description of Clara, of Carnation, or, indeed, of any of the party that he was to meet at Fernside.

"Yes," said Oliver, "I shall come down on Thursday. I can't get away earlier. I am glad you will be there. I hate going into a strange house without meeting some friend to get me well through my first shyness. Have you heard from Chalkshire?"

"Oh, I am always hearing something from the dear old county," replied Charley. "We are very clannish there. Everybody knows everybody, and somebody is always wanted to help anybody who is in a scrape. For instance, here's a letter from America. A young fellow in our parts went very wild; went to the bad very badly, and disappeared, it was supposed to America. The supposition was right. He now writes to me, begging me to communicate with his friends. He is doing well, it seems: has struck "ile," and has become eminent in the religious world as a Doubly Seceding Little Tunker. You see we Chalkshire people hold together. But where are you going, Oliver? why go so early?"

"I am only going round to the club," said Oliver, "to hear the late news. A club is an omnisciencebox of oral current history. Good-bye! I shall see you next at Fernside, Charley."

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Good-bye! I hope you won't fall into the clutches of that bore Fletcher. How I hate his greasy, coaxing way, and affectation of knowing everything. He is always toadying any big man. Some parks are closed for a month in the year because it's 'fawning time,' but his fawning time extends over all the year. Take care of the step. Good-night! Remember, next Thursday at Fernside. I shall expect you to dinner." On the Thursday named Oliver started for Fern

side. Leaving the train, and sending on his luggage by the vehicle sent to meet him, he resolved to walk the three or four miles which separate the house from the railway. It was a lovely afternoon, radiant with golden splendour, towards the end of August. The triumphant sea, stirred to ecstasy by the merry breeze of morning, was still leaping and tossing its sun-bright, foam-ridged waves, wild with playful will, turbulent in its own fierce joy. The glad billows leaped upwards to the smiling sun, until, vexed by the barrier of the confining land, they dashed and fretted against the sturdy coast of dear old Chalkshire.

Oliver strode along, with a springy, rapid step, sometimes looking round at sky and sea and scene, and sometimes slashing the roadside grasses with his stick, as he recited half aloud

"Ho! for the brine and the breeze; ho! for the breeze and the brine; For the wild waves leap, and the fierce winds sweep, As they meet "

At this stage of his recitation Oliver stopped suddenly, astonied by a vision. He had for some time been walking up-hill, and had reached an abrupt turning in the road. His footsteps on the short grass which fringed the path were noiseless, and himself unseen, he paused, then slackened his pace, while he gazed with heart and eyes, and with a delight which brought a flush into his cheek, at this vision of a lady.

On the brow of the hill which Oliver had mountedstood an old farmhouse, and there the vision had drawn bridle, and waited, talking in the gate with Mary Rivers. Behind the fair rider stretched the faroff blue sky, and her figure stood out in distinct relief against that immense background of splendour and of light. Her horse stooped down his head to crop

the grass by the gate, while the lady, half turning in the saddle, rested one hand on the glossy, sun-bright bay coat behind the saddle, while the other whitegloved hand, with that ineffably graceful bend from the wrist which is so distinctive of a beautiful woman, held lightly the bridle and the whip. The bend and the half turn of the magnificent figure, tightly clothed in the well-fitting dark blue riding-habit, showed the rare beauty of suave and sinuous line from neck and bust to waist. The heavy strands and coils of the thick cable of golden shining hair gleamed under the little hat, and crowned the regal head rising from a shapely neck set in the little white collar which surrounded the round and slender throat. A neck riband gave one touch of colour to the dark mass of dress. One small foot pointed delicately from out the habit, as sometimes she swayed it to and fro. Her fair, clear cut, oval face, flushed with a tender rose hue from her rapid gallop through the fresh air, looked nobly lovely as she leaned it down to talk to Mary; and her large hazel eyes, now drooped, now lifted, were bright with the clear, soft light of pure and lofty womanhood. She was, as Oliver instinctively felt, emphatically a lady, and her style of distinguished beauty was distinctively English. In order to avoid needless. mystery, I may as well state at once that Oliver's vision was Clara Poynton. Some women look particularly well on horseback. Character has something to do with this suitability to riding; and certainly Clara was a lovely vision as, in her youth and health and beauty, she rode the favourite horse which knew her firm seat and her light hand so well.

Oliver passed on, his whole fancy stirred and occupied by the graceful apparition. He no longer

recited as he walked; he ceased to regard the landscape. His thoughts were absorbed by the dream of a fair woman. He thought that he had never seen a woman half so fair; he felt that she was good and noble. He wondered who she was, and whether he should ever see her again. Then came the clatter of a horse's hoofs, and the vision, with head bent downwards, and without a look towards the wayfarer, flew by him. He caught a last glimpse of the flying skirt, as the fleet horse swept round a wooded corner, and left him lonely with his fancies and his dreams.

Arrived at Fernside, he was heartily welcomed by Charley, who introduced him to every one in the house.

Oh, here's Clary!" cried Charley, as a step was heard upon the gravel; and, holding up its habit, the vision appeared. Oliver could not repress a start and a blush. Charley look surprised. "Why I thought you two had never seen each other before," he said. "Never, I think," said Clara, with a smile of sweet unconsciousness.

"Oh yes, we have met," returned Oliver, with a slight flush,"though I saw you and you did not see me.”

Pressed for an explanation he became shy and turned the subject, but I have reason to believe that, when sitting next her at dinner, Oliver told Clara of what he termed his adventure of a vision. He always, when strongly moved, spoke with a simple directness, and he did not attempt to conceal the effect which the vision had upon him.

I do not know whether Clara was pleased; but Mrs Seymour, who soon heard the little narrative (she heard everything, always) began to call her friend-Vision. Oliver, when with Clara and Juliet, lost his shyness.

He never remembered to have felt so quickly at his ease with any ladies.

The next day opened with a beautiful summer morning, and the garden of Fernside sparkled gaily in the early sun. A verandah shaded the cool morning room, in which breakfast things stood on the glossy white cloth, colour-gemmed with china, and bright with shining metal.

Miss Northcote, who was usually the first to appear, was sitting sewing something when Mrs Seymour, in her morning bloom and freshness, looking purely cool in a white dress, entered, and began smelling the flowers on the table, and playing with the parrot.

Miss Northcote was considered to possess some facial resemblance to this bird. When these two ladies met alone there was usually a little sparring between them. Precise Miss Northcote disliked any one who, like Juliet, went flitting about a room like a humming-bird, and she worried Mrs Seymour to "sit down quietly" by the window.

This little fussy piece of annoyance aroused in Carnation one of her naughty, provoking moods.

"A parrot, my love, is a very sagacious bird," observed Miss Northcote. "It is wonderful to me how they can talk. Sometimes they swear. I don't under

stand it."

"I think a parrot looks like a Methodist eagle," responded defiantly impatient Juliet. "But how late they are! Why don't they come down to breakfast?"

"My love," said Miss Northcote, impressively, for she meant the question to lead to others, "have you heard from your husband lately?"

"Heard from Hugh? How should I? The Psyche

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