glistened, the cypress trees seemed to stand out in dark, rich relief against the fairy-like foliage of the elms and beech. Beyond, the cathedral towers and a few quaint gables rose mystic and shadowy against the sky, and one "single, silent star," trembled like a diamond tear upon the bosom of night.

*

Beauty is a joy for ever.

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness, but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and peace, and quiet breathings."

This exquisite and familiar beauty, upon which Mary had so often gazed, had not lost its magic now. For she was one of the " pure in heart," and could "see God" in his glorious works.

By degrees she tried to think, to unravel the tangled web of her own sad and bitter feelings. She tried to gather up the golden threads of her life which had been so sud

denly broken, and to measure the length and breadth of her disappointment.

She thought how much easier it would have been to give him up to Charlotte, if Charlotte had resembled her ownself more; if there had been any link of sympathy between them. But Mary felt there were depths within her, that Charlotte could never understand; and she almost chafed to think that Cecil should prefer one who, with all her brightness and grace, had not certainly such a capacity for loving him as she had. He could not know Mary, or understand her in the least.

All her bright dreams had vanished tooshe should not now be able to help aunt Lucy, to give her a home, as she had hoped. And then she smiled at her own folly, at her regretting that the same good should be done by another which she had intended herself.

Surely aunt Lucy's daughter is the fittest

person to offer her a home. Yes, and I will

be glad that he loves her; I will help her, and sympathise with her, and pray for her happiness."

Soon a flood of tears came to her relief; tears of regret that she should have been so selfish as to have felt pain at Charlotte being loved, rather than tears of sorrow for her own disappointment in losing Cecil. And then she was able to pray, and to understand the strange joy the ancient martyrs must have felt, when, forgetting their own bodily tortures, their minds became absorbed in adoration of the Supreme, and in contemplation of a bliss that is not of this world, indescribable and incomprehensible, but satisfying, everlasting,

infinite.

Hour after hour was chimed by the old cathedral clock, and still Mary gazed with her sweet face upturned to the moon, and pure and holy thoughts came to comfort her; and the remembrance of Hubert's smile, that

beamed on his face so long ago, appeared to shine upon her out of the star, and to say, that perhaps one being at least would understand and sympathise with her.

"There is a music runs throughout the stars,—
A constant harmony, sublime and low,
That soothes the spirit. Such a night as this,
The grand old German, rising from his books,
Open'd his lattice, and let in a flood

Of heav'nly melody. All thoughts that live,
However shaped, through time are rain'd from
Heaven."

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE YOUNG AUTHOR.

WHEN Hubert came home the following Saturday, he told his mother that his tutor was going to take a holiday, and he thought of going to London himself, in consequence, for a few days.

Sir Frederick Renton had often invited him to come to his lodgings in Jermyn Street, and Hubert wanted to get some books which were indispensable to his studies, and which he