realised the possibility of such a sweeping destruction. "Yes," said Sophy, with an air of injury, "that is what we would all bave to look for, if another heir came to the Grange." "I did not think of anything half so bad," said Zaidee, in a melancholy tone; "all that I thought of was, of what we must do if we were poor, and of leaving home. Would it break your heart, Sophy, to leave the Grange?" Sophy hesitated. "Now, Zaidee, I would not be foolish if I were you. You don't think we can live all our lives at the Grange? But the blank face of Zaidee looking up, actually persuaded Sophy that such a delusion was possible. And Sophy laughed, and a soft merry girlish blush ran over Sophy's face. 66 "I don't think Elizabeth is breaking her heart," said the younger sister, with again a little outbreak of laughter, though she will go away so soon; and I don't think-perhaps I should break my heart myself; but - this is all so foolish: you must make your romances by yourself, Zaidee, and I will go and ask mamma what colour this should be." So Zaidee was left in darkling solitude by the little fire, only Sermo and her own thoughts keeping her company. Many a romance, ending after the orthodox fashion in due and necessary marriage, had already danced through Zaidee's thoughts; but Zaidee's girlish imagination was free as the wind, and she had not even begun to speculate on her own individual fate. Gravely she bent over the handful of red embers in the little fireplace, gravely lifted her eyes to the confused tumult of clouds sweeping quick across the pale autumn sky. Much like these same vapours were Zaidee's thoughts-vaguely disturbed, and full of dark uncertain hues, tossing hither and thither in wide sweeps and circles, but continually returning to their starting-point again. Pure daylight was the very element of this family of Vivians. Margaret even was pensive only by an innocent, unconscious, youthful delusion; there was neither mystery nor secresy in the house-where no one was afraid of disclosing to the other everything which the other cared to see; and where mother and children, brothers and sisters, lived in terms of perfect confidence, with neither divided interest nor divided affections, there was little left to wonder over, or to build speculations upon. Nor had even the story of the will arrested the quick imagination of Zaidee, until Mrs Wyburgh's hints and questions brought before her that favourite crisis and beginning of fictitious history—a lost inheritance, and a family overthrow. Zaidee Vivian had never been made aware of her state of dependence. It did not occur to her that her position was at all different from that of Sophy, her nearest contemporary in the family; and the good Vicaress might have spent a twelvemonth in hinting at poverty to come, before Zaidee would have learned to think of that poverty as threatening herself. Herself! Zaidee had no idea of herself as a distinct person. She could realise family events very fully, but misfortune to her own individual being, save the misfortune of toothache or a cut finger, was the most intangible shadow in the world to the household favourite. So Zaidee took the view natural to her own mind and standing-point, and with a heart heavy at thought of these sad mishaps, which might threaten Philip, and Percy, and Elizabeth, in case "anything should happen," Zaidee sat still, and pondered over the waning fire. Still the clouds swept darkly in misty masses over that pale black sky, at once luminous and colourless, the sky of autumn's stormy moodsand still, a hasty throng, silent and swift of foot, passed on the crowding medley of Zaidee's thoughts. Among them were abrupt scenes, sudden and unconnected-a melancholy departure from the Grange of the whole household suddenly breaking into the midst of a brighter picture, which represented Elizabeth's wedding, and the bridegroom carrying his bride away. Then strangely enough Zaidee's fancy leapt away to Mrs Green's school friend, Charlotte Disbrowe, intended for family governess, and suddenly snatched by her marriage from this desirable fate; and making a rapid detour, Zaidee once more returned to herself. It was a comfort to think that, "if anything did happen," Zaidee herself, the poor little incapable, could "wait upon them all ;" and Zaidee, famous for quick conclusions, already saw herself in a great bib and apron, like the youngest little maid at the vicarage, and was rather proud than otherwise of the uniform which proclaimed her still of use. She saw herself ascending unknown staircases, and threading narrow passages, on errands of service to one and to another; and Zaidee leant her own head on the head of Sermonicus, solemnly sitting by, and felt a tear come to her eye, as she wondered whether Sermo would stalk by her then with his stately pace as he did now. To be deprived of this companion would be indeed an affliction; and Zaidee put her arms round Sermo's neck, and sobbed over him in a little anticipatory heart break. "But I will never leave you, Sermo! Aunt Vivian will not give you to a stranger!" said Zaidee through her tears. Grave as he looked, Sermo was not a dog of melancholy temperament. Sermo's quick ears had heard the tea-urn placed upon the table in the drawingroom, and Sermo's sensitive nostril bore witness to a fragrant indication of toast and hot cake. So a canine humph, and a look towards the door, was all the answer Sermo gave to the grief of his friend. It was enough to rouse Zaidee; so she too dried her eyes, and put her hair in order, and went forth from her darkness to the light of the drawing-room, to the family conversation, and the family tea-table, where heartbreaks, either present or anticipatory, were things unknown. CHAPTER XV.-A DISCOVERY. October was concluding, after the usual fashion of a Cheshire October. Let us do no injury to the milky county: it is only that peninsula which lies between the Mersey and the Dee, which entertains the winds. But however mildly the inland pastures might receive the coming winter, here was a prolonged gigantic equinoxgusts, strong-handed and impartial, tearing from every quarter of the heavens persecuted clouds flying before them on every hand, violent swift descents of rain, and outbreaks of sunshine as sudden and violent. A most uncertain, fierce, Titanic sport of the elements; but pleasure there certainly was in the tumult, so fresh, and bracing, and full of life-those great flashing rain-drops, which seemed to break in light and laughter as they fell under the overtaking sunbeamsthose truant school-boy winds doing their pranks with such an air of exultant mischief-and those wild, grand, stormy sunsets, making a glory all abroad upon the cloudy sky and threatening sea. A wilder stretch of weather, or a more enjoyable, to young health and vigorous nerves, never fell from the heavens, than the closing autumn of Philip Vivian's one-andtwentieth year. The house within was full of the bustle of preparation. All those dainty bits of needlework, and delightful journeys of purchase-making, necessitated by Elizabeth's trousseau-all the internal arrangements necessary for the reception of important guests, and for the doubly important transactions of the coming era, filled the feminine part of the household with perpetual occupation. Philip, very full of the improvements about to be commenced on his-ancestral acres, and with a somewhat shy, youthful pride, modest and manly, realising the growing importance of his own position, head of the family, and Master of the Grange-the Squire-had a no less busy life of it in toil and pleasure, breasting those brave winds day by day. While Percy, holding his headquarters in the library, in his character of student, and making erratic excursions into the special department of every other vested interest in the household, gave forth his boyish spirits very freely in preparation for that time of coming manhood to which the youth looked forward with anticipations so grand. Elizabeth's wardrobe increased at a wonderful rate. Mrs Vivian's household preparations went on with leisurely and well-regulated speed. It fared well with Margaret's labours, and with the tolerably well acquired music and much practised dances of Sophy. But, alas! those equiVocal and mysterious things called Percy's studies, were not more slow to take form and shape, than were the longed-for acquirements and accomplishments, the picture-drawing, and language-speaking, and fabulous feats of embroidery which had glimmered before the visionary eyes of Zaidee, when the vision of something about to happen had overwhelmed her heart. It took "such a time!" to acquire an accomplishment. Such slow, weary, plodding work it was, after all; and Zaidee had the sincerest detestation of all mental processes which were slow. Her first few days of strenuous application were soon over. Zaidee felt extremely virtuous, but it must be confessed very weary every night; and in spite of all these lingering hours of industry, everybody else could do so much better than she. Sophy had rattled over ever so many bars of their duet while Zaidee was finding out the first chord. Elizabeth had painted the prettiest little rose-bud in the world, while Zaidee, with many wavering lines, compounded a morsel of stem; and Margaret had actually read down to the farthest corner of the second page while Zaidee made out what was the first sentence in her French lesson. So Zaidee reddened into indignation, and cooled into dislike. What good was there in them, after all? And once more the stately steps of Sermonicus pursued her flying feet through hall and passage, and Zaidee was herself once more. Nevertheless, the haunting possibility of a suddenly-discovered will, and something happening," never left Zaidee's mind. Not a bit of paper caught in the breeze without, or rustling along a windy passage within, escaped her eager pursuit and scrutiny; and with awe Zaidee opened the old volumes in the library which bore in fierce black characters the signature of her grandfather, and studied its every curve, as you might study the intricacies of a dangerous weapon. The subject possessed her imagination. From those most fantastic dreams of which her sleep was full, to the thronging visions of the day-everything was tinged with this, and it held stubborn possession of her own mind all the more that she never mentioned it again, even to Sophy, nor suffered one of her speculations on the subject to stray forth into words. The November had commenced. ancient silver flagons, withdrawn from their treasury in Mrs Vivian's room, were polished to their brightest sheen, in preparation for the approaching day of family pomp and solemnity. Great daily rubbings and polishings took place in the ancient hall; the ancient coat-of-arms was anxiously investigated and found uninjured; and every repository of lumber in the house was searched for bits of ancient tapestry thrust aside as useless years ago. There were old remnants of furniture, too, disposed of in various unused rooms, on which family councils were held from day to day. Some of these were picturesque, some of them only crazy, and no small number possessed both these qualities at once. On one of those occasions of general overturn, Zaidee had as usual formed one of the exploring party, of which Margaret was pioneer. The room was a very insignificant, disregarded room, lighted with a little window, so high up in the roof as to be almost a skylight, from which you had a far-off bird's-eye view of the sea. It had not been occupied perhaps for centuries, and was the veriest lumber-room in the whole house. But this little close dusty apartment contained various rarities, and became for some hours the scene of the family campaign. Zaidee was last as usual, when with many echoes the train of invaders swept away; for Zaidee, divided between the skylight and an old black-letter volume, had lost herself for the moment; and Sermonicus, with solemn fidelity, yet with evident impatience, sat in the doorway, his allegiance binding him to remain, but all his inclinations prompting him to escape those falling clouds of dust, and be present at the disposition of the recovered antiquities in the hall, which was henceforward to be their proper home. Sermo was a dog of highly conscientious feelings: the sense of duty was all in all with him; so he elevated his delicate nostrils with the air of a stoic, and remained. Zaidee cannot make very much of Zaidee: a Romance.-Part II. the black-letter; but it is a great book, composed of a number of little ones very indiscriminately compounded, and enclosed in a vellum cover. There are some Latin treatises, some treatises in English-crabbed lengths of paragraph, with heads one, two and three, marginal notes, quotations, and all the pomp of antique theology. Not very attractive lore, Zaidee. Yet, patience, better things may come. And at last here are better things. Oh, these irregular lines-that dearly beloved broken column, that tells of verse! And this is assuredly, verse of the most fascinating kind-a true original romaunt, a metrical legend in black-letter. Zaidee forgets at once the falling dust and the raised window, and sits down in a corner of the floor to read. But by-and-by Zaidee comes upon marginal notes in a very coarse sprawling hand, like the unintelligible scribblings of some very illiterate reader, and rude hieroglyphics invading the printed page. Growing indignant -for Zaidee has the greatest reverence for books, and cannot bear to see them handled disrespectfully. Zaidee hastily turns over the remaining leaves. A faint odour, as of smoke embalmed, is in these desecrated pages; and where the scribbling pen has hastily stayed in a long broken line, a large long strip of paper, folded closely up, and burned at one edge, such a thing as might have lighted a very vulgar pipe withal, has been thrust in to keep the place. With great indignation, snatching this out, Zaidee throws it on the floor, [Jan. feeling very certain that some coarse serving-man, very probably one of that lawless crew of "Grandfather Vivian's," has contaminated this anZaidee reads on the further page, cient book; and, with a relieved mind, and loses herself once more. which has no scribbling to defile it, studies and take himself in farther to Sermo, not caring to share her dog of active faculties, and loves not her dusty retreat-Sermo, who is a to be unoccupied - Sermo sniffs at the paper. Finding the odour not agreeable, Sermo tosses his head with offence, yet, preferring annoyance to languor, tries it again; then lying down, unfolds the thing with his nose and a paw, and stretching across the threshold, gravely considers it as something which his mistress has committed to his special attention for his advice thereupon. finds her attendant when she looks up It is in this attitude that Zaidee from her book; and Sermo seems to find considerable interest in the and smoky, and has been in hands paper, after all, though it is charred cially of this romaunt in black-letter. disrespectful of literature, and espeNevertheless, Zaidee stops to examine it too. Vivian! oh, Philip, Philip!" cries CHAPTER XVI.-THE FIRST GRIEF. "I wish some one would tell me what is the matter with Zaidee-the poor child looks broken-hearted. What ails your poor little cousin, Elizabeth? It grieves me to see her look so sad." "Indeed, I cannot tell, mamma," says the sweet placid voice of Elizabeth, "unless it is Percy with some of his tricks." "I hope Percy does no tricks that would vex his cousin," Tan, reddening in virtuous displeasaid Mrs "I should be very sorry to bee such a thing of any son of mine." Oh, indeed, it is something more formation. "Since ever mamma told than that," said Sophy, with the dignified consciousness of superior inus that story of the will, Zay has been quite miserable, and sure we should all come to poverty; and she thing, but what could she do; and is says every one of us can do somethe Grange. Mamma, I suppose we sure it would break her heart to leave must all make up our minds to have our hearts broken when Philip gets married. We can't live in the Grange then." "You had better make sure by a private enterprise of your own, Sophy," said the heir, half-laughing, half-frowning; while Mrs Vivian's quick "hush, child!" gave note that to Mrs Vivian the idea was by no means a delightful one. "Poor little girl!-and she wants to do something," said Philip goodhumouredly. "I think she would make a better officer for me than you, mother. She knows every volume in the library by headmark, I suppose. I'll set her to copying something for me there." "But Zaidee writes so badly-it's quite disgraceful," said Margaret. "I am sure I cannot tell how she has managed to get herself neglected 80." At this moment Zaidee entered, not with the wild, swift, noiseless step of old, but with a timid deprecating motion as of one who came by sufferance an intruder and alien here. Hearing Margaret's words, she raised her eyes for a moment, large, dilated, and unsteady, with a reproachful glance; and there was a something of secret guiltiness and humility in Zaidee's step and figure, which impressed the whole little family company strangely. Coming in as with some distinct purpose, Zaidee evidently faltered from her intention, and, avoiding the group round the fireside, stole away towards the window, where she hovered about without either book or occupation; starting, however, violently, when she heard her aunt's call-" Zaidee, I want you here." Zaidee approached with a visible tremble, and every one looked at her, increasing her confusion. By this time, however, the poor girl's emotion began to grow intense, and she drew near Mrs Vivian's tribunal with her strong nervous tremour gradually subsiding into the calmness of great excitement. Her brown complexion marked her paleness more than Sophy's snowy purity could have done. Her swift silent step and downcast eyelids had something in them passionate and strange. No one spoke an indefinite silent recog nition of something unknown and powerful entering among them, checked the smile of kind encouragement on Philip's lips, and suppressed Sophy's mocking badinage. At this moment no one knew very well what to make of this excited girl. Mrs Vivian raised herself erect in her great chair; the floating drapery of the white Shetland shawl enveloped the back of this solemn piece of furniture like a cloud; and Mrs Vivian's small handsome person, distinctly standing out against it, assumed all the state and all the stature which was possible to its delicate proportions. Poor Zaidee, in all her distress and excitement, could not help thinking once more of the fairy godmother ready to ride away in her coach, from sad Cinderella's dimmed and disenchanted life. A something of whimsical association, half-grotesque, and half-pathetic, brought the similitude home to Zaidee's own oppressed and trembling heart. "My dear child!" Mrs Vivian made a very solemn beginning, "I want to know what makes you so very sad and troubled. It is not natural at your years, Zaidee, and it is not natural to you. We have all observed it. Now, I expect you to be quite frank with me, and tell me what it is." "Nothing, aunt Vivian." Larger and larger grow those swelling downcast eyelids, and there is a perceptible quiver in the compressed lip. "Nothing, Zaidee? But I am quite sure there is something, and I am not easily deceived," said Mrs Vivian. "Has any one been vexing you, child? Was it Percy ?-or tell me who it was?" "Indeed, aunt Vivian, it was not any one; I am not vexed-indeed, I am quite well," said Zaidee in a half whisper; for Zaidee was very much afraid that it must run over, this blinding moisture in her eyes. "I am sure you know every one wishes to see you happy, Zaidee,” continued the old lady. You have no reason to be afraid of me, or any of your cousins. You surely don't hesitate to say anything to us?" "No, aunt Vivian." But Zaidee does not look up, does not slide down to her usual place, or change her position; and standing there in her controlled and suppressed grief, with |