became her favourite auditress during her frequent visits to Farmer Ashton's; and was soon sent for as a visitor (an humble visitor, for neither Mrs. Villars nor her young guest ever forgot the difference of their stations) at the Lodge. Seldom a day passed without Joseph and the pony-chaise being sent to fetch Ellen from the farm. Nothing went well without her.

Partly, of course, the charm might be resolvable into the bare fact of getting a listener; any good listener would have been a welcome acquisition in this emergency; that is to say, any one who felt and shewed a genuine sympathy with the "fair afflicted;" but few could have been so thoroughly welcome as Ellen, who soon became, on the score of her own merits, a first-rate favourite with Mrs. Villars.

Whether Ellen was pretty or not, was a standing question in the village of Oakhampstead. Her zealous patroness answered without the slightest hesitation in the affirmative. Other people doubted. For the common sort, her face and figure wanted showiness; whilst the young farmers and persons of that class complained that she was not, according to their notions, sufficiently genteel: Mrs. Villars' man-of-all-work, Joseph, combined both objections, by declaring that Ellen would be well enough if she were smarter. My readers must judge for themselves, as well at least as a pen-and-ink drawing will enable them.

Her figure was round and short, and piquante and

youthful. Her face was round also, with delicate features and a most delicate complexion, as white and smooth as ivory, and just coloured enough for health. She had finely-cut grey eyes, with dark eyebrows and eyelashes, a profusion of dark hair, and a countenance so beaming with gaiety and sweetness, that the expression was always like that of other faces when they smile. Then her voice and accent were enchanting. She sang little snatches of old airs in gushes like a nightingale freely-spontaneously, as if she could no more help singing as she went about, than that " 'angel of the air;" and her spoken words were as musical and graceful as her songs; what she said being always sweet, gentle, and intelligent; sometimes very lively, and sometimes a little sad.

Her dress was neat and quiet,-plain, dark gowns, fitting with great exactness, such as were equally becoming to her station and her figure; delicately-white caps and habit-shirts, and the simplest of all simple straw-bonnets. The only touch of finery about her was in her chaussure; the silk stockings and kid slippers in which her beautiful little feet were always clad, and in her scrupulously clean and new-looking French gloves, of the prettiest pale colours;-a piece of Quaker-like and elegant extravagance, which, as well as the purity of her accent and diction, somewhat astonished Mrs. Villars, until she found from Mrs. Ashton, that Ellen also had been a lady's maid, admitted early into the

family, and treated almost as a companion by her young mistress.

"Where had she lived?" was the next question.

"In General Egerton's family," was the reply; and a new source of interest and curiosity was opened to the good lady, who had never seen her niece, that was to have been, and was delighted with the opportunity of making a variety of inquiries respecting herself and her connexions. Ellen's answers to these questions were given with great brevity and some reluctance; she looked down and blushed, and fidgeted with a sprig of myrtle that she held in her hand, in a manner widely different from her usual lady-like composure.

"Was Miss Egerton so very handsome?"

"Ah!" said Mrs. Villars, "I thought she was too fine a lady; too full of airs and graces! I had my doubts of her ever since a note that she sent me, written on blue embossed paper, and smelling most atrociously of otto of roses. I dare say Harry has had a narrow

escape. Sir Arthur, even before the quarrel, said she was quite a petite maitresse. Then you think, Ellen, that my nephew is better without her?"

This query caused a good deal of blushing hesitation, and nearly demolished the sprig of myrtle. On its being repeated, she said, "She did not know! She could not tell! She did not wish to speak ill of Miss Egerton; but few ladies appeared to her worthy of Mr. Villarshe was so amiable."

"Was Miss Egerton kind to her?"

"Pretty well," answered Ellen quietly.

"And the General?"

"Oh, very! very!" rejoined Ellen, sighing deeply.

Why did she leave the family?"

At this question poor Ellen burst into tears, and the conversation ended. Mrs. Villars, unwilling to distress her favourite, did not resume it. She was already prepossessed against the Egertons by the disappointment and vexation which they had occasioned to her nephew, and had little doubt but that either the General or his daughter had behaved unjustly or unkindly to Ellen.

Winter had now worn away; even those remains of winter which linger so long amidst the buds and blossoms of spring; spring itself had passed into summer; the country was every day assuming fresh charms, the roads were becoming passable, and distant neighbours were beginning to discover and to value the lady of the Lodge, who became every day more reconciled to her residence

varied as it now was by occasional visits to the county families, and frequent excursions with Ellen upon the lake.

On these occasions they were constantly attended by the boatman, a handy, good-humoured, shock-pated fellow, of extraordinary ugliness, commonly called Bob Green, but also known by the name of "Hopping Bob;" not on account of his proficiency in that one-legged accomplishment, as the cognomen would seem to imply, but because an incurable lameness in the hip had produced a jerking sort of motion in walking, much resembling that mode of progress; and had also given a peculiar one-sided look to his short, muscular figure. The hop, it must be confessed, stood much in his way on land, although he was excellent in the management of a boat; in rowing, or steering, or fishing, or anything that had relation to the water.

A clever fellow was Bob, in his way, and a civil, and paid much attention to his lady and her young companion; and, as the summer advanced, they passed more and more time on the beautiful lake, of which they continued the sole visitors; the great house being still deserted, and little heard either of Sir Arthur or his son.

One afternoon, Mrs. Villars, returning unexpectedly from a distant visit, drove down to the farm, intending to spend the evening with Ellen in the pleasure-boat. It was a bright sunny day, towards the middle of July. The blue sky, dappled with fleecy clouds, was reflected