With her heart low again, she knocked at the door. Insensibly to her perceptions-for she had been so absorbed, first in her own emotion, and afterward in her conversation with Mr. Danesdale, that she had noticed nothing else the storm had increased. The wind was alternately wailing a dirge and booming threats across the fells to the town. There would be floods of rain to-night, and to-morrow Swale and Yore would be thundering in flood through their valleys, fed by a hundred swollen becks from the hillsides. As the door was opened to her, the first cold splash of rain fell upon her face. The storm was from the northwest. It was well that all who had homes to go to should seek them while the tempest lasted.

It was Rhoda who had opened the door.

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"Judith!" she exclaimed. Mamma and I both said you would be kept all night at Scar Foot. It was only that bird of ill omen-that croaker, Delphine, who said you would not. Are you wet ?''

"A little, I believe," replied Judith, anxious for an excuse not to go into the parlor immediately. "Oh, there's my "Oh, there's my candle, I see. I'll go straight up-stairs. I wish you'd tell Del to come and help me a minute.

Mrs. Conisbrough always resented the tendency to "talk secrets." Rhoda had rather a respect for it--besides, when her elders were engaged in that pastime,

their eyes were not so open to her defects. She alertly answered, "Yes, to be sure," and ran back into the parlor, while Judith toiled slowly up the stairs, and along the bare, hollow-sounding passage. She entered her own bedroom, placed the candle upon the dressing-table, and paused. She pulled off her gloves, threw them down, and then stood still, looking lonely and desolate, till a light, flying foot sounded along the passage; even at that gentle rush her face did not lighten. Then Delphine's lovely face and willowy form came floating in, graceful, even in her haste.

Judith?" There was inquiry, suspense in her tone.

"Oh, Delphine!" Bursting into a fit of passionate weeping, she fell upon her sister's neck and cried as if her heart would break.

"Was it of no use?" asked the younger girl at last, softly caressing her as she spoke.

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Worse than no use! He not only refused, he insulted me; he spoke abusively, talked about plots' and ' schemes' and things I could not understand. And at last he got into a fury, and he oh, Delphine, Delphine-he bade me begone. He turned me outfrom Scar Foot-from my dear old place that I loved so! Oh, I think my heart will break !"

"He must be mad-the horrid old monster!" cried Delphine, distinctly, her figure springing erect, even under the burden of her sister's form, and her tones ringing through the room. "He has not the right to treat you, or any of us, in that way. Let him do without us! Let him try how he likes living alone in his den, and getting more and more ill-tempered every day, till he frightens the whole country-side away from him. I will never go near him again, of my own free will, but if ever I meet him, I will tell him what I think of him; oh, I will! Cheer up, Judith! Keep a good heart. We will not be beaten by a tyrant like him. Depend upon it, it was the idea of our wanting to be free, and wanting him to set us free, of all people, that made him so wild. Don't cry more, now. We must go down to tea. Mother seems a little out of sorts just now, too. We will talk it over to-night. Come, my poor

66 Yes. And the worst is he found me sitting in a hedge, like a tramp who can walk no farther, groaning, with my face in my hands."

"Oh, Judith! How terrible !"

He got off his horse and walked with me to Yoresett. He is probably now riding for dear life, to be as nearly in time for dinner as he can."

"Well, we must go down now," said Delphine, very quietly. "You must tell me about that afterward. There's Rhoda calling out that tea is ready.'

Arm in arm they went down-stairs into the warm, lighted parlor, which, despite its shabby furniture, looked very comfortable and homelike, with the tea-table spread, and the urn singing, and the old-fashioned crystal glass full of gracefully arranged yellow-berried holly and glossy ivy-leaves.

Mrs. Conisbrough did not inquire anything respecting the reception her eldest daughter had met with from her uncle. She cast a wavering, suspicious glance toward Judith, as the girls came in, which glance presently grew more reassured, but neither cheerful nor inquiring. In her own mind she was thinking, "What has he said to her? How far has he gone?" Judith met her mother's look in her usual manner, and spoke to her with her usual cordiality. Mrs. Conisbrough heaved a sigh of relief, but dared not proceed to questions of any kind.

When the meal was over they all sat still in the same room, some of them

working, some of them reading. Their store of books was small, but they were occasionally able to borrow a few from a certain Mrs. Malleson, their one and only intimate friend, whose husband was rector of the great parish of Stanniforth, which comprised Yoresett and many other places. The doctor of the district, who also lived some distance away, and who was a kindly-natured man, would occasionally remember "those poor Miss Conisbroughs," and would put a volume or two in his greatcoat pocket for their benefit. Judith was making a pretence of reading one of these volumes now. Delphine sat at the old piano, and touched a chord now and then, and sang a phrase once and again. Rhoda was embroidering. Mrs. Conisbrough held a book in her hands, which she was not reading any more than Judith was reading hers.

Meantime, without, the storm had increased. Judith had heard the first threatenings of the wind, which was now one continuous roar. The rain, in spasms, lashed the panes furiously. Yoresett House could stand a good deal of that kind of thing. No tempest even shook it, though it might, as it did tonight, make wild work with the nerves of some of those who dwelt there.

Suddenly Rhoda raised her dusky head; her glowing brunette face was all listening; she held up a warning finger to Delphine to pause in her playing.

"Don't you hear wheels?" she said in a low voice, such as befitted the solemnity of the occasion.

They all listened; yes, wheels were distinctly audible, quickly moving, and a horse's hoofs, as it came down the street. Quick as thought Rhoda had bounded to the window, lifted the white linen blind, and pulled it over her head, in a frenzy of aroused curiosity.

It burned in

Just opposite the house stood the only public illumination possessed by Yoresett a lantern, which threw out melancholy rays and cast a flickering light upon the objects around. a wavering, uncanny manner, in the furious gusts to-night, but Rhoda's eyes were keen. Emerging presently from her retirement, she found three pairs of eyes gazing inquiringly at her.

Would you ever believe it," she cried. "It's old Mr. Whaley's dog

cart, with the white mare, and he is in it."

'Old Mr. Whaley" was the family lawyer of the Aglionby clan, and had been so for forty years.

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Nonsense, my dear child!" protested her sisters. It is some belated traveller, and the flickering light has deceived you."

"I tell you it was old Mr. Whaley. Don't I know his mare Lucy as well as I know my own name? He was sitting muffled up and crouching together, and his man was driving. Will you tell me I don't know Peter Metcalfe and his red beard? and they were driving toward the road to Bainbeck."

"It is strange !" said Delphine. Rhoda, going back toward her place, looked at her mother.

"Mamma's ill!" she cried, springing to her side.

"No, no! It's nothing. I have not felt very well all day. Leave me alone, children, it will pass off. Old Mr. Whaley, on the road to Bainbeck, did you say, Rhoda? Then he must be going to see your uncle."'

CHAPTER XII.

DANESDALE CASTLE.

RANDULF DANESDALE, after taking leave of Miss Conisbrough, sprang upon his horse again, pulled his collar up about his ears, rammed his cap well on to his head, called to his dog, and rode on in the teeth of the wind, toward his home. Soon the storm burst over him in full fury, and he was properly drenched before arriving at Danesdale Castle. During his ride thither, he constantly gave vent to the exclamation, "Inccredible!" which might have reference to the weather, he being as yet somewhat inexperienced in the matter of storms as they rage in Yorkshire dales. More probably it was caused by some train of thought. Be that as it may, the exclamation was oft reiterated. At last, after a long, rough ride along country roads uncheered by lamps, he ascended the hill going to Danesdale Castle, and rode into the courtyard where the stables and kennels were, delivered his horse over to his groom, and sauntered toward the house.

inquired of a solemn-looking butler whom he met as he passed through the hall.

"They are dining, sir," was the respectful reply, and Randulf's visage wore an expression of woe and gravity impossible to describe; yet an impartial observer must have come to the conclusion that Thompson and his young master were enjoying an excellent joke together.

"If Sir Gabriel should ask, say I am in, and will join them in five minutes," said Randulf, going up-stairs. During his dressing he again gave vent to the exclamation, "Inc-credible," and this time it may reasonably be supposed to have referred to the extreme celerity with which he made his toilette.

When he had ridden into the courtyard ten minutes ago, he had looked animated, interested, and interesting, as he perfectly sat his perfect horse. There had been vigor and alertness in his movements, and a look of purpose and life in his eyes. That look had been upon his face from the moment in which he had reined up his horse by the roadside, and seen Judith Conisbrough's eyes looking up at him. When he came into the dining-room, and the assembled company turned their eyes upon him with a full stare of surprise, or inspection, or both, and his father pretended to look displeased, and his sister looked so in stern reality, he looked tired, languid, indifferent-more than indifferent, bored to death.

Sir Gabriel looked as if he would have spoken to him, but Randulf's place was at the other end of the table, nearer his sister, Miss Philippa Danesdale. He dropped into the vacant chair left for him by the side of a lady who looked out of temper; a lady with considerable claims to good looks, in the confident, unabashed style of beauty; a lady, finally, whose toilette bore evidence of having cost a great deal of money. was Miss Anna Dunlop, Miss Danesdale's dearest friend, and Randulf had had to take her in to dinner every day since his return home.

She

Glancing around, he uttered a kind of general apology, including Miss Dunlop in it with a slight bow, and then he looked wistfully round the table.

thing, Mr. Danesdale," observed Miss Dunlop, her corrugated brow becoming more placid.

"Only for the s-soup. I am absolutely starving," was the reply, in a tone of weariness which hardly rose above a whisper.

"If you will be so late, Randulf," said his sister in the low voice she always used, “you must expect to have to wait, a minute or two at any rate, for your dinner. The servants are not omnipotent.

I hope not, indeed!" he said. "If they were, where would you be? Where should I be? Where should we all be?"

"You snap up people's remarks in the most unkind manner," expostulated Miss Dunlop on Philippa's behalf. "Your sister only meant to calm your impatience, and you misconstrue her remark, and call up a number of the most dreadful images to one's mind.”

"Dreadful images! Isn't there a song? Oh, no, engines; that's it not images. See the dreadful engines of eternal war.' Do you know it?"

"I never heard it. I believe you are making it up," said Miss Dunlop reproachfully.

"Ah; it's old. It used to be sung long before your time-when I was a boy, in fact," he returned, with a gravity so profound as to be almost oppressive.

Miss Dunlop paused a moment, and then decided to laugh, which she did in a somewhat falsetto tone, eliciting no responsive smile from him. A dismal idea that Randulf was a sarcastic young man began to distil its baneful poison through her mind. What did he mean by so pointedly saying, "It used to be sung when I was a boy?"

Did the Sparthwaites keep you so late, Randulf?" asked his sister; but he did not hear her, or appeared not to do so. Miss Danesdale was a plump, red-haired woman, no longer young. It was said by some of those friends of her youth whom she, like others, found somewhat inconvenient when that youth had fled, that she was forty. This, however, was supposed by those who knew her to be a slight exaggeration. She sat very upright, always held her shoulders back, and her head elevated,

nor did she stoop it, even in the act of eating and drinking. She always spoke in an exceedingly low voice, which only a great emergency or extreme irritation ever caused her to raise; indeed it is useless to deny the fact, Miss Danesdale, from what cause soever, muttered, with what results, on the tempers of herself and of those who had to interpret her mutters or be asking for a repetition of them, may be more easily imagined than described. Her brother, who had seen little of her until this last final home-coming, considered the habit to be one of the most trying and exasperating weapons in the armory of a trying and exasperating woman. Miss Danesdale had every intention of behaving very well to her brother, and of making him welcome, and being very kind to him; but the manner in which she displayed her goodwill took a didactic, even a dictatorial form, which failed to recommend itself to the young man. If it were not sure to be taken for feminine illwill toward the nobler and larger-minded sex, the present writer would feel obliged to hint that Randulf Danesdale felt spiteful toward his esteemed sister, and that occasionally he acted as he felt. In any case, he appeared on the present occasion not to hear her, and in exactly the same voice and words she repeated her question, looking at him as he gazed wearily at the pattern of his now empty soup-plate. Did the Sparthwaites keep you so late, Randulf ?"

He looked up with a vague, dreaming expression.

A-! Did some one speak to me?" Extreme irritation now came into play. Miss Danesdale raised her voice, and in a far from pleasant tone, cried : "Did the Sparthwaites keep you so late?"

"I have come straight here from the Sparthwaites," he replied, mournfully accepting the fish which was offered to him.

"Whom did you meet there?" she asked.

Any one who could have performed the feat of looking under Randulf's wearily-drooped eyelids into his eyes would have been rewarded with the vision of a most uncanny-looking sprite, which suddenly came floating and whirl