all round afterwards; and if Merylle figured less conspicuously in the general elation, no doubt partial obscurity was good for her.

For myself I felt older in some way after the night was over, and I suppose the sensation was literally correct. Yet that did not make it exactly the more enjoyable. Youth has a charm which we often fail to know or appreciate till it has fled for ever-something faint and delicate as a perfume that steals back upon us in after-time with the memory which is more haunting than the reality. If sorrow is sharp then, hope, at least, is sunny, and there is nothing in the whole range of earthly treasures that can rival this jewel of the heart. Our earliest days, when touched by the light of home-love and happiness, lie in a sort of heaven-lit atmosphere which floats away from the awakened gaze. We turn to them only in dreams; they live again for us only in the misty region which is reverie, and not life.

"How beautiful is youth !-How fair its face,
With its illusions, aspirations, grace,

Book of beginnings, story without an end,

Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend."

It might have been something of presentiment now which induced the gravity of reflection. I had wished to be admitted into the full confidence and consultations of my elders. I had not thought that cares come with such. I had doubted or forgotten that to taste of the tree of knowledge is to look outwards from Eden.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE GHOST OF A DINNER.

"Thus, when the lamp that lighted
The traveller at first goes out,

He feels awhile benighted

And looks round in fear and doubt.

But soon the prospect clearing

By cloudless stariight on he treads

And thinks no lamp so cheering

As that light which Heaven sheds."

46 ELLIE, Ellie !"

MOORE.

It was my mother's voice calling me from her room, and I ran up to her hastily. She was standing near the window, with an open letter in her hand. The sheet was written on both sides, and with a glance towards it I recognised the peculiar characters, and knew the penmanship to be that of Uncle George. He always used a jet-black ink and sturdy pen, and the letters seemed to be literally dug into the page. I felt instinctively that something was wrong, and yet it could scarcely be a question of illness, considering the length and legibility of the letter.

"You have heard from Uncle George ?" I exclaimed at once. "What does he say, mother? He has not

had another attack-has he?"

"No, no," she murmured, "the very contrary. He feels particularly well, he says. This makes him rest

less, I think that is, more anxious to see people— and he wishes, or wants, rather"

She broke off here, and I noticed something strange, almost troubled, in her manner.

"He wants you to go to him ?" I interposed.

"Not exactly, Ellie," was her reply. "But you are coming to the point. It is you he asks for."

"For me!" I ejaculated. "But to see him only, I suppose not to stay there ?"

"I am afraid you won't like it-that you can't do it," she said.

"I can go to him some morning, if you wish," I returned. "I have done that before. But surely neither he nor you would expect more ?"

"I scarcely do so, Ellie; but he does not consider the loneliness of the Manor-House, or if he does think of it, I suppose it is only to heighten his self-compassion. No one can learn unselfishness that leads. the life of a recluse. To live for others is to live with them and amongst them."

I was too panic-stricken to have anything but the one thought. The mournful old mansion rose before me funereal-like in its gloom, and I seemed already shut into its imprisonment. The black figure of

Willis had a dread significance, and the startling calls of my uncle were all but ringing in my ears.

"Oh, mother, I can't do this," I murmured. "You would not ask it if you knew what I should suffer."

"But I am not asking it, Ellie. I am just telling you what your uncle has written about, and desired. To me it seemed a token for good that he should care to have the young about him again. At the same time, I could not urge the visit upon you. I feel that it would be useless, if your own inclinations were strongly against it. As I have always said and thought, it is the confidence of affection he is seeking for. Let him but gain this, and the hardness would be gone. He would repel you no more, as at present. The first impulse that drew you to him would evoke unexpected warmth and kindliness."

"But he was always stern, was he not, mother?"

"In manner no doubt he was," she returned; "yet not entirely so at all times, and to every one. To his boy he showed the fulness of affection while the love and trust of youth were still fresh in the child. Later, the unfortunate restrictions about money awoke differences and estrangements. His son was naturally of a most generous, even lavish, disposition, and this accorded but ill with his father's habits."

I was silent for a moment. I was wishing much I could yield a willing compliance. But that was out of the question. Would it be well then to refuse resolutely, or to compel myself to the effort? Already a

premonitory regret arose that the mystery of Uncle George had been so wholly penetrated, that, knowing what I did, my inclinations were no longer free. Any withdrawal on my part must carry with it a silent reproach. My mother might say nothing, but my own heart could not wholly acquit me of culpable shrinking from what might be the path of right and duty.

My mother, noticing my indecision, said kindly : "I will leave you to think the matter over, Ellie. I need not answer your uncle George until the afternoon. Should you agree to the plan, I would take you over to-morrow myself, and if you remain a night or two, it would be enough as a trial of what you could do, and of what he would wish."

As she said this, she had opened the door of her dressing-room, and was going towards the staircase. It was just the busy hour of the day with her, and she could not well delay longer for consultation.

I followed her, however. I could not rest with this dreadful weight upon my mind. To dwell on it alone seemed to be anticipating the evil. I caught her in a sort of imploring clasp.

Oh, mother, I don't think I could do it," I murmured.

A sudden clap from behind emphasised the statement. Fred was there, and I felt his seizure on my shoulders. He had heard something already, or guessed it, at all events, for he sprang at once into the subject.