sound, as those of a man; but once let her affections have voice in the matter, and she became as prejudiced, as blindly impetuous, as the feeblest among the feeble of her sex. Her father, in his fondness, had judged her truly when he warned her against any marriage in which intellectual respect should not mingle with her love.

Was it love she felt now, under the guise of gratitude, for the man who had proved his friendship by help in her darkest hour? It would be hard to say. If it was love she knew it not as yet herself. She liked his society, the day would have been long to her without his presence-but her heart beat no faster, her pulses scarcely quickened at his coming.

And he was content that things should be as they were. His feeling for her was so reverential in its nature, that it would have been almost desecration in his eyes to try and force from her any declaration of interest in himself-even to reveal to her the state of his own heart towards her. He was happy in the present, no rival disturbed his peace, and he trusted to time to help him. In his own mind he compared her to an imperial lily, whose large white petals were slowly opening to the sun-putting to shame by their gentle gracious growth, the meaner flowers that bloomed in an hour, and faded in a day.

It was true, as Miss Bellew had said, that the mother and sister of the young man were strangely blind to the love which was so patent to the eye of

an acquaintance. But Mrs. Cornish was not a discriminating woman, and if she noticed her son's devotion to Miss Maitland at all, would merely have characterised it as 'one of dear Charlie's little flirtations.' Had Phillis' manner been more demonstrative, or had she appeared flattered or fluttered by the attentions she received from the son of her employer, that lady might have become alarmed; but the governess, to all appearance, remained as quiet and unmoved as ever, and Mrs. Cornish was only pleased that things should go smoothly among the different members of her party, and rejoiced daily that her son and elder daughter should allow her to remain so long in peace at much-abused Kreuznach.

As to Miss Cornish, whose eyes were usually pretty sharp at spying out her brother's weaknesses, and whose tongue was never backward in proclaiming them, she was too much occupied with her own affairs to have any time or thought to bestow on other people's. An English captain had appeared on the scene-a real live captain in the army-with whom her brother had had some slight previous acquaintance, which seemed by comparison quite a warm friendship in this present dearth of companionship. This Captain Linwood appeared to Miss Cornish to be her lawful prey; she appropriated him accordingly, and with him she walked and talked from morn till dewy eve.' As they were neither of them blessed with an over-abundance of ideas, it might be a matter of speculation for an on

looker as to what were the topics of conversation with which they always appeared provided; but then they laughed a great deal at very little, and doubtless that occupied some time.

And thus the weeks glided by smoothly enough for all.

CHAPTER XIII.

CONFIDENCES.

PHILLIS was sitting in the meadow near the Saline, close to the water which turned the great slow wheel. She made a black spot in the midst of the green grass, and her long heavy dress crushed the tender wild flowers that sprang around her. She was gathering them, making them up into fantastic little wreaths and clusters, and as she did so, almost unconsciously to herself, she sang.

It was a song she had learnt years ago; the words were foolish enough, but there was something pretty and plaintive in the refrain:

'He will return, I know him well;

He would not leave me here to die.'

Her voice rose clear and high, and then she stopped and sighed. She had not sung for so long now. Presently steps came swiftly over the grass towards her, and a piece of paper was dropped into her lap.

It was a leaf torn from a sketch-book, and it contained an outline of herself in pencil, slight but unmistakable. The unconscious repose of the attitude, the grace of the figure, the half-averted head, the gathered flowers-all were Phillis, as she was sitting

now.

She looked and smiled, and then blushed, she knew not why. Mr. Cornish had thrown himself on the grass at her side.

'I never heard you sing before,' he said. not that "The Forsaken ?""

'Was

'Yes. It is a silly old song, but I used to like it. I think there must have been something in my position and occupation that brought it to my mind, for I hardly knew I was singing it.'

"Yes, "your feet were on the water's brink," and this would do for the "mountain stream," and your flowers for the "red berries for a bridal crown."'

'There is something in the sketch that expresses the idea too. You ought to write "The Forsaken " under it.'

'Indeed, I will not,' he said almost indignantly. 'Why not?'

'Because it would be sacrilege to associate such an idea with you. You could never be he stopped, confused at his own vehemence.

'I don't see why not,' she replied, grave, but colouring. 'I don't see why not, as well as the heroine of the song, and many another. I have not