both-though there was no fire-with their backs to the grate, in true English fashion. Fatima and her daughters were asleep after their journey and Screech, unseen by any one, had descended from his perch, and was most industriously nibbling the leg of a rosewood chair.

Never had the contrast between Julian Lindsay and Sir Peter Riskwell been so striking as at that moment. The country air had effaced the effect of Jobb's reducing medicines; he was red and round as ever, but hope twinkled in his small, grey eyes; self-sufficiency appeared in every movement, and his toilet was as gaudy as wealth and bad taste could make it.

With Julian's altered fortunes, all appearance of coxcombry seemed to have left him; he was plainly dressed, pale, thoughtful, and with a proud and resolute air, not usual to him. When first he beheld Augusta, and noticed that, instead of his favourite braids and white garb, she was arrayed in a colour he disliked, and her hair dressed in a style he

disapproved of, Ellen remarked that his colour rose, his eyes flashed, and his lip curled. But, when approaching her uncle, the sight of him recalled his ruin, her assumed manner forsook her, and she burst into tears; Julian hastened towards her; and, in those irrepressible evidences of her sympathy, forgot that they could not outweigh, (unintentional as they were), the preconcerted proofs which her dress gave, of a wish to seem, at least, indifferent to his opinion.

Nature triumphed for a time: and it was while Augusta still wept, that dinner was announced. Julian drew her arm within his; and Sir Peter Riskwell, looking very belligerent, handed Ellen down stairs.

CHAPTER LV.

"A change came o'er the spirit of my dream."

BYRON.

The dinner passed off gloomily enough. How could it be otherwise, when every one's thoughts were engrossed by a subject to which all dreaded to allude?

Grunter ventured on a few boasts about his book: but some remarks from Dr. Lindsay, betraying a real knowledge of the subject, of which, (author as he was) he had but a smattering, warned him not to venture out of his depth. Miss Tibby sat in dignified silence. Mr. Lindsay," the ruined man," alone was cheerful; Augusta was silent and sad, in spite of sundry looks of reproof from her mother, who

saw that every movement and shade of expression was closely watched by Sir Peter and Julian. Ellen did her best to cheer every one, but all felt it a relief when Mrs. Lindsay gave the signal, and the ladies retired.

Ellen tried to amuse Miss Tibby and Annie; while Mrs. Lindsay, perceiving that Augusta was roaming alone in the garden, joined her there.

"You are very imprudent, my love," said the mother. "If you seem so distressed, of course Sir Peter will fancy you love your cousin, and then he will not renew his proposals."

"What shall I do? Oh! mamma, how can I forsake him at such a moment?"

"Forsake! say, rather, how can you cling to a drowning wretch, thereby ensuring his ruin and your own!-you can only encumber, you cannot assist him. Do you see the Evelyn's preparatory school?'-look;" and Mrs. Lindsay held aside a bough.

it."

Augusta shuddered and said, "I have seen

"It is a better home than you will have, if you marry Julian," said the mother. "But why must I marry at all?" "Why-why? If you do not marry, do you know what you will be?"

"Yes; a single woman.'

66

Exactly; in other words, a poor, dependent, despicable, and despised old maid. The ruin of your uncle will not only affect all our prospects, but I doubt not the maintaining all his vile dependents and viler pets will fall upon us. With our poor income, offend Sir Peter, and you can have no other chance. There is no match in this place, and all seasons at London or elsewhere are over now. Will you, for the sake of a man who has certainly slighted you, degenerate into a Mrs. Evelyn, or a poor old maid? How beautiful Sir Peter's park looks in the distance! Ah! here he comes. shall leave you for the present, my love; your choice lies between a town mansion, a beautiful park, elegant equipages, a title, and a doating husband, or a long and odious engagement, ending perhaps in a preparatory school, like

I