Frances the errand of "her old friend," which was viewed by the daughter with strong disfavor. His desire being thus uncongenial to both, for a long time Millborne made not the least impression upon Mrs. Frankland. His attentions pestered her rather than pleased her. He was surprised at her firmness, and it was only when he hinted at moral reasons for their union that she was ever shaken. "Strictly speaking," he would say, "we ought, as honest persons, to marry; and that's the truth of it, Leonora."

"I have looked at it in that light," she said, quickly. It struck me at the very first. But I don't see the force of the argument. I totally deny that after this interval of time I am bound to marry you for honor's sake. I would have married you, as you know well enough, at the proper time. But what is the use of remedies now?"

They were standing at the window. A smoothly shaven young man, in clerical attire, called at the door below. Leonora flushed with interest.

"Who is he?'' said Mr. Millborne. My Frances's lover. I am so sorry she is not at home! Ah! they have told him where she is, and he has gone to find her. I hope that suit will

prosper, at any rate."

66

Why shouldn't it?" "Well, he cannot marry yet; and Frances sees but little of him now he has left Exonbury. He was formerly living here, but now he is curate of St. John's, Ivell, fifty miles away. There is a tacit agreement between them, but-there have been friends of his who object, because of our vocation. However, he sees the absurdity of such an objection as that, and is not influenced by it.

"Your marriage with me would help the match, instead of hindering it, as you have said."

66 Do you think it would ?" "It certainly would, by taking you out of this business altogether."

By chance he had found the way to move her somewhat, and be followed it up. This view was imparted to Mrs. Frankland's daughter, and it led her to soften her opposition. Millborne, who had given up his lodging in Exonbury, journeyed to and fro regularly, till at last he overcame her negations, and she expressed a reluctant assent.

They were married at the nearest church; and the goodwill-whatever that was- -of the music and musical connection was sold to a successor only too ready to jump into the place, the Millbornes having decided to live in London.

III.

LONDON AGAIN.

MILLBORNE was a householder in his old district, though not in his old street, and Mrs. Millborne and their daughter had turned themselves into Londoners. Frances was well reconciled to the removal by her lover's satisfaction at the change. It suited him much better to travel a hundred miles to see her in London, where he frequently had other engagements, than fifty in the opposite direction where nothing but herself required his presence. So here they were, furnished up to the attics, in one of the small but popular streets of the West district, in a house whose front, till lately of the complexion of a chimneyback, had been scraped to show to the surprised wayfarer the bright yellow and red brick that had lain lurking beneath the soot of fifty years.

The social lift that the two women had derived from the alliance was considerable; but when the exhilaration which accompanies a first residence in London, the sensation of standing on a pivot of the world, had passed, their lives promised to be somewhat duller than when, at despised Exonbury, they had enjoyed a nodding acquaintance with three-fourths of the town. Mr. Millborne did not criticise his wife; he could not. Whatever defects of hardness aud acidity his original treatment and the lapse of years might have developed in her, his sense of a realized idea, of a re-established self-satisfaction, was always thrown into the scale on her side, and outweighed all objections.

It was about a month after their settlement in town that the household decided to spend a week in Cowes, and while there the Reverend Percival Cope (the young curate aforesaid) came to see them, Frances in particular. Frances in particular. No formal engagement of the young pair had been announced as yet, but it was clear that their mutual understanding could not end in anything but marriage without grievous disappointment to one of the parties at least.

Not that Frances was sentimental;

Mr. Cope was introduced to the new head of the family, and stayed with them at Cowes two or three days. On the last day of his visit they decided to venture on a two-hours' sail in one of the small yachts which lay there for hire. The trip had not progressed far before all, except the curate, found that sailing in a breeze did not quite agree with them; but as he seemed to enjoy the experience, the other three bore their condition as well as they could without grimace or complaint, till the young man, observing their discomfort, gave immediate directions to tack about. On the way back to port they sat silent, facing each other.

Nausea in such circumstances, like midnight watchings, fatigue, trouble, fright, has this marked effect upon the countenance, that it brings out strongly the divergences of the individual from the norm of his race, accentuating superficial nuances to distinctions of tribal intensity. Unexpected physiognomies uncover themselves. at these times in well-known faces; the aspect becomes invested with the spectral presence of entombed and forgotten ancestors; and family lineaments of special or exclusive cast, which in ordinary moments are masked by regulation lines and curves, start up with crude insistence to the view. Frances, sitting beside her mother's husband, with Mr. Cope opposite, was naturally enough much regarded by the curate during the tedious sail home; at first with sympathetic smiles; then, as the middleaged man and girl grew each gray-faced, as the pretty blush of Frances disintegrated into spotty stains, and the soft rotundities of her features diverged from their familiar and reposeful beauty into elemental lines, Cope was gradually struck with the resemblance between a pair in their discomfort who in their ease presented nothing to the eye in common. Mr. Millborne and Frances were strangely, startlingly alike.

The inexplicable fact absorbed Cope's attention quite he forgot to smile at Frances, to hold her hand; and when they touched the shore he remained sitting for some moments like a man in a trance.

During the evening he said to her, casually: Is you step-father a cousin of your mother, dear Frances ?" Oh, no," said she. relationship. He was only an old friend of hers. Why did you suppose such a thing?"

He did not explain, and the next morning started to resume his duties at Ivell.

He

Cope was an honest young fellow, and shrewd withal. At home in his quiet rooms in St. Peter's Street, Ivell, he pondered long and unpleasantly on the revelations of the cruise. The tale it told was distinct enough, and for the first time his position was an uncomfortable one. had met the Franklands at Exonbury as parishioners, had been attracted by Frances, and had floated thus far into an engagement which was indefinite only because of his inability to marry just yet. The Franklands' past had apparently contained mysteries, and it did not coincide with his judgment to marry into a family whose mystery was of the sort suggested. So he sat and sighed, between his reluctance to lose Frances and his natural dislike of forming a connection with people whose antecedents would not bear the strictest investigation.

A passionate lover of the old-fashioned sort might possibly never have halted to weigh these doubts; but though he was in the church Cope's affections were distinctly tempered with the alloys of the century's decadence. He delayed writing to Frances for some while, simply because he could not tune himself up to enthusiasm when worried by suspicions of such a kind.

Meanwhile the Millbornes had returned to London, and Frances was growing anxious. In talking to her mother of Cope she had innocently alluded to his curious inquiry, if her mother and her quasi step father were connected by any tie of cousinship. Mrs. Millborne made her repeat the words. Frances did so, and watched with inquisitive eyes their effect upon her elder.

"What is there so startling in his in

quiry then?" she asked. Can it have anything to do with his not writing to me?''

Her mother flinched, but did not inform her, and Frances also was now drawn within the atmosphere of suspicion. That night, outside the chamber of her parents, she heard for the first time their voices engaged in a sharp altercation.

The apple of discord had, indeed, been dropped into the house of the Millbornes. The scene within the chamber-door was Mrs. Millborne standing before her dressing-table, looking across to her husband in the dressing-room adjoining, where he was sitting down, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Why did you come and disturb my life a second time?" she harshly asked. Why did you pester me with your conscience, till I was driven to accept you to get rid of your importunity? Frances and were doing well: the one desire of my life was that she should marry that good young man. And now the inatch is broken off by your cruel interference! Why did you show yourself in my world again, and raise this scandal upon my hard-won respectability-won by such weary years of labor as none will ever know!" She bent her face upon the table and wept pas sionately.

There was no reply from Mr. Millborne. Frances lay awake nearly all that night, and when at breakfast-time the next morning still no letter appeared from Mr. Cope, she entreated her mother to go to Ivell and see if the young man were ill.

Mrs. Millborne went, returning the same day. Frances, anxious and haggard, met her at the station.

Was all well Her mother could not say it was; though he was not ill.

One thing she had found out, that it was a mistake to hunt up a man when his inclinations were to hold aloof. Returning with her mother in the cab, Frances insisted upon knowing what the mystery was which plainly had alienated her lover. The precise words which had been spoken at the interview with him that day at Ivell, Mrs. Millborne could not be induced to repeat; but thus far she admitted, that the estrangement was fundamentally owing to Mr. Millborne having sought her out and married her.

"And why did he seek you out-and why were you obliged to marry him?"

asked the distressed girl. Then the evidences pieced themselves together in her acute mind, and, her color gradually rising, she asked her mother if what they pointed to were indeed the fact. Her mother admitted that it was.

A flush of mortification succeeded to the flush of shame upon the young woman's face. How could a scrupulously correct clergyman and lover like Mr. Cope ask her to be his wife after this discovery? She covered her eyes with her hands in a silent despair.

In the presence of Mr. Millborne they at first suppressed their anguish. But byand-by their feelings got the better of them, and when he was asleep in his chair after dinner Mrs. Millborne's desolation broke out. The embittered Frances joined her in reproaching the man who had come as the spectre to their intended feast of Hymen, and turned its promise to ghastly failure.

66

'Why were you so weak, mother, as to admit such an enemy to your house-one so obviously your evil genius-much less accept him as a husband, after so long? If you had only told me all I could have advised you better ! But I suppose I have no right to reproach him, bitter as I feel, and even though he has blighted my life forever!"

"Frances, I did hold out; I saw it was a mistake to have any more to say to a man who had been such an unmitigated curse to me. But he would not listen; he kept on about his honor and mine, till I was bewildered, and said Yes. Bringing us away from a quiet town where we were known and respected-what an ill-considered thing it was! Oh the content of those days! We had society there, people in our own position, who did not expect more of us than we expected of them. Here, where there is so much, there is nothing! He said London society was so bright and brilliant that it would be like a new world. It may be to those who are in it; but what is that to us two lonely women; we only see it flashing past! Oh, the fool, the

fool that I was!''

union with Leonora, he had seldom if ever been seen. But the shadow of the

troubles in his household interfered with his comfort here also; he could not, as formerly, settle down into his favorite chair with the evening paper, reposeful in the sense that where he was his world's centre had its fixture. His world was now an ellipse, with a dual centrality, of which his own was not the major.

The young curate of Ivell still held aloof, tantalizing Frances by his elusiveness. Plainly he was waiting upon events. Millborne bore the reproaches of his wife and daughter almost in silence; but by degrees he grew meditative, as if revolving a new idea. The bitter sense of blighting their existence at length became so impassioned that one day Millborne calmly proposed to return again to the country; not necessarily to Exon bury, but, if they were willing, to a little old manor-house which he had found was to be let, standing a mile from Mr. Cope's town of Ivell.

They were surprised, and, despite their view of him as the bringer of ill, were disposed to accede. "Though I suppose, said Mrs. Millborne to him, "it will end in Mr. Cope's asking you flatly about the past, and your being compelled to tell him; which may dash all my hopes for Frances. She gets more and more like you every day, particularly when she is in a bad temper. People will see you together; and I don't know what may come of it.'

"I don't think they will see us together," he said; but he entered into no argument when she supposed otherwise. The removal was eventually resolved on; the town-house was disposed of; and again came the invasion by furniture-men and vans, till all the movables and servants were whisked away. He sent his wife and daughter to an hotel while this was going on, taking two or three journeys himself to Ivell to superintend the refixing, and the ordering of the grounds.

When all was done he returned to them in town.

The house was ready for their reception, he told them. and there only remained the journey. He accompanied them and their personal luggage to the station only, having, he said, to remain in town a short time on business with his lawyer. They went, dubious and discon

tented; for the much-loved Cope had made no sign.

66

"If we were going down to live here alone," said Mrs. Millborne to her daughter in the train; and there was no intrusive tell-tale presence! . . . But let it be !"

The house was a lovely little place in a grove of elms, and they liked it much. The first person to call upon thein as new residents was Mr. Cope. He was delighted to find that they had come so near, and (though he did not say this) meant to live in such excellent style. He had not, however, resumed the manner of a lover.

"Your father spoils all!" murmured Mrs. Millborne.

But three days later she received a letter from him, which caused her no small degree of astonishment. It was written from Boulogne.

It began with a long explanation of settlements of his property, in which he had been engaged since their departure. The chief feature in the business was that Mrs. Millborne found herself the absolute owner of a comfortable sum in personal estate, and Frances of a life interest in a larger sum, the principal to be equally divided among her children if she had any. remainder of his letter ran under :—

The

as here

"I have learnt that there are some dere. lictions of duty which cannot be cancelled by tardy accomplishment. Our evil actions do not remain isolated in the past, waiting only to be reversed: like locomotive plants they spread and re-root, till to destroy the original stem has no material in searching you out; I admit it; whateffect in killing them. I made a mistake ever the remedy may be in such cases, it is not marriage, and the best thing for you and me is that you do not see me more. You had better not seek me, for you will vided for, and we may do ourselves more not be likely to find me: you are well proharm than good by meeting again.

"F. M."

Millborne, in short, disappeared from that day forward. But a searching inquiry would have revealed that, soon after the Millbornes went to Ivell, an Englishman, who did not give the naine of Millborne, took up his residence in Brussels; a man who might have been recognized by Mrs. Millborne if she had met him. One

afternoon in the ensuing summer, when this gentleman was looking over the English papers, he saw the announcement of Miss Frances Frankland's marriage. She had become Mrs. Cope.

"Thank God !" said the gentleman. But his momentary satisfaction was far from being happiness. As he formerly had been weighted with a bad conscience, so now was he burdened with the bitter

thought which oppressed Antigone, that by honorable observance of a rite he had obtained for himself the reward of dishonorable laxity. Occasionally he had to be helped to his lodgings by his servant from the Cercle he frequented, through having imbibed a little too much liquor to be able to take care of himself. But he was harmless, and even when he had been drinking said little.-Fortnightly Review.

We know how difficult it is to form any true estimate of popular opinion in our own little island, where the area is exceedingly limited, where all shades of opinion are fairly and faithfully represented by an ubiquitous, an independent, and a self-respecting newspaper press mainly intent on recording the facts as they exist, and where, consequently, we have all the appliances for arriving at a reasonable judgment. Yet every general election teaches us how hopelessly even the most knowing ones-the men whose whole function in life is to know-are led astray on great and well-defined issues. We may judge, therefore, how much more difficult it is to arrive at any accurate knowledge of popular opinion among the English-speaking peoples, amounting to double our own numbers, scattered over the vast area of the New World. We run constant risk of attributing to them imaginary states of feeling begotten of our own sentiment and our own egoistic desires, where our wish is father to our thought. A case in point is the confident notion very generally entertained in this country that there is a strong popular feeling in our great colonies in favor of Imperial Federation. Perhaps it is scarcely worth while either to deny or to affirm the existence of this feeling, because the scheme of federation is as yet so formless and so vague-it is still so completely outside the area of practical politics-that no one can possibly have formed an intelligent judgment upon it; but while the project is still in the air it may not be amiss to call attention, in the fewest possible words, to certain general principles which must necessarily underlie it, and which have scarcely yet received

all the consideration that they merit. We want fairly to envisage the situation-to face its realities. We are concerned with the growth of a New World, and we may be sure that it has a natural principle of growth which can only be departed from under pain of retributive penalties. Is this principle of growth the same for Canada and Australia as it is for England? Have we fully considered the question from their point of view? For instance, if we set ourselves to think of the relations between the New World and the Old, what is the first and the most important consideration that arises in our minds? An Englishman, primed by Professor Seeley,,will promptly answer, "The expansion of England." But an American will certainly answer, "The predominance of American ideas," and an Australian will probably answer Advance, Australia !''

Here then, at the outset, we find that the question is not a simple one, as we get these very different answers from the three parties principally interested. The Englishman's answer is obviously too narrow, the American's is perhaps too shallow, and the Australian's is certainly too callow-if the expression may be used in regard to such a rapidly growing young bird. Yet there is some truth in each answer. may be said that, in a restricted sense, the Englishman's is true of the past, the American's is true of the present, and the Australian's may possibly be true of the future.

It

But to express the full significance of the New World's development we must find a formula that will combine the three points of view. Perhaps that formula may be "The expansion of the great humani