CHAPTER XV.

THE PROPOSED RETURN.

NOW, snow everywhere, pure, beautiful and white, like a pall it lay upon the whole expanse, far as the eye could scan; unless, indeed, we except the river, gliding placidly as ever between its sloping banks. A goodly quantity of snow had fallen, but, owing to the absence of wind, had not drifted. The grand old mountains were clothed with it, and upon the trunks of the now leafless chestnut trees it clung, presenting a vivid contrast to their sombre hue.

How pretty the houses looked with their white roofs. How ancient, old Drachenfels in the far distance, with his

snow-crown.

Above, the air was clear and bright, a cloudless sky, a sun whose warmth was already causing little streams of water to trickle down the quiet streets of our fair Rolandseck,-fair indeed, in her wintry mantle.

Six long months have intervened since we last paid the lovely Rhineland a visit; then it was blushing summer, and the beauties of that glorious season delighted us at

every turn. Now it is winter, close upon the new year, in whose unwritten records, life and death, happiness and woe, are contained.

It is about mid-day, and by a large fire in the pleasant drawing room of his temporary home, sits Lord Menteith. A commodious easy chair is also drawn up to the fireside, and in it reclines his wife, poor Lilias Menteith, but not the same Lilias we last saw here. No; the expression of utter weariness and pain has left her, and though prematurely saddened, she yet looks considerably better. The couch has evidently been discarded, and she sits in her chair, talking to her husband, who, as usual, is all attention and kindness.

"Harry, my good, kind husband," she says, "I have been sadly selfish in my sorrow; can you ever forgive me?"

"I have nothing to forgive, Lilias. I am only grieved for your past sufferings, and truly thankful to Heaven for its mercy, in thus restoring you, so far, to health."

"But, Harry, I have been selfish; look at the years of inaction and uselessness I have passed since our little darling was taken away. Nine years have I been of no good in the world,-nine years of life wasted. I can see my error now, my sin, for it is no less, and the remainder of my days must be spent in striving to atone for it." "What sin, Lilias? What do you mean?"

66

Why, my husband, the sin of selfishly indulging in grief, of being utterly careless of others, the sin of repining beneath God's hand. I was but justly punished, Harry, for I must confess that my love for our sweet little boy was very nearly akin to idolatry. None of my other

M

children were so dear to me as he; I felt that I would rather lose them all than him, my Charlie. If I were only allowed to know what had become of him, I should not so deeply feel it. If I knew that he had died, it would not be so dreadful; but he may be living, may be in want, or far worse, in misery and sin. But what am I saying? Repining again. I must commit him to God's merciful care, and pray for him to be kept under His protection, for I feel, I know not why, that he is not dead. I hope to see him once before I die. I ought not thus to have allowed my sorrow to overpower me; my duty was plainly to have prayed against and struggled with it, this shall be my daily task now. Already, I have gained fresh strength for the combat, by prayer. Another wrong I have done, and to you. I have detained you nine weary years from your ancestral home, and you have never murmured once. The more I think over my course of conduct, the more can I see my sin; instead of being thankful for you and my five remaining children, I have thrown my life away in idle lamentation for the one who (perhaps in mercy) was removed from me. Harry, if you wish to return home, and will wait until the spring, I will accompany you."

"Are you sure you can bear it, Lily?"

"I will bear it, dear. I cannot restore the past, wish as I may; the future is left for me, and I will endeavour in it, if I am spared, to be a better and more unselfish wife to you. I do not think I could bear Menteith at first, but could you not engage a house in Norstone for a time,— Mr. Leland wonld see about one. You see, Harry, that

at Menteith everything reminds me of our sweet little Charlie; at Norstone it is not so. When this shall have worn off, I will go home."

"My dear little wife," replied the nobleman, "I do not know whether I shall do right, or act wisely, if I accept your sacrifice."

"But, Harry, I wish to go. A longing has stolen over me, lately, to revisit England. It is not, indeed, the sacrifice you take it to be."

"Then I will write to Mr. Leland, and ask him to look out for a house in Norstone; perhaps it may become necessary for me to see after it personally,—if so, I will wait until Claude comes here in March, as proposed. I could not bear to leave you alone, Lily."

"Where should you stay?"

"Either at the Deanery, or Mr. Leland's. I daresay Waring will be at home by then."

"I hope the change of air will restore Agnes," said the lady; she is such a charming girl."

"I daresay Alexander is anxious for the same result," said Lord Menteith; "indeed, I am sure he is, for I know he is hoping to carry her off with him to some quiet country parsonage."

"Well, I wouldn't wish a better wife for him than Agnes, she would be in her element as a clergyman's help-meet."

"I trust Alex will make a true minister to his people, not a meddlesome busybody, as I fear so many of his calling are, mere hirelings, who take charge of the flock for the gain thereof, and care naught for the welfare of the

souls entrusted to them. I trust that Alex will also practise, himself, what he preaches; not like Mr. Rose,have I ever told you about him?"

"No, never; what did he do?"

"This, Lily. When I was a boy, and lived at Menteith, we frequently attended the services at Norstone cathedral. At that time one of the minor canons was a clergyman named Rose,-the Rev. James Rose. This gentleman was tall, dark, and had at one time of his life been considered handsome; but never, never, did I come across a man so thoroughly lazy as he; indeed, I may style him, without exaggeration, the embodiment of idleness. He never stood erect at service, but rolled in all directions, with his great sleepy eyes half shut. In one way, though, the gentleman was energetic enough, and that was in sketching caricatures of any individual who might chance to come under his notice."

"Not during Divine service, Harry, surely!" said his wife, in great astonishment.

"Yes, Lily, during Divine service, he did it; this is positively true. One day, I was sitting in the stalls near him, and saw him busy with a pencil; boy-like, prompted by curiosity, as soon as his back was turned, I contrived to get a look at the prayer-book inside of which he had been drawing; judge my surprise, when I saw there the exact representation of an old woman in a poke bonnet and green spectacles, who, during service, had occupied a seat on the opposite side."

"I never heard of such profanity; he could not have been fit for his post," remarked Lady Menteith.