happy, so far as rooms are concerned. It was not actual poverty or the meanness of the house which was uncomfortable, but the whole place looked thoroughly uninviting; without any adequate reason for its being so.

"Will you show me your garden?"

"Yes;" and she pushed up the sash of the window, which was almost level with the gravel walk.

"You will catch cold."

"No; it is mild to-day, and the garden is not large."

They walked round the garden, and passed under the fir trees. The afternoon was quite still; but there was a low, dull roar of waves, which a two days' gale had left, and a white line of foam was visible through the gap in the sand-hills: they both watched it for a moment, as though they expected it, by some sudden change or expansion, to diversify the landscape.

Georgy was already growing brighter under Mr. Erskine's influence, whilst he was oppressed by the contemplation of Grainthorpe life.

"Now, you have seen our domain: my aunt must surely be coming soon."

"I know you play a great deal, besides reading fairy tales."

"Shall I play now?" she asked, her eyes dancing with pleasure.

"Oh! yes." And she played very prettily.

"I wish I had ever been to school; the Macbeans had such a good music-master there, and enjoyed it all so much."

"Your desires are not very immoderate," and he felt more sorry still for the little girl. She was telling the loneliness of her life unconsciously.

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My dear Miss Sandon, you will not always live here: there are other pleasant places in the world, even besides school; as I hope you will some day discover."

Now, the wishes which Miss Sandon and Mr. Erskine had been indulging in were happily realized, and Mrs. Sandon appeared.

Georgy looked constrained immediately. She introduced Mr. Erskine, who began talking to her aunt, and in a few minutes Mr. Sandon, too, came in. James talked of society and Cochin-China fowls to Aunt Jane. Agreed with her that she must soon leave Grainthorpe, and that it was not worth while to do much to the house: it was not a desirable residence, one could get so little society. She should prefer London for the children as they grew up, if Mr. Sandon's affairs would allow it.

Mr. Erskine advocated London too; and then they entered upon the subject of Cochin-Chinas. He talked as learnedly as if he had made them his

peculiar study, and related anecdotes of poultryshows as if their attendance were his especial recreation; he then told Mrs. Sandon where to get her shawl dyed, advised the right colour, and mentioned a good shop. How her stiff aunt came to speak of the shawl, and, on a first acquaintance, to confide her intentions to Mr. Erskine, Georgy never quite understood.

Then Mr. Sandon and his visitor talked business together; concerning which it is to be hoped that the latter knew more than he did of the history of Cochin-Chinas: if he had not, his ignorance would this time have been discerned. But Mr. Sandon pronounced him afterwards to be one of the most sensible fellows he had met for a long time. When he was gone, Aunt Jane declared that he was a most delightful man; and Poppy, who had had a ride upon the brown horse, said that he was very canny."

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He had made a long visit, and had spent nearly the whole afternoon at Grainthorpe. Georgy stitched away at the brown Holland covers, sitting opposite to the chair where he had sat; and the whole room was filled by the remembrance of him. Many a day afterwards did she remind Poppy of her ride on the brown horse, and try to coax her into giving an account of it; but Poppy was happily

not old enough to detect the hypocrisy of the questions. Never had the thought that she was engaged frightened Georgy as it did that evening. And then, again, she took refuge in the dream of that afternoon's visit.

F

CHAPTER VIII.

It was more than eighteen months after this that Constance Everett was staying at Ilderton with her husband's people. Her husband had rejoined her after he had been abroad; but he fell ill again, and she returned to Italy with him. Soon, however, she wrote home to his family for help and companionship. She was left alone with him in a strange country, and he was mad.

Her husband's brother brought them back, and then there was the usual uncertainty and changing which so often accompany such an illness. First one would stay with him, and then another; but the doctors decreed that he must be quiet and away from friends; so now he was living near South ampton. As letters came, sometimes to say that he was better, sometimes worse, the poor mother still kept up the fiction of slow and gradual improve

ment.

Old Mr. Everett doated on Constance; Mrs. Everett Mère "saw her faults," and told her of them, "poor, dear thing!"-The two girls and their