intend. Can you remember anything particular to-day ? "

Irene's eyes flashed almost angrily as she exclaimed, "If he chooses to be vexed, I am sure I can't help it !"

Miss Frances looked at her half-distressed, half-puzzled, with a gentle "My dear child-" when Irene burst into a great flood of tears, and began sobbing on her shoulder.

"Oh, auntie, auntie, it wasn't my fault! you mustn't ask. I've told him he must never, never talk to me so again. If he does, I must leave. I always thought he knew I didn't want that," and other incoherent sentences, which Miss Frances quickly interpreted. At last Irene dried her eyes and said, "I never mean to be so silly again. I told him Sir John would be very angry, and he was far too young, and that it was all a mistake."

"My dear, I am so sorry you've been

bothered about it. I would have kept with you if I had thought you would have liked it; but you and Walter are so often together; and somehow this had never entered my head. Such a boy as he seems!"

"It's spoilt all my happiness here," said Lina. "I must go, if he means to behave like this, and that will quite break my heart."

"Should you like me to say anything to him?" said Miss Frances.

66

Oh, no, no! I think he understood. I told him it had all better be forgotten." "Quite right, dearest; and you'll try and put it out of your head?"

"I wish it had never been put in," said Lina. "However, he goes to-morrow, and I daresay by next holidays he will have forgotten all about it."

"I daresay," said Miss Hooker. But neither she nor Lina perhaps really entertained this conviction, and did not much

expect to be believed when they said they did. However, either delicacy or pride or perhaps caution made Walter's conduct irreproachable, not only for the rest of his holiday, but for some time afterwards. Lina soon began to believe the transaction in the ruins had been a dream. Only she wondered whether she ought to keep her little ivory prayer book, and sometimes thought she wished he had not got the old

one.

CHAPTER XIII.

"I had a thing to say; but let it go!"

K. John.

WALTER had not yet reached home when the carriage arrived. Mademoiselle was met at the door by a message from the lady's maid to say that her ladyship had expressed a wish to see the young gentlemen on their arrival.

"I'll go up to her," said Charlie, goodnaturedly. "Perhaps she's getting anxious about Walter. He's certain to be in soon."

"She will be charm to see you," said Mademoiselle, leading the way to Lady Grizel's boudoir. How unlike any other boudoir of the present day! It was the

old tapestried chamber described in a former chapter, and certainly did not look any more cheerful than of yore. There was a black, smoky, little fire, and an arm-chair by it, in which Lady Grizel was sitting at a table with two or three old brown books. A piece of ugly, coarse flannel-work lay on her lap, and seemed almost too cumbersome for her tremulous old fingers. She looked up quickly as Mademoiselle opened the door.

"See, here Mr. Sowerby, miladi," said she. "Walter have not yet return."

Lady Grizel bowed, and Mademoiselle curtseyed, and withdrew. Charlie stood by Lady Grizel's chair, and explained in his gentle, considerate voice, why Walter had not appeared, in order, as he fancied, to remove any uneasiness she might be feeling. Her answers were short and gruff, and, thinking he might be in the way, he was preparing to take his leave, when she put

VOL. I.

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