with sufficient sense to appreciate his worth, and sufficient courage and candor to volunteer the state of her heart to the object for which it beats, or else we may consider his fate as sealed, I suppose."

"Mr. Mortimer would never marry any woman who could forget in the slightest degree womanly delicacy or propriety," my wife returned with much dignity.

"Then may the saints help him, my dear; for help from man or woman availeth not, as I understand you," said I, dismissing the subject. I had pooh-poohed my wife's observations, of course, thus vindicating my natural supremacy and superiority, but secretly I own they had weight with me, and I had long ago set down Jack as not a marrying man, in spite of his natural predilection for the society of women, as evinced in his seeking that of those who were safely provided with husbands.

The tender evening light was fast fading into the transparent darkness of a midsummer night as we sank into mutual silence. Streaks of

mellow light from the wide-open windows of the adjacent drawing-room chequered the long

shadows of tree and shrub on the lawn with broad bars of quiet light. The low airs of evening sighed tenderly to the trees, which whispered back answers all lovingly tremulous, and then, suddenly, there grew out from that murmurous accompaniment, a strain of plaintive passion, of wondrous sweetness.

"Einsam bin Ich."

I think we both held our breaths as that inspiration of Carl Maria von Weber's, breathing sorrowful regret, passionate yearning, came borne to us on a rich young voice; and when, in a few minutes, it sank and faltered into si lence, Jack rose from his chair and leaned out of the window without speaking. "Come," said I, presently, "let us join the ladies." "Music hath charms," especially on an evening like this." The sudden change from the darkling atmosphere of the room we had left, to the radiance of that which enshrined the ladies of my household, was a little dazzling and bewildering. Was it only that? or did I see, as Jack Mortimer turned from his friendly greeting to Mrs. Marchmont, to bow in response to my introduction of "Mr. Mortimer" to "Miss Francis," a sudden start, followed by utter confusion on Jack's part, a vivid blush, and an exceedingly haughty up-rearing of the head, on that of my pretty little cousin, Beaty Francis?

CHAPTER II.

WHAT IS THE PLOT?

"So, Miss Beaty! My introduction of my friend, John Mortimer, last night, was altogether superfluous, it seems. You were already acquainted?"

"I have seen the the gentleman before, cousin Frank," answered Miss Francis loftily, but with that faltering tell-tale color rushing over her face nevertheless.

Dignity is not my cousin's forte; she can be saucy and loving, and pettish and tender, charming always, but she cannot be dignified nor awe inspiring, consequently I pursued the subject, in no wise daunted by the little lady's displeasure.

"What, in the name of wonder, did you mean by that awful pause before “gentleman," my dear? What denomination did it take the place of?"

"Squatter, perhaps," was the pert answer. "Is not that what the creatures are called, who live in the outlandish place your friend comes from?"

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Certainly not, Miss. The term is not euphonious, I admit, but it is neither one of ignominy, nor reproach, as you in your ignorance would imply, being only another name for a landed proprietor, and signifying the same thing. My friend was merely a cattle dealer, and I own it puzzles me to imagine where your high mightiness could have met an individual in so lamentably an inferior condition of life.”

"What does it matter where I met him?" my cousin burst out with a vehemence that quite startled and overwhelmed me, her sweet face crimson, her eyes filling with tears-of anger, of pain, of mortification-of what?

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'I never wanted to see him; I wish I never had! Oh, how often I have wished I never, never had! Why did he not stay out at the other side of the world? I thought he was gone for ever."

These sentences full of "evers" and "nevers," came in jerks from lips that quivered pitifully, and when they were ended, two great tears fought their way through restraining lashes, and rolled heavily down her face.

If I was utterly surprised, I was moved also. My little cousin was very dear to me; she had been my pet and plaything ever since the day when I, a rough schoolboy, used to steal away from companions of my own sex and age, to

“My dear,” said I, "I ask your pardon if I have jested on a subject that really touched you in any way. I never dreamed of your having any special interest in Jack Mortimer; how could I?"

Hard is it for the mind masculine, to follow the twists and twinings of the one feminine. I had touched the wrong string again. Up went my cousin's head, while a hot flush came to dry up the two great tears.

"And I have no interest-special or other wise-in Mr. Mortimer. He is nothing to me, nor ever will be. I beg you to believe that once for all, Frank."

"Of course, dear," said I soothingly, but taking leave, at the same time, to doubt that assertion under the circumstances. "Any one could see from your meeting last night that your previous acquaintance must have been of the most casual nature. A ball-room one, perhaps, dear, when you danced five out of every six dances with Jack, ate ices together under the orange trees in a shady conservatory, watched the moon out of the cool balcony, and passed him in the street the next day, without so much as even a glance of recognition. It was something of that kind, wasn't it, my little Beaty?"

"No, Frank-nothing like it. A ball-room and dancing! Oh, no, no! A death-chamber, and dying words rather. Oh, Frank, Frank! I wish that I could tell you all!" And with that, poor Beaty nestled her flushed face on my breast (many a time in the old days she had cried herself to sleep there after some childish grief, or a fit of naughtiness) and wept.

"Then tell me, as, indeed, my pet, who has a better right to know all that vexes or pleases you than your poor cousin Frank; and in the dear old days that are gone, Beaty, to whom did you ever carry all your griefs (thank God, they have not been many, nor heavy, my dear!) but to him?

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“Ah, used, Frank!" she cried, nestling ever closer and closer.

“And will still-yes; for I have never separated the Beaty of to-day from the little child I used to love so dearly; and I claim the right still to be the sharer of all that pleases, all that grieves her: I shall never give it up till one

comes between us with a better, and that can only be a husband."

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No husband will ever come between us. Frank, dear, I shall never marry-never!" said Beaty, with much energy, through her tears; and beyond reiterating this presently, when she sat up and dried her eyes, I could extract nothing at all from my cousin on the subject that moved her. I had loved this little girl very dearly. I had been accustomed to think of her as mine by a peculiarly near and familiar tie. I was wounded to think the woman could have a secret, when the child had confided all. I was hurt, and I suppose I showed it, for with a faltering smile Beatrice put her arms round my neck as she said

"There are some things-some troubles-that are best never told, dear Frank, I think, and this is one of them. It could do me no good, and would, perhaps, be wrong also, since another is concerned in it. You could not help me, dear, no, not if it were possible to wish to do so more than you do which could not be, I know-and-and its nothing new-and I don't often think of it now-only, last night, it all seemed to come back so freshly. I am afraid I have been very silly, and pained you needlessly. Don't speak or think of it any more, and I will try and forget it also.”

"One word, Beatrice; do you know that Mr. Mortimer is our near neighbor and constant visitor? Tell me, my dear, would you rather not see him any more, while you remain here?"

"Oh! I don't know; I don't care, Frank; let that be as he likes," again with that burning color; "don't say any more about it;" and with this I was obliged to be content.

Feign to be so, I mean, for content I certainly

was not.

A horrible, haunting idea that Jack Mortimer whom I had hitherto sworn by, as the worthiest, kindest, most chivalrous of men, had fallen short somehow of right-doing where my little cousin was concerned, beset me painfully.

It seemed incredible, and yet how otherwise account for what had passed between my cousin and me?

I could not rest, so, laying the reins upon the neck of my inclination, they straightway led me in the direction of The Wild.

Mr. Mortimer was at home-yes-would I walk into the study or the dining-room, while Binks went in search of his master, who was somewhere ont of doors?

"Out of doors? No-I would not come in then. I would prefer finding Mr. Mortimer myself;" and being pretty well acquainted with Jack's habits, I turned confidently down the shrubbery walk that led towards the stables. The responsible-looking head groom was standing at the door of the harness room (the stable department at The Wild was much more ably administered than the rest of the establishment). He touched his forelock in answer to my inquiry.

"Mr. Mortimer? Yes, sir, in the loose box, sir, along of Ajax-mostly there at this time. This way, sir."

In the loose box accordingly-an apartment as spacious and much more neatly kept than the dwelling rooms of many a family-I found my friend seated, pipe in mouth, and in a very easy position, on one corner of the manger, out of which black Ajax was leisurely partaking of his midday meal, yet lifting his head ever and anon to look into his master's face with that pensive kindness we see in the eyes of the horse or dog that loves us. Close at Jack's feet, too, lay an animal of the last-named species, a splendid kangaroo dog, that, too noble for jealousy, watched yet, with a certain wistfulness, the hand so often withdrawn from its restingplace in the sort of sash Jack wore, in place of a belt or braces, to fondle the horse's short velvet ears, or shining crest.

The man, the horse, and the dog, all powerful and beautiful of their kind, made a pretty picture, and verily, Jack's frank face, and kind eyes were not those of a man who could wilfully wrong any of God's creatures, great or small,

The doubt lying heavy at my heart vanished somehow, when my hand was griped in that friendly one; but curiosity and interest, deep and overpowering, remained.

Jack duly inquired after Mrs. Marchmont's health, but referred in no way to our visitor or his recognition of her, and biding my time I made none either. After half an hour with Ajax, stable topics, local matters, crops, and neighborly talk generally, we sauntered away from the stable precincts, out under a row of flowering limes, where the bees were making drowsy music.

One of those intervals of silence had befallen-that more than anything, almost, goes to show the complete intimacy that subsists between those who indulge it in each other's society-and presently into this silence stole the

“By-the-bye, Jack, you never told me you were acquainted with my cousin, Beatrice Francis!"

Jack's brown face gained a perceptible access of color.

"Didn't I? Well-no-I dare say I never did. I saw her once, I think, before I went to Australia, five years ago-never since I came home till last night. I don't even know, being mightily ignorant on such matters, whether one meeting gives me any right to claim acquaintanceship with Miss Francis-what should you say, Frank?"

"That it depends upon the circumstances under which the meeting took place, of course," I answered, remembering with great perplexity Beaty's reference to death-chambers and dying words. Under what possible combination of circumstances could these, my friend Jack, and my little cousin be associated?

I had been quite accustomed to suppose I possessed Jack's confidence as well as that of my cousin; yet here evidently was a mystery I was not to know, and one that had existed for five years, apparently, without my ever having had an inkling of it. I had felt wounded on the first discovery; by this time I began to experience a feeling of injury, and, with perhaps unwise frankness, avowed the same.

Jack withdrew his pipe from his lips, shook out the ashes in troubled silence, put the pipe slowly into its case, and the case into his pocket, before he spoke.

"I hate mysteries and secrets; they are not at all in my way, as you know, old friend. I never expected the thing to befall me that I could not talk over with you; but, Frank, there comes something into most men's lives, sooner or later, that they do not care to speak of, that no good could come of speaking of, and besides—” He paused and then added: “Th ́s is not my own affair either, entirely-another is concerned as well as I-"

"Certainly, and got the same amount of satisfaction as from yourself."

“Thank Heaven, then, that I never breathed word of it to living creature,” said Jack. "I might have done it one day to you, Frank, though I never regarded myself as having any right to talk of it. But tell Miss Francis assure her from me, that I never have, never will now she need never fear any allusion, not the slightest, to what is gone, from me-tell her this, please, Frank,” said Jack, earnestly.

"I'll tell her nothing of the kind. Hang me if I ever speak to either of you again on the matter!" I answered, losing patience; "and I wish your future wife joy of the nice little Bluebeard secret you carry about with you, Jack!"

IN SEARCH OF SOCIETY.

A week, a fortnight went by; long days of rich unclouded sunshine, evenings of tranquil sweetness, evenings long, and still, all perfumy with the breath of flowers, like those Jack had declared made the loneliness of his empty old house intolerable to him; but neither glancing sunshine, nor tranquil sunset brought my old friend any more to Meadowsleigh.

I cannot tell all that want was to me; I scarce knew myself; and I chafed angrily, as I was forced to own that I was powerless to do anything but mourn over it.

Who but Jack himself, could judge how far his presence was fitting in the house where the sharer of this precious mystery was for the present domiciled?

At the end of the first week I had called at The Wild; but Mr. Mortimer was from home, and not expected to return till night; at the end of another, I sallied forth once more in that direction.

The footway to the domain called The Wild led up through my own grounds, crossed the high road, and entered my friend's by a low gate. The day was one of these same summer

ones, bright and still, hot and glowing. Brilliant sunshine steeped the fields of waving grain, fast ripening now to harvest, in floods of golden light; but the arching trees that met overhead, above the pretty woodland path I walked, only admitted here and there glimpses of that glowing splendor. Shadows, broad and cool, closed all around me; the light that came in here, all soft, and dim, and broken, caused one to think of solemn old churches in a land beyond the sea; dim with painted windows, misty with incensed altars, and grave with the gathered memories of the bygone years. haps, too, of trysting-places, and waiting lovers, all the joy of meeting made tremulous, and sorrowfully sweet, by the shadow of that inevitable parting that waits upon all meetings here. As this last thought strayed across my fancy,,I reached a sudden opening in the trees around me, through which the pathway wound, and turning into it, I came to an abrupt halt in utter and unbounded surprise.

Per

Lovers and trysting-places, truly! Why, what was this, and who were these, standing among the flickering shadows yonder? Surely I could not mistake that figure, full of graceful lines and flexile curves; I knew, too, the downward bend of that golden head, with its pretty rippled hair drawn into a knot behind the ears; I could fancy the very look on the downcast face at this moment, though it was turned from me--and then-well-yes-, I knew my cousin Beaty's usual walking dress of simple holland, and the little velvet hat with the bright wing— in which she looked-like herself, in short, and like no one else ever did, in my eyes.

And if this was unmistakeably my cousin Beatrice, the tall gentleman in light morning clothes, the set of which was somehow indescribably loose and easy, who stood hat in hand beside her, speaking so earnestly, and looking so steadily at the bent-down face that yet turned towards him too, was no less certainly Mr. John Mortimer.

How long had this conference between these two apparently hostile powers lasted? How long was it going to last? Was a truce being declared, war determined on? Or was peace, mild-eyed and beautiful, hovering over this communing pair?

How could I tell, who had never been admitted within the mysterious circle that seemed somehow to enclose these two? Should I advance now, on my way, which would lead me

straight upon the unconscious creatures? or should I turn back and pretend I had not seen what I had? While I remained dubious, pondering these things, Beaty turned and saw me; and observing that without an instant's hesitation she came slowly towards me, and that Mr. Mortimer followed her, I in my turn advanced.

I did not care to look too closely into the child's face, as she came up and quietly put her hand within my arm, but I did look at Jack He colored a little, but he met my eyes very frankly and steadily, and when he held out his hand, it was with the unmistakeable look about him, somehow, of a man who never had, who never could do anything he was ashamed to be caught in.

"I was on my way to The Wild, Jack.” "Were you? It is well we fell in, then, for I was coming over to call on Mrs. Marchmont, whom it seems an age since I saw. I met Miss Francis a few yards from here, and learnt she was at home."

Was that simple inquiry the one Jack was making so earnestly as I came upon them?

We all turned, and strolled back towards Meadowsleigh together, I disguising whatever curiosity I had (I may as well own, it was intense) under, as I flatter myself, a very perfectly simulated aspect of unconsciousness that my companions stood towards each other in any than the ordinary relations of a lady and gentleman who met then and there, for the second or third time in their lives; but I speedily arrived at the conviction that that confabulation among the trees, which I had interrupted, had partaken of the nature of a truce, or an accommodation, at least, the demeanor of the contracting parties was so evidently in accordance with rules and regulations laid down and agreed upon.

Jack did not, as on the occasion of their former meeting in my drawing-room, refrain from addressing or even glancing in the direction of Miss Francis; on the contrary, he studiously, not to say laboriously, endeavored to include her in the desultory talk by which we beguiled the way; and poor little Beaty, with a manner lamentably differing from her usual one, all the careless flow of her pretty talk sobered into constrained and measured cadence, gravely followed his lead.

I think both were glad when we reached the house, and they were released from any

necessity of keeping up this show of common intercourse. But from this time the communication between The Wild and Meadowsleigh was resumed upon something of its old footing; and yet no, for I never now, as I threw up my window of a morning, and leaned out to inhale the health-giving breeze of early morn, was greeted by a cheery voice nor gladdened with a sight of Jack Mortimer, coming, with those long quiet strides of his, across the dewy lawn of Meadowsleigh in time for an early breakfast. He did not drop in to luncheon, nor saunter up between the lights in his old fashion. It is true he might still have come at some of these times, but never now without being asked.

Nor did these symptoms of an agreed on and regulated demeanor towards each other, which I had detected at first between my cousin and my friend, disappear on continued intercourse. They showed now, in a mitigated form, perhaps, but they were still observable.

And over my little cousin a shadow had fallen, that, try to hide it as she would, she could not cover from my sight. I could not accuse her of moping or pining-she did not sullenly turn her back upon life and its duties, refuse companionship, nor decline her daily meals. No; whatever her trouble was, she strove with it, as the good, healthy-minded English girl she was, and had evidently never a thought of giving up, nor giving in.

But as I noted sometimes how the sweet laughter would falter into sudden silence-the words lightly begun end in a sigh-her pretty, childish beauty deepen, and sadden at times, into thoughtful womanhood-my heart was sore within me. My little Beaty! thou wert very dear to me; but, alas! what human love avails to shield its object from the doom of all th world? I could only stand silently on one side, and grieve that it had come at last upon theethat burden and heat of thy day here, which I could neither lighten nor share. Ah! I think there are few sadder moments in life than these-these in which we realize with a cruel pang that all our love, tender and true though it be, is powerless. "The world goes sobbing through space;" none who live upon it can escape the doom of sorrow, and regret, and tears.

And so summer days stole away on noiseless feet, and with the autumn came that time for Jack, which, let us hope, is seldom one of rejoicing, pure and unalloyed; that time when expectation becomes fulfilment, and the heir