Her manner compelled him to stop and listen. was true; he could hear steps mounting the stone stairs, and he recognised Captain Linwood's hearty laugh. He gave vent to an exclamation of angry impatience.

'Why can they not leave us alone? But another time you shall hear me. I refuse to be put off like

this.'

Necessity made her answer short, and to him it seemed heartlessly cruel.

'I cannot hear you again-my answer is final. I will not be your wife.'

Lydia and her captain emerged from the dark staircase to the moon-flooded platform, where stood the other two, ruffled, heart-sore, and divided.

Charles Cornish turned mutely away, too tempesttossed in spirit to speak indifferent words in an indifferent manner; while to Phillis was left the inevitable woman's task of feigning a hypocritical cheerfulness, to avoid the revelation of a scene. She talked for awhile with the new-comers, till by one consent they all turned to go.

The meeting of this quartette had interrupted one love-scene; perhaps it had prevented another. Miss Cornish looked annoyed at the encounter; her companion perhaps a little relieved.

'Come, Cornish,' said the latter. 'Are you moonstruck there, or are you coming back with us?'

The young man emerged from his bowery corner with a cigar in his mouth, which was difficult to keep alight, and engaged his attention so fully, that he spoke no word to any one during the return walk.

'By Jove! What a stunning tune!' exclaimed Captain Linwood, as they came within full hearing of the band again. 'It's a polka, isn't it?'

He had chosen a singularly inappropriate adjective to describe the soft seductive strains, plaintively played on many stringed instruments, as I believe only musical Germans can play Strauss. It was tearprovoking, it was sentiment-moving, but it certainly was not 'stunning.'

'It's a Polka Mazurka, Ein Herz und ein Sinn,' answered Phillis, who never forgot a melody or its

name.

The captain required a translation, which she gave.

'Oh!' he said with a jovial sigh, 'it's a stunning name too. When two people are of one heart and one mind they're all right, aren't they?'

Captain Linwood on sentiment was enough to provoke a smile, but if Phillis had been minded to give way to amusement, it was quickly checked by other feelings; for her rejected lover shot a glance at her so gloomy, so reproachful, and withal so beseeching, that her heart ached within her. She could read his thoughts but too plainly. Ein Herz und ein Sinn;

that they two should be able to stand together, with those words as the interpretation of their feelings! But she would not.

When they returned to the terrace, her companions missed her from among them. Unobserved she had slipped away, and gone home.

CHAPTER XV.

WON.

'DOES not the music make you want to dance?' Miss Bellew was watching Phillis' face, and asked the question abruptly.

It was the evening of the weekly soirée dansante at the Kursaal, and Phillis was sitting between Mrs. Cornish and little Emmie among the spectators. Lydia was dancing with her inevitable captain, and her brother had but lately restored Miss Bellew to her seat.

'My dear Miss Maitland, why should you not dance?' said Mrs. Cornish with civil kindness; and then, not waiting for her governess's reply, 'Charlie, I am

sure

'I shall be much honoured if Miss Maitland will favour me with a dance.'

He forgot to be stiff, and tried only to speak with indifferent politeness; but his manner betrayed him, and his blue eyes were ablaze with eager feeling. At that moment he would gladly have bartered half-adozen years of his life for one waltz with Phillis.

'No, thank you,' she answered quickly, 'I could not dance.'

'I am sure, my dear, there could be no harm,' said Mrs. Cornish, thinking that her scruples arose from the idea that it would be unsuitable to her position.

'Oh! do, Miss Maitland!' urged Ella, with benevolent eagerness.

She had discovered that there was 'something wrong' between Phillis and Charlie Cornish, and privately thought that one dance would do more to bring them together again than a month of ordinary intercourse.

'Indeed, I could not,' said Phillis, speaking somewhat shortly to make her answer final; 'I have never been to a dance in my life, and should not know what to do.'

Miss Bellew looked sorry, but said no more; and the young man turned away with a clouded brow.

A feeling of inexpressible melancholy crept over Phillis, and went near to bringing tears into her eyes. It seemed to her as if every one else was born to live and rejoice in the sunshine, while she existed sadly in the shade. For them the love and smiles of friend and kindred-for her the isolation of solitary work; for them the light laugh and merry jest-for her the recollection of sorrow, the expectation of care.

What had she done, what evil planet had overshadowed her birth, that she should be as it were marked out and set apart from other girls-girls such