miles on every side when the thin, scrubby woodlands around had been stripped of their foliage; and it had been said over and over again that no people but the Overtons themselves, no residents less pertinaciously attached to their native place, would ever have lived on through winter after winter in such a dreary spot. That they did so, however, from choice, was a priceless boon to those who, from necessity, followed their example. So little of the Overtons went such a long way; they were so rich in resources in themselves, so replete with material for the wits of others to work upon; one was so unlike the other, and all were so unlike the rest of their neighbors, that the one universal feeling was, they could never have been replaced, had any evil chance taken them away. What they did, and what they left undone, was of almost equal interest; why Lord Overton took a morning instead of an afternoon walk, made talk for half-a-dozen tongues. What carriages went from the hall to meet such and such a train? When they returned? Who were in them? Was Teddy seeing the guests off when he was met driving down on the following day; or were they stopping over Sunday? All of this was food for ardent speculation; and the erection of new park palings, or a fresh lodge at the edge of the low wood, was not of more vital importance than the health of Matilda's sick parrot, or the consideration as to the length of time her whimsical ladyship had worn her one bonnet in church. Although all three were thus constantly before their public, it, however, by no means followed that they were on the same footing in the public mind; and strange to say, the elder brother, the least striking, the least notable as he was of any, had to him the pas given; but then the case stood thus: Lord Overton was one whom no one-except, perhaps, the very, very few who had known him closely from boyhood - believed in. He was, at the time our story commences, in the prime of life- that is to say, he was forty years old, and looked his age. He was short, stumpy, plain, and worse than plain, coarse in feature, and marked, though but slightly, with small-pox. He was, in fine, not passively, but aggressively ill-favored; not insignificant, not one who might have been cast in a mould whence hundreds more of the same could be turned out to order if required, but he was the unfortunate possessor of a face which might have been constructed upon trial, and found so --- unsatisfactory as to have been never reproduced. But then he was the Earl of Overton. What signified it to the Earl of Overton how he looked, or of what formation was his nose, or chin, or mouth? What did it matter that he shambled in his walk, slouched in his chair, and sat inches lower than his sister? What though he had not Teddy's easy grace and swinging step, or the bell-like tones of Matilda's voice? He was the Earl of Overton. These things were, or ought to have been, considerations quite beneath the Earl of Overton. In virtue of the solitary possession, birth, he should have been more potent than the Apollo Belvidere, or the sage Esop. He should not have supposed it possible that he could look amiss, or act amiss, or talk too much or too long. Nobody could believe that he did think it possible; and thus it was that, as we have said, nobody believed in the man himself. He was a mystery-a cynic; he was proud as Lucifer; he was mad as a March hare. It was said of him that not all his ancestors for generations back had held themselves so high as he did. He was dubbed a recluse and a monk; while, to carry out the pleasant suggestion, the Hall itself would be termed the monastery (but if it were one, like unto some in the olden time it must have been, when monks were merrier than they are now). This, however, is an aside between the reader and the writer, in the eyes of the good folk round the simile was apt. But what puzzled them a little, and set one or two thinking, was this, that after all, though everything that was heard of Lord Overton bespoke him proud, stern, and selfcontained-after all, if you met the earl face to face, if he had to look at you and had to speak to you, his look was wonderfully meek and his voice gentle. Now Lord Overton thought no more of himself than if he had been a city scavenger. That was the real truth, and in that truth lay the perplexity. People could not understand, would not, indeed, credit for a single second the notion that so great a man could be humble-minded. And how came it that he was so? Prob ably after this fashion. His parents had been vain, selfish, and ambitious; and they could ill brook the idea that their first-born, their heir, the future head of the house, should give no promise of bringing to it either honor or repute. Overton had from infancy been awkward, ugly, and illiterate. There was no hope - that he would shine either as a politician, | ton, when will you learn to understand, or as a courtier, or as a soldier, or as in when will you ever say the right thing? short, anything. Teddy had eclipsed him Can't you see, oh, can't you see, you dear in beauty, Matilda in intellect, and the blind, blind, blindest of blind beetles, in latter had been the father's, the former what a dreadful state of mind you have the mother's darling. With neither had sent home that poor, harmless, unoffendhe been in the smallest degree of conse- ing old lady? She had done you no inquence, over neither had he possessed jury, she had come brimming over with any influence, and they had only noticed good-will and loving-kindness to us all, his being the eldest as a fresh source of and instead of accepting graciously her vexation, since he did the position so lit- little overtures, and crowning her with tle credit. joy and gladness, you dashed her hopes to the ground, and seemed to take pleasure in trampling upon them when they were there." It had all sunk deeply into a nature already reserved, bashful, and backward. Not all the subsequent fuss about the peer in possession; not all the flattery of time-servers, anxious to worship the risen sun; not even time and reflection, could shake Overton's conviction that he was a nobody, and would always be a nobody. It was impossible, Matilda said, to open her eldest brother's eyes. He could never see that he was needed, never suppose that he could be wanted. For instance, it was tolerably palpable when old Lady Finsbury the dear old dowager who lived in the very small house along the London Road — when the old lady herself drove to the Hall on purpose to secure the party for a little dinner such a little dinner as she could give and liked to give, it was plain that the presence of Overton himself on the occasion was not only desired, but was of first-rate importance. He was more than wanted, he was anxiously, painfully wanted, - but the idea never occurred to him that it could be so. He thought it very kind, uncommonly kind, of Lady Finsbury to ask them all; but three out of one house were quite too many for her little room (Lady Matilda winced and looked at the speaker, but he saw nothing) - he should not think, should not really think, of trespassing on her hospitality to such an ex tent. On the point he was firm as a rock. Teddy was of so much more use than he in society that Teddy must go, of course, and Lady Finsbury would kindly excuse him. Of course Lady Finsbury went away mortified, poor soul. Of course she told the story of her defeat with variations, crescendos, and diminuendos, as it suited her, to half-a-dozen intimates ere the week was out; and of course they one and all agreed that the dear creature had been abominably ill-used, and that Lord Overton must have been a perfect brute to say to her face that she had not a room in her house fit for him to sit in. Meantime Matilda would be groaning in spirit at home. "Oh, Overton, Over "Good gracious, Matilda, what do you mean? What have I done?" "Done - done! that which can't be undone,' I can tell you, my dear. And after all, why would you not go? You have no reason for refusing. You had not even manners to put forth the ghost of an excuse ——— "As to excuse, I told her the truth. I was very much obliged, and I understood perfectly, she thought she could not ask Teddy and you without me, and so she asked me too, but she did not want me a bit, and as I did not want to go, I thought it was much the best way to take it on myself to refuse. She was quite satisfied. Did you not see she stopped asking me at once "who could "Yes, indeed, I did see that." “Well, what more would you want?” "Want? Oh, Overton!". she stopped to laugh and sigh in despairbelieve you could be so well, never mind, you meant it for the best, but you never, never do yourself justice; and how are people to know that it is all because you are so unfortunately, outrageously, insufferably modest? They won't believe it, nobody will believe it; and besides, you do say such things: now you can see this, surely, that Lady Finsbury could not like your reflecting on her little rooms?" "I did not reflect' on them at all. I merely said we were too many for them; I reflected' on us if I reflected' on any one." "If you thought we were too many, why should not Teddy have stayed at home, or at least have offered to stay at home, and you and I have gone together? That might have been done." To be sure it might, but to be sure, also, I knew better than that. Why, of course," continued Lord Overton, with a momentary bitterness which showed that although the old wounds of childhood might have been healed, they still woke and smarted at times-"of course, any one would rather have Teddy than me. Don't you suppose I know that? Teddy ornaments the rooms, and keeps everybody going with his talk, while I am good for nothing. Do you think I have forgotten that he was always sent for to the drawing-room as a boy, while it was never thought desirable that my studies should be interrupted? Did he not invariably accompany our mother to town when she went to one gay place and another, and was not I left at home? Who taught me to play and sing, or gave me masters for dancing, or sent me abroad to learn languages? I am such an oaf that I can't enter a room like other people. I can't speak a tongue but my own. I am not fit for society "You are fit for any society. Overton, my dear Overton, don't talk like that," said Matilda, springing forward to put her hand on his arm as he was turning to leave the room. "You deceive yourself - indeed, indeed you do," her own eyes reflecting the moisture in his. "Teddv, poor Teddy, you know what he is; surely you do not begrudge him advantages which have just made him passable -just enabled him to go through the world without bringing down its ridicule upon his head; surely you see "she paused. "I see, Matilda - I see, I know, I understand; but I cannot help feeling — oh, you know well enough what I feel." "Well, well, never mind; why, it's all right, of course it's all right; they meant to do their duty by us both, I suppose; and one ought not to speak against one's father and mother specially when they are dead, but Think what they did for me," said Matilda, in a low voice, but with drier eyes. Her brother was silent. "Did they not marry me when I was but a girl, a child?" pursued his sister; "did they not give me to a man more than twice my age, who neither loved me nor feigned to love me, who was incapable of loving any one but himself? who made my life a burden -" "Yet you used to seem happy." "Was I happy? It must have been after a strange fashion then. Why, Overton, you say I used to seem happy. To seem? Yes; that is exactly the word. Ay, that's it; I can follow you there. Possibly Lord Overton might be welcome, but I myself· "But you you yourself, being as you are, Lord Overton, cannot disassociate your person from your title, your body from - let me see what; at any rate you will not refuse the next invitation, and send home the next fair dame who brings it, dying with chagrin ?" Perhaps she would after such a discussion endeavor still further to explain matters, but the end of any such attempts would be almost always the same a sort of storm of admiration and vexation on her part, and partial and temporary enlightenment on his. Such a gleam would soon die out. He would go to the next party as he had been bid, would go internally quaking and outwardly cold and frigid, and although endeavoring to do his best, would somehow contrive to do it with the very worst effect possible. He would not stand on the hearth-rug; he would not play the earl; the most unostentatious back seat would infallibly be his resort, and the nearest person to him quite possibly the humblest individual there had such conver sation as he possessed. It was not much: he would look wistfully and enviously at his younger brother, who, with artless complacency, and in the very best of spir its, was prattling away first to one and then to another; who was moving about from place to place as anything caught his eye or engaged his attention; who, during the dinner which followed, would be beset on every side by fair ones anxious for his attention, for attention which he seemed willing and able to distribute to each and all impartially, and he would wonder how Teddy did it. No such brilliant effusions came from him, no such happy sallies set the table laughing. It was hard on his companion, Lord Överton would consider; and graver and graver would a broken-hearted woman, one who had grow his voice, and longer and longer his face, as the hours wore on. When all was over he would heave a sigh of relief, but even the relief was tempered by apprehension of a probable lecture on the way home; and thus it was scarcely to be wondered at that society liked the unfortunate nobleman little better than he liked society, and that although some the charitable merely called him stiff and stately, the greater part of his acquaintance characterized him as eaten up with pride. And what of Matilda, the widow, the mother, and now the grandmother? played out her part in a troublesome world, and had fain have no more ado with it: so far indeed from this being the case, people did say that, having been married off as fast as possible by parents who were solely anxious to get the skittish lass off their hands, the poor thing had been mercifully deprived of a husband whom no one could tolerate, and that probably the happiest day of her life had been that which saw her, all beclouded from head to foot in trappings of woe, brought back a widow to the home of her childhood. Over that home the kind Overton now reigned, and over him Matilda herself meant to reign. She meant at She was, as has been already said, a lovely woman; full of animal life; warm-it, and she did it. Never had sister found blooded, high-spirited, and impetuous; a passionate partisan or an unsparing adversary; one who loved or hated with equal warmth; generous to a fault, or sarcastic to acrimony. At the age of thirty-seven for she was three years younger than Overton - she still possessed in a redundant share the freshness, energy, and spring of youth - perhaps also some of its incompleteness. There was still promise to be fulfilled, still material for experience to work upon; but this only added, as it seemed, to the charms of one already so charming-one who was too charming to be perfect. Her voice was soft, yet rich; never raised above an even medium note; yet so clear was the enunciation, and so resonant the tone, that wherever the sound of it was car. ried, words and meaning could be discerned also. In figure she was tall, and though not more fully formed than became her age, yet giving indications that, in after life, she might become stout rather than thin. But who shall describe the lustre of her large, dark eye, by turns soft, subtle, searching, or sparkling, brimming, and mischievous? Who could forget the exquisite pose of her head, the broad, low brow, the play of her lips, the curve of her chin, the rounded throat, the falling shoulder? No wonder that she was adored. No wonder that every man who had once seen, looked twice, thrice, whenever and wherever he could, at Lady Matilda. How it came to pass that, with lovers in plenty, she had never contracted a second union, even Matilda herself would hardly have been able to explain. She neither was, nor had ever affected to be, a warmer welcome, and never had one Fresh wheel-marks down the avenue, showed that Matilda was out driving; the boat-house key lost, told that she had been out boating; the hothouse doors left ajar, betrayed that she had been eating the grapes. Everywhere was Matilda felt, and to everything she had a right; and thus intrenched in comfort, authority, and contentment, sure it would have been a bold adventurer indeed who would have thought of storming such a citadel. CHAPTER III. LOTTA. "She speaks, behaves, and acts, just as she oughtBut never, never reached one generous thought." РОРЕ. We must not, however, forget that up to within a very few months of the time our story opens, there had been another inmate of Overton Hall, and indeed an inmate who had no mean idea of her own importance. This was the little girl called Lotta, who, with large round eyes and demure step, accompanied her mother on Lady Matilda's return to the Hall. Now it must be confessed that the one very, very slight thorn in the sides of the three chiefly concerned in this restoration was connected with the little Charlotte -or Lotta: they could not, any of them, be quite as fond of Matilda's child as they could have wished to be. It would have been natural for her to have been the cen tre of attraction to one and all-for the bereaved parent to have been absolutely devoted to her darling, and for the uncles to have found an unfailing source of interest and amusement in one who was at the endearing age of six, when childhood is especially bewitching, and when the second teeth have not yet begun to come. The whole household might have been provided with an object in Lotta. In taking care of her, watching over her, delighting her little heart with trifles, admiring the dawning of her intelligence, and recounting her sayings, an unflagging source of conversation and study might have been discovered; and, indeed, wise acres shook their heads, and predicted that a nicely spoilt young lady Miss Charotte Wilmot would grow up to be, in such an atmosphere, and with such surroundings. What was From ress or a frolic in return. "She puts me to shame, I know," cried Lady Matilda valiantly; "she thinks of things in a way I never could, and quite wonderful in a child of her age. I don't know where I should be without Lotta, I am so forgetful about what has to be done, and she reminds me of it just at the right time and in the right place. Do you know, she always asks nurse for her medicine" - Lotta being at the time ill with measles. "Nurse says there is no need for her to think about it, for as sure as the finger of the clock points to the hour, Lotta asks for her dose. Is it not nice, and -and thoughtful of the poor child?" And as she spoke thus bravely, almost fiercely, in defence of her offspring, no one would venture to differ from a word she said; indeed they would hastily and nervously agree, find more to say, discrim-, inate between the little phenomenon and others, valorously finding a verdict in Lotta's favor, and watch the very tips of every syllable they uttered, lest anything should escape to rouse suspicion on the part of the parent, thus herself upon the watch against herself. But how came Lotta to be a child of Lady Matilda — of the gay, careless, jocund Matilda? How came such a creature Lotta was not of habit and order to be associated with such a very spirit of heedlessness and improvidence? How grew such a methodical imp in such a casual soil? How, in short, came the dull, worthy, excellent, and most unattractive daughter, to be born of the brilliant, arch, incorrigible mother? A mystery of mysteries it was. They were mistaken. spoiled after the fashion they thought of, and this from no severe exercise of self-restraint on the part of Lady Matilda and her brothers, but simply because they were not so tempted. Nothing, indeed, made the widow more indignant than a hint that such was the case; hard and long she strove against the fact, against Lady Matilda did not like to have renature, against everything that favored the marks made upon the subject. She was distressing conviction, but she was over- fond of Charlotte, maternally, - that is to powered at last, and almost allowed it say, Charlotte was her child, her only to herself in her disappointment. She child, the little one whom she had watched could not, try as she might, turn Charlotte from infancy, and who was to be her into an engaging child: she petted her, friend and companion in after life. She played with her, romped with her; and had rejoiced in being young for Charlotte's Charlotte accepted it all without hesita- sake. Charlotte should have no sobertion, but without originating either a ca-minded, middle-aged, far-away parent, who |