of his hand, his low, earnest tones, his devotion and sympathy, had indeed told upon her: there was more thought of Raymond than of her God; less of earnestness, and less inclination for heavenly duties, than there used to be. So, in mercy, a blow must be sent, which in its chilling blight would recall her again, and make her remember with bitter pain her negligence and forgetfulness of her heavenly Father.

CHAPTER XIII.

"Oh! Gertrude, Gertrude, when sorrows come,
They come not single spies, but in battalions!"

* * crushed hopes,

Blighted affections, benefits forgot,

A broken heart and an untimely grave,

SHAKSPEARE.

These form no wondrous tale: 'tis trite and common,
The lot of many, most of all of those

Who learn to crowd into a few brief years

Ages of feelings; as the o'ercharged pulse

Throbs high, and throbs no more."-H. NEELE.

AFTER they left Miss Grant at her lodgings Mr. Woodville was unusually silent, and Laura very irritable. She was rallying Ethel most unmercifully about being out so long with the Raymonds. Ethel replied quietly that it was unintentional; but she felt she could not regret the accident, considering all the kindly feelings Raymond had expressed towards her. Just as they approached home Mr. Woodville suddenly broke out in an angry tone to Laura.

"I'll tell you what, Laura: once for all, I'll have no more of this flirting and nonsense with Thornhill. I wonder you have no respect for yourself. How can you ever expect to make a good match? No man of any consequence would think of you, after seeing the way you go on with that fool."

Laura pouted her pretty lips, and replied saucily that she must talk to some one, and Thornhill was the most agreeable man she knew.

"Don't let me hear you say that again. A weak, silly fellow, with hardly enough to keep himself from starving! I'd sooner see you in your grave than married to such a fool. I'll allow no more of this, and therefore I warn you," replied Mr. Woodville, angrily.

"Ethel flirts with Mr. Raymond more than I do with Thornhill, and yet no notice is taken of her,” said Laura, pertly.

"Raymond is a man whose attentions are worth having there has been no impropriety in Ethel's conduct," replied Mr. Woodville.

:

"I knew it would be so," Laura said, as the carriage stopped, and they alighted at their own door. "Go into the dining-room, girls; I wish to speak to you," Mr. Woodville said, as they entered.

Laura's face was flushed, and an angry frown was there as the light of the hall lamp fell upon it, while Ethel looked very pale and agitated. Mr. Woodville had entered into a loud dispute with the cab-man, and high words were going on between them as the sisters turned to the dining-room.

"What can papa want with us? How very tiresome he is! I am so tired!" Laura said, with an air of languor, throwing herself on the couch. Almost immediately after the hall-door closed violently, while Mr. Woodville exclaimed indignantly :

I

"Very well: you'll take the consequences. have your number. I'll give you a taste of the law." A loud oath from the half-drunken driver was all the reply, and then Mr. Woodville returned to his daughters. There was a strange look on his face of

mingled anger and firmness, a fire in his eye and compression on his lip, which Ethel saw boded no good. And, in truth, Mr. Woodville had undertaken a task he knew would be unpleasing, but at the same time was resolved to go through it at whatever cost.

Laura looked provokingly inattentive, closed her eyes, and yawned. Ethel sat in a large arm-chair by the fire, with a sorrowful, but patient expression on her face.

"None of your airs, Laura; they won't do to night. I am going to acquaint you with a circumstance which is a source of unbounded pleasure to myself, and will, I doubt not, very much contribute to your happiness also," said Mr. Woodville, with the air of a man who knows he is not speaking the whole truth. Laura's blue eyes opened widely, while the long dark lashes of her sister drooped more than before, veiling the unbidden tears which gushed into them, for she guessed but too well the purport of her father's communication.

"I trust you will by this time have learnt to appreciate Miss Grant. There are few persons whose manners and address I should wish to see my daughters copy more than hers. I therefore consider, that in her kind condescension in accepting my hand she has not only conferred an unspeakable favour on me, but that her valuable advice and direction will be of the greatest possible advantage to yourselves. We have been engaged some time now, so that there need be little delay. Soon I hope to present you with a mother, in every way desirable, and one whom you ought to think yourselves highly privileged to receive."

Mr. Woodville paused. Laura seemed to be deprived of utterance. It was so startling-so un

expected so overwhelming! Her face, neck, and arms, became scarlet with the indignation which she felt. Springing to her feet, with her eyes flashing with rage, she stamped furiously.

"Miss Grant! Our mother! Never! My own mother not dead a year, and so soon forgotten! No, I never will bear this! I will not stay at home to receive her!" she exclaimed, impetuously.

"And where will you go?" inquired Mr. Woodville, with cutting irony.

66

Anywhere. I would beg my bread sooner than submit," burst from Laura's lips, as again she threw herself on the couch, and wept passionately. Mr. Woodville turned from her, and glanced coldly at Ethel. She was deadly pale, and one or two stray tears were on her cheeks, which she hastily dashed away as her father turned to her.

"Pray, Ethel, may I ask if you intend expressing your sentiments with equal freedom to your sister?" he inquired, with a sort of calm concentration of rage, which his daughters dreaded more than violence.

Ethel paused a moment; the words seemed almost to choke her, but she replied calmly at last: "Whoever you think proper to make your wife, will, I hope, meet with the respect due to her position from us both."

She spoke with a powerful effort at composure, and Mr. Woodville could not help admiring her conduct, for he well knew that Ethel's deep affection for her mother must ever prevent her bestowing it on any one who should fill her vacant place.

"May I ask one thing, papa?" she said, pleadingly, as he did not reply for a moment.

"If you had behaved otherwise than as you have