Ir was towards the end of an autumn day as the Viscountwhose leave of absence had been considerably extended — and Ralph were returning from cub-hunting, that the latter intimated his intention of taking his departure from a spot which was pregnant with the most momentous events of his life.

The Marquis had long returned from town. Slasher and his companions had taken their departure. Ta-ta,' had said the young dragoon to his friend, 'ta-ta, old forlorn; give us your paw, only one-fortune of war, you know, ha, ha! To-day's sixth, twelfth begins; guns to look up-tradesmen to "hum," governor to write to bad specs, Undone Vortex, ha, ha! Lucky rascal, jolly girls-soon be back!' and he was off to the moors.

The girls will be home in a week, so don't run away yet,' urged Reginald. Yet for that reason Ralph packed his traps that night in an 'I'll-suff'rish' kind of way. The Marchioness had from the first seen how it would all be; for whenever Lord Alfred had expatiated in glowing terms upon his friend's merits, Lady Beatrice would change colour and start, and she had observed her constantly gazing upon his portrait, which hung in her boudoir. Ralph was too ill to travel, thought she; and so she had packed Lady Beatrice and her sister Gertrude off on a visit into Loveshire.

'But you will never go before my ball!' remonstrated Lady

Eleanor, who was to come of age in October.

'No; Ralph wouldn't think of such a thing,' said the Viscount. And yet Ralph packed; and he mused while doing so.

They don't know I love her, but the Marchioness does, and honours me for my resolution. Oh, love! how thou hast changed me ! She loves me, and as for me, I cannot say what I feel! I once thought I would fly from her in one short week, but now, how changed I feel! Ah, that Vortex! But I will achieve, for she is mine!'

Ralph was no more in possession of the idol of his heart than

he was of those unromantic essentials, ' means,' wherewith to keep such a little pet in elegance. True, she had never given a thought to such vulgar considerations; she would not have been Birdie if she had very childish, but there it was. 'Is money' (the want of it, he meant)going to separate us? why, we love each other!' said Ralph, when his portmanteau was ready.

'Come and see the Ancient Court; we overlook it from the east wing,' said Lady Eleanor to him; that is where my ball will take place. It will be covered with an immense marquee, and when the whole is complete the interior will form a grand saloon, with corridors and ante-rooms. It will resemble fairyland when lighted up, what with the living shrubs, and many more that the gardeners will introduce.'

It was in her sweet society that the poor boy had beguiled most of his evenings, and they had soared aloft together in the rich realms of fancy, and of exquisite, subtle delight, drawn to the confines of a world hitherto but little known, though often sighed for by him.

'You tempt me so, Eleanor, but I fear-business-'

Business, Ralph! pooh! Come, now, I know you will not refuse me!' said she gaily.

And because she was a goddess in her own right, and was queenly, and was like Reginald, whom Ralph thought god-like, and because she said, and he thought, it would be 'So nice,' he consented to stay, and to-oh, the very thought sent the hot blood coursing through his veins-dance with Lady Beatrice!

'And whispering "I'll ne'er consent," consented.'-BYRON.

Whether Ralph retired that night a happy, a satisfied, because a scrupulously right-minded fellow, entitled to the high opinion of his fair companion, who had so often called him her frank, good brother; whether, if he had told Eleanor the truth, she would have cherished him all the more, even if it had ended in his leaving Trememdon with a thousand honourable regrets, were questions which did not, I am inclined to think, weigh very much with Ralph just then.

The Marchioness was put out of court, for she was alone; as the Marquis's thoughts, she had observed with an indescribable sense of anguish and alarm, were always absent now.

Her opinion of Ralph was so high and her affection for him so great that she would do nothing to wound the feelings of one whom she would gladly have welcomed as a son, provided there had been other foundations to justify his fondness for her little daughter than merely romantic attachment, however devoted.

6

CHAPTER II.

They sin who tell us love can die.
With life all other passions fly;

All others are but vanity.'-SOUTHEY.

THOSE Old Trememdon pets' were the shaggiest, their paces the fastest, and their forms the prettiest in all the county round. 'The girls' had returned, sunburnt and plump, stout and merry.

It was all the bathing and Loveshire cream, wasn't it, Sissy? asked Beatrice.

"Oh, darling Birdie! but didn't donkey-riding and junket help?' said Gertrude.

'And we have been si abandonnées, and not at all proper!' sighed Birdie. And Ralph sighed too, and felt relieved, and wished he had been there; and then they all three laughed.

He noted the quick withdrawal of her hand, and stood gazing, waiting for a smile. And she knew it, and didn't keep him long, and with it came the faintest of colours; and Ralph was all in a tremble, and the poor little Marchioness turned away, and could not look any more that night.

And the 'girls' ascended the staircase winding round the grand old hall, Ralph following, he knew not how or whither, till he was at the top, when Lady Beatrice kissed her sister in such a tantalising kind of way, that he felt wretched, and looked miserable.

'Her lips!' he kept on muttering, long after they had parted for the night. And Birdie put her arms around Sissy's waist and squeezed her, and laughed; and Ralph heard and stood listening.

'Oh, Sissy darling, how well he looks! I am so glad, ar'n't you?' and heard again those long-sustained caresses. And he hurried off to his end of the old Castle, and slept-did he? if so, the sleep of the incurably spooney-and dreamed of her, that she eluded his grasp whenever he tried to catch her; it was of no use, although she covered him with fairy garlands, till he was smothered. At last he caught her and woke, and heard Carlo barking, and then looked out. She was frisking and frollicking with him in the garden.

The gallops across country, sometimes with Reginald, sometimes alone together, and the fun they had over getting ferns, many of which were too high to reach without wondrous con

trivances, are matters of well-authenticated history. Ralph was told to be careful, and he was not careful, but slipped, and a little scream was heard; both advancing to help him, Gertrude first, but somehow Birdie always came to the front just in time— her hand being ungloved, while Gertrude's was not-but she was soon back again with her sister. Now they returned. Distant laughter was heard in the direction of the Castle. Bright eyes sparkled, and Gertrude stood upon the front seat of the carriage. Beatrice, trying to join her, slipt and fell, snapping the reins like threads against the support. All would have been well, had the girls been quiet, but they were in high spirits. The more Ralph implored them, the less heed did they pay. The ponies had begun to bolt, and the girls got frightened. Nearing a slight ascent Ralph prepared to alight and get hold of their heads. Seeing his intention, Lady Beatrice shrieked, 'No, don't, Ralph!' and clutched his arm. On went the affrighted ponies, up one hill and down another at a tearing pace. All was now consternation. They approached a bend; a bridge had to be crossed, and a felled tree lay alongside it. Ralph, dreading the worst, pushed the affrighted girls low into the body of the carriage. Crouched down there they awaited their fate.

Lady Beatrice, blanched and speechless, held on to his arm with both her hands. Ralph, seeing her helpless condition, now took her in his arms and whispered in her ear, Lady Gertrude clinging to him. Just before the turn was passed Ralph raised his head to look around. The terrified girl in his arms, fearing he was about to leap out, screamed hysterically, 'Do not leave me ! oh, don't!' He strained her to his bosom, unable to utter a word, while she, almost unconscious, reposed her head upon his shoulder. Her scream had startled the ponies. She was silent now, but the pace had again become terrific. Ralph gasped, 'You are driving the ponies wild!'

'Then stay with me!' she implored, and looked up in his face. 'My child, my child, my own! I'll never leave you !

Straining her madly to him, grasping Gertrude's hand, he screamed convulsively, Hold tight!'

A wilder, closer pressure, with Gertrude's arms flung unconsciously around the two, her head reclining against his own, they waited the shock. It was over in a moment. I see them even at this distance of time, Gertrude unhurt, Ralph but slightly bruised; but the darling upon his bosom, ah, where was she?

CHAPTER III.

'For aught that ever I could read,

Could ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth.'

SHAKESPEARE.

AND Ralph knew that the flower of Old Trememdon was very ill indeed, the Marchioness having told him so. He, poor boy, had raised her up from that greensward on which he found her; had gazed into that face which had turned the current of his life to brightness and to bounding hope, now changed to death-like pallor; had borne his lovely burden to the brook close by, and bathing her temples, felt her tiny pulse. 'Thank God, it beats!' cried he.

She moaned, it was music to his longing ear. And while he bedewed her brow and palms with water from the limpid spring she sighed. He murmured in her ear, My child, oh, waken! say you are not hurt! my own child, Beatrice !' But silently she lay; he raised the loved one gently on his knee and gave a cordial from his hunting-flask. 'Speak, speak! he now implored, 'your Ralph is by your side! Oh, breathe again that sigh!' Her lifeless form lay still. 'Ah, woe is me!' he cried. Forcing himself to calmness, he said to Gertrude, who, bending low, was weeping bitterly, 'Quick! take the loved one's head, and I'll away!'

Pressing one fervent kiss upon her cold, moist brow-that brow so pale and clear-he tore himself straight for Trememdon's Castle. Turning a bend, he spied, down in the long autumn grass, the luckless ponies.

The Castle yet was full two miles away.

Ho, Trot! hey, Toby! What's pretty boy about?' They started. Each moment seemed a life.

(I breathed: 'Oh, haste, nor waste a moment more !')

He is kneeling on the grass-he gazes once towards the brook. He whispers, 'My pretty boys!' They hang their guilty heads, nor started more. Come-so, my little boys, so-so !' They browse from off the hanging trees; they fetch one long deep sigh-they're mastered. Trot, Toby, boys! now come.'

·

He holds his hand, one moves, and he advances cautiously; nor do they further stir till, quite bereft of harness by his swift hand, and one set free, the fleetest made his steed, he casts one look behind; then over, through, and by each brake and brae he gains the Castle.

'A Fernland settler catch a pair of well-trained ponies!' I heard him mutter in contempt.