varying moods, and been happy only in her presence and now it was she who would have pleaded to him if she might; it was she who stood convicted before him, and could not even stand upon her own defence. She felt instinctively that she could not so have spoken had she been in his place; she would have suffered in silence, too proud to be reproachful or indignant: but he was still a boy, impetuous and ungoverned in his passion and his sorrow. Oh, why had she brought it upon him! How happy and confident he had been -so beautiful and so gay, that it seemed as if nothing but a passing cloud could overshadow his life and she remembered that this was not like a disappointment arising from a passing fancy, or even from a disappointment of months or years it was quite true, she knew, that he had thought of it ever since he could remember, that it had dwelt with him always, and that for more than a year she had been his promised wife. Now there was nothing more to be said; he would not speak to her again, and she need not fear that her secret would be discovered; and yet she longed for a word of forgiveness, for the old proud smile with which he had been used to look upon her. It was not regret for a lover who had changed; it was rather like the sorrow of a sister whose brother turns from her, and must henceforth be a stranger. She would so gladly have said, "Forgive me, Bernard," if only he could have been content to take what she could give; his words had saddened and oppressed her without awakening any resentment; she knew that he could not forget them, nor the vehement indignation from which they had sprung.

All this time she thought rather of him than of herself, and not even now Idid she wish to free herself from Mr. Warde. Since she had seen Bernard, the impossibility of deceiving him was even stronger within her than it had been; and as to herself, it seemed as if it no longer mattered what became of her ; or at least she would now do her duty, and put everything else aside.

Gradually, as she stood there, again fighting the battle with herself in the

shady lane, a stillness came over her spirit, and she thought that it was victory. It was partly a revulsion from the passionate excitement of the last hour; it was partly physical weariness; partly the effect of the peacefulness around her.

The dumb, unexpectant calm of autumn hung over everything; the silence of resignation where grief is hushed and hope has no place; the peace of departing souls who have said their last farewell; the death-bed of the dying year.

And as Christina turned homewards, she too thought that she had said her last farewell to the troubled waters upon which she had been tossing, and was passing into the region of calms. Thus it is that we think ourselves strong when we are weakest, and imagine that we can in one hour, by an effort of the will, shut the doors for ever against the passions and the impulses of the past. Christina thought herself secure, and in the midst of her sadness and weariness the sense of security was not nothingwas even much.

Bernard was changed, it was true, yet he did not shun her. Perhaps his mother knew that he suffered, but he spoke to no one; and at the White House, with the exception of Christina, they knew nothing of the change. He came and sat with his grandfather; he listened patiently to his aunt: and if there was a change they did not notice it. Mrs. North said one day she thought he had grown taller; Christina knew that he was only thinner and paler. He said that he could not remain long at home; he had work offered him elsewhere, and he smiled when they congratulated him upon his prosperity; and no one but Christina guessed why he was unwilling to remain in the neighbourhood. She honoured him for his reticence, and was grateful to him for a self-control so foreign to his nature, and yet she still yearned for a word or look to say that she was forgiven; but though he was outwardly the same when others were by, she knew that there was a difference, wide as the world, and, since that day in the lane, she had never seen him alone.

One afternoon she had walked over with a message to her Aunt Margaret. Mrs. Oswestry was busy with a poor woman, but she would be down in a few minutes, the servant said, if Miss Christina would wait in the drawing

room.

Christina walked in unannounced, wondering within herself whether Bernard was at home; and then she suddenly stopped, perceiving that he was in the room; but he was not conscious of her presence.

He had flung himself down on the sofa close to the window, and looked as if he had suddenly fallen asleep. His cap lay on the floor, and his eyes were shut, and his fair hair was tumbled about his pale face. He was no longer the bright-faced boy he had been; but though he was altered, he was handsomer than he had ever been before.

Christina stood looking down at him, and tears rose in her eyes. She must speak to him now that they were alone; it would be better for them both that some words of forgiveness should be spoken.

"Bernard!" she said gently. He stirred uneasily and smiled in his sleep. "Bernard!" she said again, and this time the smile faded as he opened his eyes upon her and rose to his feet.

"I have wakened you," she said.

Yes, my head aches," he said gloomily, as if in explanation. "Are you waiting for my mother?"

"Yes. They have told her; she is coming. Oh, Bernard, you are not going away?"

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Why not? I have nothing to say to you, Christina. I have said all I have to say,-perhaps I should have done better to leave it unsaid: it is all over. You are going to marry this man, and then perhaps we may be friends again, but not now."

"Bernard, can you never forgive me? We have been together all our lives, and is it to cease for ever because of this one wrong that I have done you?"

"Yes, Christina, because you do not love him. If you had loved him, I

could have forgiven you everything. I do not warn you because I love you stillall that is past-but do not think that you will be happy because he is kind and good."

There was something of scorn in his voice, and Christina was too proud to plead again. She got up to greet her aunt, with the colour flushing in her cheeks and the old flash in her eyes; and when she took her solitary way home across the heath after some hours passed with Mrs. Oswestry, something of indignation was mingled with her pity and her desire for forgiveness, and her regret for what she had done.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE news of Christina's engagement to Mr. Warde had not been without its effect upon his parishioners and upon the little world of Overton; and so far from pitying her, they were disposed to think that he might have done better, and that he was throwing himself away upon a girl of whom no one knew anything except that she was pretty, and old North's grand-daughter, and had not a penny in the world. The clergyman, they thought, might have chosen some one older and better able to share his pastoral labours; for, to be sure, Christina knew little of parish duties, and was not even very regular in her attendance at church.

But if these were the views entertained for the most part by the Overton public, there was one person in whose eyes the affair took a very different aspect.

Captain Cleasby had heard of it quite casually; it was borne in upon him, as the news which lies nearest to our hearts is so often borne in upon us, by the careless words of an acquaintance in whose mouth it was but an unimportant bit of gossip, and Captain Cleasby gave no sign that it mattered anything to him. He smiled and said something of Christina's beauty and the parson's good luck, and then passed on to other things: but he went home grave and preoccupied, and sauntered into the drawing-room

with his hands thrust into his pockets and a cloud over his brow.

He did not speak of it at once, but went to the pianoforte, playing at intervals and talking to his sister; and it was not till some time had been passed in this way that he said

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By the way, Augusta, I have news for you your parson is going to marry Christina?"

"Christina North!" exclaimed Augusta and she sat upright and laid down her book. "Nonsense, Walter; who told you so?"

"Gregson told me ; but it appears it is an old story now. I only hope they haven't been worrying the poor child's life out of her! I can't conceive what possesses her; but at least you will be pleased to find your fears were groundless. It is only in your partial eyes that I am this irresistible and all-powerful rival to other men."

He spoke lightly, yet there was an undercurrent of vexation beneath his words, which was sufficiently apparent if his sister had been at leisure to perceive it; but she was busied with her own thoughts. She remembered her own conjectures and what had led to them; she remembered with something of fear and trembling the suspicions she had had, and the warning she had given, and she was startled and perplexed. Yet she would not share her thoughts and perplexities with her brother.

"I am very glad," she said, after that momentary conference with herself. "He is a man I thoroughly admire and respect. He will do his best to make her happy. It will be a great change from the dismal life she has led at home."

"Where at least she was free!" said Captain Cleasby: and he got up and walked to the window. "And to marry that ordinary broad-shouldered parson! I consider it very presumptuous of him to have asked her."

"I think you have taken an absurd view of it, Walter. What could she .expect more? And Mr. Warde is not an ordinary man. His straightforward goodness and unselfish devotion are not

ordinary. I think Christina is very fortunate, and I do trust, Walter, that if you meet her you will do nothing to unsettle her mind."

"So I am still dangerous, am I?" said Captain Cleasby. "I should have thought that this might have reassured you, Gusty; but I am still to be the villain of the piece, and come in at the end to shatter your hero's happiness. And you don't seem to understand her either she is not a soft little girl to be so easily won. Depend upon it, if she cares, she will stick to it and hold her own against the world. If she doesn't care, then it's a different thing."

"Why are you sceptical about it? Why should she not care for him?"

"It don't seem natural," said Captain Cleasby and after that he went away to dress for dinner; and when they met again, as if by mutual consent, they kept clear of the subject.

Augusta was not exactly talkative, but yet it was not usual that there should be any lack of conversation during their tête-à-tête meals. They had both of them somewhat discursive minds, and they were apt to interchange fancies, and argue, and discuss the books they had read and the questions of the day; but this evening they were both silent and pre-occupied, and Miss Cleasby, leaning one arm on the table, drew lines on the table-cloth, and Walter was moody and played with his terriers, and fed them under the table, though this was an attention to which they were unaccustomed.

"Walter," said Miss Cleasby, rousing herself after the servants had left the room, "I had a note from Uncle Robert this morning he wants to know what we are doing about staying on here, and whether he shall come and pay us a visit. He says he rather expected to hear from you before this, but he supposes you are in communication with Mr. Waltham,-and there is something about his claim which I don't quite understand; and he says you are not to hurry yourself-I don't quite know what about. I meant to show you the letter, but you went out so soon after breakfast."

"If there is a thing I hate, it is hearing a letter second-hand,-it is bad enough when one has to read it," said Captain Cleasby, crossly. "If he wants an answer, he should write to me. Of course he can come, if he likes it; but when you write, just say that you don't know anything about business, and you have nothing to do with it. How I detest relations who think they have a right to meddle in all your private affairs, just because they belong to what they call the family.""

"Yes,-but, Walter, I do think you might be a little more communicative. You will be getting us into a scrape some day; and I suppose Uncle Robert has experience. Would it not be as well to have his advice if you are in any difficulty I have been wanting for some days to talk to you about the money arrangements."

"And those, my dear Augusta, are precisely the subjects upon which I do not want to talk to you," said Captain Cleasby and he stood up and emptied his glass of wine. "I am going to have my cigar outside. Shut the window if it grows cold; I shall be back for tea:" and he took up his hat.

His sister, though she was not sensitive, was a little hurt, rather at his manner than his speech; and she said no more, while he lighted his cigar, standing just outside the window, and then stepped out into the garden with out further words.

Sudden announcements often take some little time to make themselves fully felt. But from the first, Captain Cleasby was disturbed more than he chose to show, by the announcement which he had received. He had not, as people say, "meant anything" when he had sought Christina, taking pleasure in her freshness and originality and the charm of her beauty; but now it did seem to him as if he had sustained a loss, and as if Mr. Warde was doing her an injury in claiming all this for his

own.

If she had been making what he would have considered a good marriage, he would have felt differently; but he did feel that she was throwing herself away. Why should this man-this

commonplace parson-take such a wife to himself? It was unnatural, it was preposterous, and it made him indignant. And, added to all this, there was something which touched him much more nearly; there was a more personal and individual side to the question : he had not thought of the future, but yet his admiration of Christina was not merely admiration of a pretty face; it was not merely pleasure in the society of an attractive girl-this was a pleasure by no means rare to him, for he was fond of feminine companionship, and popular with women: but though all this had helped to make their intercourse what it had been, there was something in Christina which had moved him much more deeply. Perhaps it was the strength of her suppressed passion which unconsciously had swayed him; perhaps it was her frank unconsciousness; perhaps it was her sudden, vivid smile, or it might be all these things together; but she came back to his mind, and, uncalled for, she stood before him as he had seen her first since her childhood, stepping back in the flickering firelight and looking at him with startled curiosity. No other image would ever efface hers; he had never seen any one like her before; there was no one like her: it was nonsense to call her pretty; she was splendid in her dark, flashing, brilliant beauty.

And yet he was not a man to interfere if she was happy; he was not actively selfish, and he had not the desire of possession strong within him. If she were to enjoy happiness, he was content that it should be the gift of another man-only not such a man as Mr. Warde; and if she were not to be happy, then it was a mistake from beginning to end.

he would not interfere, he would do nothing to prevent it.

He did not go to the White House, for there he would in all probability see her only when others were present; but he lingered about the lanes, and on the heath, in hopes of a chance meeting; and as it was delayed from day to day, his desire for it became more confirmed. She had been so constant in her comings and goings, that he had thought he could not fail to meet her, but her habits seemed to have changed; she no longer loitered on the moor in the afternoons, nor walked to the village, as she had been used to do, talking to the women at the cottage-doors, and playing Iwith the children. Captain Cleasby knew her haunts, yet this week he only once caught sight of her, and then her mother was with her. He did not know that, in unceasing occupation within doors, Christina was striving to banish her recollections and stifle her regrets.

As it happened, it was when he was not thinking of a meeting that at last he saw her again. He had loitered out one morning after breakfast, with a cigar and a bundle of unopened letters, and he was walking along the road towards Overton, leisurely reading them as he went, when, lifting his eyes, he caught sight of Christina coming out of the garden gate.

She paused for a moment, and made a movement backwards; then, apparently changing her mind, and as if she would not allow herself to be turned out of her path, she came to meet him as he took off his hat and threw away his cigar. To both it was a moment which for days past had been the centre of their thoughts; and yet they met as casual acquaintances, with courteous indifference, as if they feared to make any acknowledgment or confession to themselves or each other. As for Captain Cleasby, he was a man of the world, and his manners were always perfect; and Christina had brought the overwhelming consciousness of her position and the whole force of her pride and independence to help her now. His sister had warned her, but she would prove

that she had no right to warn her; she would prove to him and to herself that he had nothing to do with her or with what she had done. And yet she knew, she felt as she saw him again, that he had had everything to do with it; that had it not been for him and for the certainty which his sister's words had given her, and for the rush of shame which had overpowered her, had it not been for all this, she had not now been Mr. Warde's promised wife. Nothing should make her go back; that was done, and for ever; but for the first time, even as Captain Cleasby spoke, a desire of escape rose within her, which was stronger than her pride and her duty and her spirit of self-sacrifice. And yet his words were those of a friendly acquaintance, and had no special significance.

"I hear I have to congratulate you, or rather to congratulate Mr. Warde," said Captain Cleasby. There was not much of congratulation in his voice, but yet there was nothing of regret or dismay; he spoke as if she would expect him to say something, and as if he were discharging a social duty, not pleasant, but yet not distasteful to him.

"Yes," said Christina, bravely: and she threw back her head, and looked him full in the face. But she could not smile as she spoke, nor could she get beyond the one word, and, though she did not know it, after that one word she could no longer deceive him altogether.

It was not that she was confused, or that there was any regret apparent, but Captain Cleasby knew her well enough to know that this was not the way in which she would have spoken if she had been going to marry the man she loved. He did not know more as yet; but of this he was assured, that she was not in love with Mr. Warde. Still, she might be doing it with her eyes open; she might have made a willing choice, and if so, it might be better to leave it as it was; only first he would try her further.

"These things always take one by surprise," he said. "It rather took away my breath at first: I know so little of