman himself, the

woman thought she had never met with any one half so kind or pleasant before.

With these feelings, which owed their existence in great measure to her gratitude, the nurse hastened forward for the purpose of telling her tale, before the child, with its disfigured face, should be presented to its parents. The consequence was, that the front door was thrown open, and Mr. and Mrs. Cawthorne were soon out upon the lawn, with every expression of thankfulness and cordiality upon their faces, before they were aware who the kind-hearted gentleman was, to whom they were so much indebted for the care of their child. They were neither of them people to draw back on an occasion of this kind. They felt as much indebted to Arthur Grahame as if he had been the most correct and scrupulous person in the whole parish; and they invited him into their house accordingly.

The mother, of course, became much occupied with the child, whose cries burst forth afresh on hearing the well-known voice of its parents; especially, softened as they were by tones of tenderness and compassion. The father was consequently soon left alone with his guest; and very frankly and fully did he express his sense of the kindness which had been bestowed upon his suffering child.

While some slight desultory conversation was going on, after this, Miss Cawthorne entered the room, and her brother immediately seized the opportunity of hastening to the nursery, in order to administer a little surgical aid, if necessary.

Miss Cawthorne, after all that has been said of her, can scarcely be introduced to the reader at this period of our story 'as a handsome or even prepossessing woman. But still, Arthur Grahame had heard so much about her of a contrary nature, that he found her much more agreeable-looking than he had expected. He found her, too, in the best possible humour, and that always made a vast difference in the impression which her appearance produced upon strangers. Unquestionably, she had at all times cleverness, and tact enough to make herself agree

able and amusing when she chose to be so; and on the gentleman's part, there was a sort of natural relish for her way of talking. He was not ill-natured himself. Indeed he was so much the contrary as scarcely to believe in real ill-nature in others. He consequently set down a large amount of what sounded like ill-natured conversation as mere fun; and never suspecting that the bitterness which it seemed to convey was real, he laughed at and enjoyed it exceedingly, calling it "rich," and many other pleasant names, which all meant nothing more than that it pleased him for the moment.

When, therefore, Miss Cawthorne, after the usual commonplace topics, began to discuss the neighbourhood, as she did in her accustomed pointed and sarcastic way, Arthur Grahame was quite too much entertained to wish to take his leave; and the call was prolonged much beyond the length of time he could previously have thought it possible for him to remain at the rectory, shut up to the society of a plain woman.

At last, he rose to take leave; and Mr. Cawthorne, supposing from the sounds which he heard in the hall, that the visitor was going, hastened down to shake him by the hand, and to thank him even more cordially than he had done before.

"I pretend to no skill in the healing art," said the young man, "but perhaps I may be permitted to call again at some future time to inquire after my little charge?"

"Of course, of course," said Mr. Cawthorne. "We shall be very happy to see you.”

What else could he say? And yet the moment after he had said this, his countenance fell, and his conscience smote him as if he had done something wrong. Perhaps he had. He thought of Ella at the moment; and on returning to his study, he said to himself, more than once, "If I am so easily drawn in by an accident of this kind, to act in a manner so contrary to my previous intentions, how much allowance should I make in judging of others, and especially of her. Poor Ella! I will never think so hardly of you again."

According to his own proposal, Arthur Grahame called again

at the rectory; and although Mr. Cawthorne was out, and the lady of the house engaged, he managed to obtain admission for himself into the presence of Miss Cawthorne, who appeared by no means to dislike the society of her new acquaintance.

Between the first and the second visit this lady had become acquainted with a good deal of the gossip of the neighbourhood. Ella had called upon her with Alice Greyburn, and she had so introduced the subject of the Grange trial, as to throw them both off their guard, and thus plunged them unawares into a most earnest and eloquent discussion of the case, with its various bearings, with which they seemed to be as intimately acquainted as if they had been veritable lawyers. It was a fine feast for Miss Cawthorne's curious eyes, to see their faces brightening with interest on this occasion; for even Alice could look animated then; and Ella, having discovered, as she thought, that a change had taken place in the prejudices entertained at the rectory, and that there was even an opening of something like friendly intercourse, went on, and on, expatiating upon the good features in the character of Arthur Grahame, believing only that she was doing him service in the opinion of her friends, and never, for a moment, suspecting the laughing treachery which lurked behind the keen eyes that were all the while peering into her face, and, so far as they could, into her heart.

Amused with the discovery which on this occasion she fancied she had made, Miss Cawthorne ever afterwards seemed to think it her business to search the matter out. In her communications with different parties of various ranks, some high, and some low, she contrived so ingeniously to introduce the subject, as to elicit a good deal of vague, but, as it seemed, valuable information; for it was treasured up, and fitted together in its various parts, until it made quite a budget, to be drawn from, as occasion might demand. It was astonishing how busy Miss Cawthorne made herself in adding to this budget, by gathering from her own private store of thoughts and surmises, as well as introducing its contents to others-not directly, or decidedly.