and a great place like Stourton Hall sadly wants a mistress to rule it," adds she.

Major Leslie's wife-a pale, faded-out, anxious-looking woman, who has five marriageable daughters to dispose of, all tall, voluble, fashionable, dressy girls, whose garments require hundreds and hundreds of yards of material during the year-Mrs. Leslie listens to Mrs. Burges' whispers, with something like envy tugging away at her heart.

Here is Alice Burges, an only daughter, making a grand match, for such as the major's wife are wont to look on baronets as "great catches;" while her own five daughters, far handsomer and far more showy girls, have never one of them had an offer yet.

"Dear Stanley" would doubtless prefer seeing a little more animation in his " 'ladye-love," when so many curious eyes are critically watching her every look and action; but Alice is above putting on a false manner, and has no thought of pretending to a vivacity she does not feel. The merest monosyllables are her sole replies to his eloquent speeches.

Her face is paler than usual, her eyes have a timid, startled expression, such as one notes in a hunted deer, and she looks up and down the large rooms, feeling as if all these people are against her.

Not one of them has the slightest sympathy with that faraway life of hers, that has once been so full of hope, and truth, and happiness; not one of them knows or cares what a terrible pain she has at her heart now, nor how she feels as if she is acting a part, and is writhing under a bitter torment of self-accusation.

Ralph, beloved and good as he is, has drifted away from her for ever now; she has raised a barrier with her own hands that must separate them for ever, and all through that long evening she feels as if she hates and despises herself for the act.

Yet Sir Stanley is doing his best to make himself agreeable. Under cover of a crashing duet, two of the Miss Leslies

are performing at the piano; he is bending down, talking softly to her, and turning over some sketches of Westminster Abbey that lie on a table before them.

"Have you ever been in the Abbey, Alice?

66

Oh, yes; very often indeed," she replies, and her thoughts wander off to the times when she wandered there with Ralph.

"Ever been there?" Why, she knew every clustered pillar, every lancet-shaped arch, every beautiful harmony in nave and transept, and every monument and tomb.

Often and often had she and Ralph listened there together to the grand anthems, till their very hearts had caught the tone of the inspired theme; and as she thinks of all this, she forgets Sir Stanley is still speaking to her-yet this is what he is saying,

"You shall go to Westminster Abbey again with me, for you have no objection to going to London for our wedding trip, have you?"

"I like London very much," is her quiet reply.

I'm

"You shall see it under new circumstances soon. glad you are a sensible girl, and don't object to town. Some newly-married people think it proper to rush away to foreign places, where they get bored and cheated; others bury themselves in some frightful solitude, and grow tired of each other before the honeymoon is over."

Sir Stanley laughs at his own wit, while Alice bends over the sketches, and does not reply.

"I will introduce you to my sister Ann; she is Lady Ann Holding, and lives near Eaton Square."

"You are very kind," replies Alice, looking up. She has never heard of his sister before.

"You and Ann must be good friends; she was for ever boring me to get married again, and now she will be gratified."

"Lady Ann will be very much disappointed in me, I fear," falters the bride-elect.

"Not at all; nothing of the sort, Alice; how can she be disappointed in one like you? and, besides, she will like any one I choose. She will drive you about in her carriage, and introduce you to her friends. Her two daughters are charming women, most fashionable and clever; you will be sure to like them."

But the prospect does not reassure Alice, nor does it rouse her to greater animation. She turns over the lithographs listlessly, hardly knowing that she does so, and never even noting what they are.

If Sir Stanley misses the answering looks and sweet sympathy of his betrothed, he does not let it be visible. Perhaps he is thinking Alice shall by and by atone for her continued indifference, and for the apathy of her manner now.

And Alice feels herself getting more and more entangled in the meshes of the net cast over her; henceforth she must accept all, bear all in silence.

As she presses her face on the pillows that night, her heart yearns for a friend who would counsel and advise her. Gertrude Thwaites is just the one she needs, but, alas! that intimacy has nearly died out. They very seldom meet now, and are never alone together.

“Gertrude will no doubt utterly despise me, when she hears I have promised to marry another, while I am still in such doubt, and so sorry about Ralph Burges," thinks Alice, with a great sob.

But in this she wrongs the curate's wife.

Gertrude would not despise the poor girl; poor, though she seems surrounded with much of this world's good; lonely, though crowds of acquaintances flock to the house with their outspoken congratulations.

Gertrude, with her true womanly sympathy, would pity her, and lovingly point her to Him, the Friend and Brother, who will give sweet peace to all who come to Him in faith, and who cast the burden of their sins and sorrows at IIis feet.

CHAPTER XVI.

RALPH'S RETURN.

HILE preparations for Alice Burges' wedding are at their height at Grey Towers-while the lady of the house is working herself into a state of chronic fever lest anything should fail in being quite "au fait"-and while the squire is comporting himself more pompously and overbearingly than ever, on the strength of the coming alliance-circumstances are happening in London that threaten to interfere with the plans, perhaps upset them. altogether.

We must relate what they are, and, with a privileged eye, take a glance into a certain office near Lincoln's Inn Fields.

Two men are there in deep conversation; one of them is holding some papers in his hand, the other is watching him as he carefully examines them.

"This will is perfectly legal, Mr. Burges. I suppose you will put in your claim at once?"

"I will certainly lose no time in going to Grey Towers," replies Ralph Burges, for it is no other than he, who has just returned from Australia on some very important busi

ness.

The lawyer, Mr. Atkin, a keen, clever, restless little man, all vivacity and animation, lays the papers on the table with a smile, and then exclaims warmly,

t

"Upon my word, I'm glad of it! Tom Burges well

deserves to have his deserts-the unmitigated, heartless scoundrel! And to think of his keeping poor old Mrs. Burges in such mortal terror !-she must have been positively almost frightened out of her senses by him."

"It was certainly a case of undue influence," replies Ralph calmly. He cannot see the thing quite as Mr. Atkin does, so he will not endorse the lawyer's philippics.

"Undue influence, my dear fellow! It was moral force ; as bad an instance as I've ever heard of. I'm delighted to find Tom is tricked after all; foiled with his own weapons! Aunt Hetty was a clever woman, but how in the world did she manage to keep Tom in ignorance of this ?"

"It is all explained in her letter to me. As soon as this will was made, signed, and sealed, she sent it off to Mr. Curtis, my employer in Australia, and as it is of later date than the one Tom caused her to make, of course it is the true one."

"Of course, of course. Why didn't you return home at once?"

"I only saw poor Aunt Hetty's death mentioned in an English newspaper some months after it happened, and I had to wind up affairs before I could leave. I could not desert Mr. Curtis till he had some one to take my place."

"Well, we have you here now, at any rate. What a surprise this will is sure to cause ! It will be like a bombshell exploding in the very midst of them all. Oh, I should like to see Tom's face when he first hears about it? Do you know, I admire these grand instances of retribution, they convey a deep lesson and a very practical one." Mr. Atkin smiles, and rubs his hands vigorously together as though he enjoys it very much.

But Ralph does not smile in return; he merely says in an earnest tone,

"All this must be in strict confidence between us, Mr. Atkin. My intentions and plans are very vague and shadowy yet. I know not what I may do, or how I may act."