presence of a stranger, entered the boudoir, when the young gentleman, weary of his perambulations, was in the very act of lolling on the sofa, where Mary had so often reclined. Mr. Dudley started; he gnawed his nether lip, but by a vigorous effort he conquered his emotion, and in reply to the startled query of the occupant of the sofa: "Who the devil are you?" answered with stately coldness, "I am Mr. Dudley."

“'Pon my soul, I beg pardon," said the young man, rising from his recumbent position; "I know your history, and admire your spirit. Few men would suffer such a fine property as this to slip through their fingers on a mere point of honour."

Mr. Dudley bowed with hauteur, the other resumed,— "I have some thoughts of buying the estate, and taking the furniture at a valuation. I am about to marry a good pretty girl." Mr. Dudley winced. "It strikes me this is exactly the sort of thing," looking around as he spoke; "the place is devilishly well kept up; if it comes to the hammer, why should not I step in as well as another! But, bless my soul, who is this?"

This exclamation was caused by the sudden apparition of Florence, who, for some time in search of her father, had traced him to her mother's room. She stood in the doorway, her childish figure framed by the ample green draperies which swept to the ground. Her large hat had fallen to the back of her head, and the profusion of nut-brown tresses which shaded her face and neck were allowed to wander in unrestrained luxuriance, like tendrils round a vine. Her bright eyes were dimmed with tears, which glittered on the long silken eye-lashes, but did not fall; a melancholy expression contracted the rosy lips, painful to witness in one so young. The brilliant hues of the flowers she held in her hands, formed a pleasant contrast to the sombre folds of her black dress.

Florence paused in silent bewilderment; she looked at her father for explanation.

"This gentleman has some thoughts of residing at

the Wilderness," Mr. Dudley began.

Florence interrupted him, joyously: "Oh!" she cried, springing forward and dropping the flowers, in her eagerness, 66 will you be kind to Carlos?"

"On the word of a gentleman, I will," was the gallant reply. "I do not know who Carlos is," he added, with a merry laugh.

66

Florence, you forget yourself strangely to ask a favour of a total stranger," said Mr. Dudley, with an air of grave displeasure. The child shrank back abashed. Mr. Dudley resumed,-" My little girl has made an appeal to your humanity, sir, in behalf of a favourite pony. Pardon her indiscretion, in consideration of her youth and heedlessness."

The young man answered quickly, "The pony shall be well cared for if ever I be master here. Allow me to offer my sincere apology for my unwarrantable intrusion." He bowed courteously, presented a card to Florence-who handed it to her father-and quitted the room, leaving Mr. Dudley to the indulgence of his own sad thoughts.

Florence gathered up her scattered flowers, and arranged them in the baskets; she then went and stood patiently by her father's side, until he was ready to attend to her.

The stranger's card slipped from Mr. Dudley's fingers, when he rose from his chair. Florence caught it eagerly. "May I keep it, papa ?" she said anxiously. She esteemed it the property of Carlos' future protector, and longed to decipher the name.

"As you please," said Mr. Dudley, absently. Florence thrust it into her bosom.

The father and daughter resumed the melancholy task of paying their farewell visit to every nook and corner in the venerable edifice. They wandered for hours through the deserted rooms and forsaken pleasaunce. Again and again they retraced their steps. to take another and yet another parting glance at each favourite haunt. It was not until poor little Florence

was utterly exhausted, that her father, remembering the fatigue to which he had exposed her, and observing her languid step and pallid cheek, hastened to the library, where we found them at the beginning of this chapter.

Mr. Dudley and Florence were roused from the species of lethargy in which they were plunged, the result of great bodily fatigue and over-wrought feeling, by the sound of wheels rapidly approaching. A thundering knock, and a peal loud enough to rouse the seven sleepers, brought father and daughter to their feet with a start. So many distasteful incidents had occurred in the day, that Mr. Dudley was revolving in his mind what new annoyance was awaiting him, when his fears were set at rest by the unexpected announcement of the Earl of Wentworth.

Lord Wentworth was on the point of leaving England for the Continent, when the tidings of his friend's disaster reached him through the medium of the public papers. Unwilling to leave England until the report, as to the truth of which he was extremely sceptical, was cleared up to his satisfaction, he determined to run down to the Wilderness, without loss of time, and learn the true state of affairs. His lordship was inexpressibly shocked when he gathered the truth from Mr. Dudley's own lips. He was urgent in pressing the most liberal offers of assistance. Mr. Dudley gratefully but firmly declined all pecuniary assistance from his noble friend.

"Good heavens!" cried the startled nobleman, "what will become of that sweet pretty creature, your daughter?"

"Leave the room, Florence," said Mr. Dudley, in a slight tone of asperity, which astonished the little lady, for she had not heard the remark which called it forth.

Lord Wentworth smiled, and resumed, "I must hear your plans, Dudley, before I honour them with my approval. Believe me, you might do worse, philosopher though you be, than accompany me abroad.

Florence should share every advantage with my girls. I need scarcely add that Lady Wentworth would second the scheme with pleasure."

Mr. Dudley shook his head. "My dear lord, I should not consult my child's best interests were I to accept your generous offer. I can and will work for her. She must learn not to depend upon the kindness, the charity, of others. Forgive me, my lordbut on my exertions and her own, when she shall have attained sufficient age to" he stopped abruptly. Lord Wentworth was deeply touched.

"You are a noble fellow, Dudley, but do not suffer pride, false pride (remember it is a family failing), to carry you too far. Work if you will, and teach your child to work, but do not forget that if you entail upon her or upon yourself one single unnecessary sacrifice your self-abnegation becomes sin. It does not arise from generous self-reliance, but from pride-miserable, perverted pride.”

Mr. Dudley was silent; the struggle was short but severe. He held out his hand. "Wentworth," he said, with more cordiality than he had yet shown, "you are right. I will stoop to accept favours."

Lord Wentworth grasped the extended hand with generous warmth. Mr. Dudley proceeded with effort,—

"You have not forgotten the ruins of that castle in Wales, with the unpronounceable Welsh name, which appertains to you in right of your mother? Once upon a time we sheltered there during a storm."

Lord Wentworth assented, but he thought Mr. Dudley was wandering from the subject.

The other continued,-" Within the ruins of the castle we found a cottage, in tolerable preservation. It was formerly occupied by a woman who showed the ruins; the number of visitors in that retired valley was so few that the cicerone threw up her office in disgust. Will you allow me to take that woman's residence?"

Lord Wentworth started. "Good Heavens! Dudley, you are mad."

Mr. Dudley smiled. "I did not crave permission to assume the woman's office, I asked for her abode only. I have a strong inclination to set up my tent in a spot so retired that I may devote my whole time and thoughts to study, without a breath from the outer world ruffling the even tenor of my days. This cottage, rent free (I make this a sine quá non)–

"Dudley, you will drive me mad! Why not take a suite of rooms in Wentworth Castle, or

"My lord, my lord

"

"Well, well, be it as you will. The cottage shall be prepared for your reception forthwith, rent free, and furnished as well as circumstances will admit

sine quâ non.

Now let us recall Florence."

that is a

"Still harping on my daughter? Let me order dinner."

"Coffee," interrupted Lord Wentworth.

"Give me

a sedative to my nerves. You have tried them pretty severely."