you do not make the most of what comes to you."

Christina coloured a little, and turned her eyes upon Mrs. Oswestry, and upon the instant took up arms.

"I don't know what you mean, Aunt Margaret. I suppose we are not like other people exactly; but I don't see how I can make the most of what I have not got. You can see for yourself that we are not spoilt by pleasures, and except that, I don't see how you can know about it; only I suppose Bernard

"Bernard has nothing to do with what I am saying," said her aunt, interrupting her. "I speak from my own observation, and for your good, Christina."

"I speak to Bernard sometimes, I know," said Christina quickly, not noticing the interruption, "and tell him things, because I have no one else to speak to; but if he makes other people blame me- "9

"Oh, Christina, my dear child," said her aunt; "oh, Christina, why do you pretend to think it is Bernard? You know well enough he never blames you."

Christina hung her head and coloured again, and a sudden smile flitted across her face. She knew it, of course, quite well; but no one, not even Bernard himself, had ever put it to her so plainly before. Then she lifted up her head, and, moved by a yearning and an impulse to seek for sympathy, was about to make her confession and give her confidence, had not Mrs. Oswestry gone on without giving her time to answer.

"I am not speaking as Bernard's deputy, and I will not say that his thoughts always agree with mine, though I believe that he hides nothing from me," said his mother and she spoke with the proud confidence of a woman who has yet to learn that she does not hold the first place in her son's heart. Mrs. Oswestry was a just and impartial woman, but yet the first knowledge would have been bitter to her, and Christina could not tell her that it was 80. She looked round again at the room, at the muslin curtains blowing

in the wind, at the creepers outside, and the glass of spring flowers on the rosewood work-table, and all the trivialities which make a house a home, and she sighed again as she thought of the

contrast.

"It is all very different with us," she said.

Yet Mrs. Oswestry's drawing-room was not luxurious, nor even very orderly. There was a drugget on the floor, and the mirror over the mantelpiece was small, and the chintz had seen better days, and Bernard's compasses and rules and drawing materials were littered about on one of the tables; but yet it had the unmistakeable air of a room to which people come for rest and cheerfulness and domestic peace; and this was a look quite unknown to the rooms at the White House.

Christina went over to the table where Bernard's drawings were strewn about, and began to turn them over; not because she cared much about them, but because she was a little ashamed of her last speech, to which her aunt had made no response, and she was glad to change the subject.

"What is Bernard doing? where is he gone?" she asked: and the elder woman, who could not, of course, read her thoughts, imagined that there was embarrassment in her voice. But she was wrong, for Christina could speak quite openly of her cousin; and if she spoke less frankly than usual, it was not upon his account, but because she was dissatisfied with her visit and vexed with herself.

"Bernard is gone to Overton; he is drawing some plans for the new church, but if you can stay, he will be back by tea-time, and then he can walk home with you," said her aunt.

She did not approve of Christina ; she did not altogether like her; but if her boy had set his heart upon it, she would not stand in his way; and if it were to be, it had better be done openly, and with everyone's knowledge.

And then Christina's heart smote her, partly for her own reticence, partly for the confidence shown in her. Would

it be so, she wondered, if her aunt knew of what had been between them? She almost wished that it had never been, but his words could not be forgotten: she had told him she might change, but she knew that he at least was pledged

for ever.

"No, I cannot wait for Bernard," she said; "I must go home, but thank you all the same, Aunt Margaret:" and she went over and kissed her aunt with sudden compunction.

After that they went out together, and fed the poultry, and looked at the hives, and nailed up some straggling creepers; and gradually, standing in that peaceful atmosphere, looking up into the serenity of Mrs. Oswestry's face, Christina felt the spirit of the place creeping over her, charming away her longings, and filling her with the contentment of rest. After all, what could she desire more? One day this would be her home.

CHAPTER IV.

ALTHOUGH it was so early in the year, the sun was still in the south when Christina turned homewards, with that feeling of calm contentment and rest, the predominant one within her; and the Homestead she was leaving behind her still stood forth in her mind as the end to be desired.

A sort of vague satisfaction filled her as she made her way back across the heath more slowly than she had come, no longer quickened by the sense of enterprise and exhilaration with which she had set out. She was not now thinking of the future as comprehending anything new or unaccustomed, and she started a little when she came to the entrance of the wood, and, suddenly lifting her eyes, saw Captain Cleasby coming towards her, ready to open the gate.

She was not exactly shy, for it was not usual with her, and in point of fact there was nothing to cause her embarrassment, only she was curious to know if he would recognize her again,

it had been so dark when he called, and she had been so much in the background.

It was a very lonely spot, a little wood in a hollow between two ridges of moorland, where hyacinths and anemones mixed themselves with the tangled undergrowth.

Christina stood still, doubtful one moment, and then Captain Cleasby lifted his hat and put his hand on the gate. He was coming through the wood with his dogs at his heels, and as Christina stepped forward one of them snarled and showed his teeth. His master struck him with his cane and made his apologies, and then he recognized Christina and claimed her acquaintance.

"It was so dark the other evening, I did not suppose that you would know me again," she said.

"I am not thinking of the other day," he answered, smiling; "but I think I should have known you again, although you were such a little girl when I saw you last!" and such a pretty little girl, he thought to himself, but he did not say it.

"Yes, I remember," said Christina, and she too smiled as he turned back to walk with her.

"I wonder that you can remember," he said; "it is such years and years ago -ten or eleven years. I should think I must have been about sixteen."

"Yes, you gave me a ride on your pony," said Christina; "I remember it quite well, but then I have not had many things to remember in my life."

Captain Cleasby smiled again somewhat compassionately, thinking of the dreary house and the dusky room, and the old man sitting there in his solitude, but he made no direct answer.

"I hardly know whether my visit was welcome to your grandfather," he said; "it is so long since he saw me, and I ought to have remembered there were painful associations. I was sorry to find him so much aged. But I hope my living at the Park does not make him look upon me as a natural enemy." Christina paused for a moment.

Captain Cleasby was a stranger, though she had said she remembered him, and she hesitated as to what she should say or leave unsaid; but somehow she felt a persuasion that he would not take advantage of any admission that she might make.

66

Grandpapa is very much changed," she said, "and he does not like to see strangers, or even his old friends; and I dare say he does not like to be reminded of old times," said Christina, candidly.

As for Captain Cleasby, her straight forward answer took him by surprise, certainly; but he was only a little interested by a candour to which he was unaccustomed.

"I understand," he said, "and I remind him of old times. But I hope you have not all the same feeling. Do you too look upon me as a natural enemy?"

"Oh no," said Christina, turning her frank eyes upon him; "no,-why should I? It matters nothing to me.'

"Then we part in peace," said Captain Cleasby, for they had come to the gate of the White House, and Christina's mother was standing in the window looking out.

Then he turned back along the way he had come with her, whistling to his dogs.

"Who was with you, Christina?" said Mrs. North, anxiously, as she came lightly up the garden path, and, opening the parlour door, stood before her, making a spot of light, as it were, in the dingy atmosphere, with her cheeks a little flushed by her walk, her eyes shining, and a smile still hovering round her mouth.

"It was Captain Cleasby; he met. me in the Hollow," said Christina. She was not exactly elated, but she felt as if a break had been discovered in the hills which bounded her horizon, and a new vista opened to her view.

"Your grandfather does not wish to see him here," said Mrs. North, who generally sheltered herself under his name when she thought she was about to thwart Christina; "we have nothing

to do with him; he is quite different from us; it is not as it used to be!"

"I suppose he is different, but people can be friends all the same," said Christina; "he does not want to avoid us. And as to being different, we are just what we were always; we are just as much worth knowing as when we lived at the Park. I am sure I wish we never had lived there," she added, with a little shrug of her shoulders.

"You don't know what you say,' said the mother, "and it is hardhearted of you to talk in that way; but you can understand that Captain Cleasby is not wanted here; and I think if I were you I would not say anything to your grandfather; he does not like to hear of the Cleasbys."

“I know,” said Christina: and she went away after that, and did not say anything about Captain Cleasby's hope that they did not all look upon him as a natural enemy; but she remembered it, nevertheless, perhaps the more, that she did not speak of it.

It was just at this time that Mrs. Oswestry was called away to nurse a cousin who was sick and lonely, and Bernard came to stay at the White House, for a "little company," as his aunt said; for the Homestead was shut up, and only a man and a maid left to take care of it. It was a change which some people would have looked upon as anything but cheerful, from the sunny hillside,

"That woodbined cottage, girt with orchard trees,

Last left and earliest found of birds and bees,"

to the White House on the heath; but Bernard had his reasons, and came readily enough.

"I wonder you come," Christina had

difference in her life. He was working hard, and he was not much at home, but still his presence brought light and warmth and colour into her life. In the early mornings, coming in to breakfast fresh from bathing in the river, his fair hair still hanging damp about his face, rushing up the stairs, clattering along the passages, striding across the heath, whistling to himself as he drew his plans; even when he sat over his book in the evening his sunshiny presence made itself felt, and Chris tina sometimes found herself breaking into sudden unaccustomed laughter, from the very contagion of his boyish lightheartedness.

These were happy days, when in spirit they could still go back to their childhood and almost realize its dreams. They were days for Bernard without one cloud or presentiment of evil; and as for Christina, she was happy in the present, and took no thought of the future.

Captain Cleasby was away, and his sister was in deep mourning, and had not been seen except in church, so there were no interruptions or agitations from without.

If life could always go on as smoothly and easily and thoughtlessly, it would not be hard to look for nothing else. And the hedges were white with hawthorn blossoms, and the cuckoos were calling among the Park trees, and spring was blossoming into summer; and was it wonderful that Christina too should leave the winter behind her, and forget that it had ever been? It was a time of almost childish happiness whilst it lasted; and though it was shortly to depart, how could she know that it would not come back? Bernard was going away, certainly, but it was not for always. She should miss him, but she could look forward to his return, and he would not take all her sunshine with him. He was going to the north, on some business connected with his profession it would help him on, he would see more of the world, and would have something to tell when he came back.

"All the same I wish you were not going!" she said, as she walked across the heath with him on the afternoon before his departure.

He had some orders to give at the Homestead on his way into Overton; he was to leave next morning, and he had asked her to go with him. The garden required to be looked to, and she could take back some roses for her mother, so he had said, and as they turned their backs upon the White House and the stony road, he thought to himself that he was bringing her to the house where she would one day be brought as his bride.

Christina too thought of it as she sat under the elm, tying up the roses which he threw into her lap. The soft wind rustled the leaves above her head, the doves were cooing in their cage, the butterflies were flitting about among the flowers, the shadows were quivering upon the lawn, the whole air was musical with the hum of insects, and sweet with the fragrance of summer. She thought no longer that she should change, and she told him so, bringing the quick blood to his cheek with a sudden flush, making him start and turn his eyes upon her with a look which she remembered afterwards, when the scene came again before her eyes, distinct in all its features of the sheltered garden, and the roses, and the flickering sunlight, and Bernard standing before her with that radiance in his face which she was never again to see but in retrospect.

"You will not forget, Christina," he said; and there was a happy confidence in his voice, a belief in her which nothing could diminish or destroy.

"No," said Christina; "no, Bernard, I think not. Why should I change? There is no place to me like this. I wish you were not going away. Dear Bernard, how happy we have been!"

She sighed a little, but not as she had so often sighed, from weariness, or longing, or discontent, but simply from a regret which comes to us when we are happiest, a regret born of the joy

which, like all other earthly joys, must sooner or later fade before our eyes.

The world too seemed very beautiful to Bernard, but he did not put his thoughts into words; they were happy, and was it not enough?

So they sat together under the trees, and wandered about among the roses for an hour or more of the golden afternoon, and then parted: he striding along the lanes to Overton at the rapid pace which belonged to his long limbs, and she making her way back across the heath towards her own home.

If she had ever been true to Bernard, she was true to him now: she had no thought, as she had said, of change, or of anything else to be desired than life with him in his home, where storms and tempests could not penetrate; where all was peace, and rest, and love; where they should always be as happy as they had been to-day; where she should be safe from the world and from herself.

The calmness of the afternoon had stilled her, and she lingered with that indifference to the lapse of time which belongs to happiness. Slowly she made her way amongst the yellow gorse, although the sun was sinking behind the hill, and the sunset lights were glowing in the west. Slowly she came along the narrow path, but immediately in the direction of the path she caught sight of a figure lying in the heather; and though she was thinking of other things, and the figure was still a long way off, she knew quite well that it could be no one else than Captain Cleasby.

He was lying with his elbow resting on the ground, and his chin propped up on his hand; his little terrier lay at his side, and he had a book spread open on the heather before him. He was quite close to the path, so that Christina's dress would have almost touched him as she passed; but it was not until she was quite close that he was conscious of her, and sprang up hastily from his lair. "A thousand pardons," he said; "I thought no one ever came here. you on your way home? Ah, what lovely roses!"

No. 146.-VOL. XXV.

Are

"They come from my aunt's garden," said Christina; "they don't grow well at the White House."

"You have been to see your aunt? how virtuous!" said Captain Cleasby. "It is a social duty which has no recompense unless she has quarrelled with all her nearer relations. I have been doing my duty too, pursuing my studies in solitude, and now I have my reward:" and he put his book into his pocket and took up his cap and walked on with Christina, as if it were a proceeding to which no one could have taken exception.

He was quite right as far as Christina was concerned; her grandfather did not like her to speak of him, it was true; it reminded him of old times; but, as she had said, it could not matter to her, and she cared nothing about the past.

"How generously your aunt has cut her flowers!" said Captain Cleasby, looking at the long stalks and clusters of buds and fresh green shoots which had fallen a prey to Bernard's ruthless knife.

"It was not my aunt; my aunt is away," said Christina; "it was Bernard Oswestry, my cousin."

"Then Bernard Oswestry, your cousin, must be prepared to render up his account when she comes back," said Captain Cleasby, lightly.

Bernard Oswestry, and his mother, and the White House, were all nothing to Captain Cleasby, who cared neither for Christina's belongings nor for her life and surroundings.

But Christina herself was a different matter, and in a sort of way he meant it when he said that he had had his reward. He said it carelessly, and in truth Christina paid little heed to his words; only as he talked to her she forgot for the moment the garden and the Homestead, and the peacefulness which she had left so regretfully. thought no more of Bernard, and the visions which he had put before her had faded from her mind. It was not that consciously she compared him with Captain Cleasby and found him wanting. Captain Cleasby had not his

H

She