life and death. Oh! who could hope, when the distant world to which she was akin half opened to her view, that she would return to the sort row and calamity of this! Rose, Rose, to know that you were passing away like some soft shadow, which a light from above casts upon the earth--to have no hope that you would be spared to those who linger here, and to know no reason why you should-to feel that you belonged to that bright sphere whither so many gifted creatures in infancy and youth have winged their early flight-and yet to pray, amid all these consolations, that you might be restored to those who loved you -these are distractions almost too great to bear. They were mine by day and night, and with them came such a rushing torrent of fears and apprehensions, and selfish regrets lest you should die and never know how devotedly I loved you, as almost bore down sense and reason in its course. You recovered-day by day, and almost hour by hour, some drop of health came back, and mingling with the spent and feeble stream of life which circulated languidly within you, swelled it again to a high and rushing tide. I have watched you change almost from death to life, with eyes that moistened with their own eagerness and deep af. fection. Do not tell me that you wish I had lost this; for it has softened my heart to all mankind.”

"I did not mean that," said Rose, weeping; "I only wished you had left here, that you might have turned to high and noble pursuits again -to pursuits well worthy of you."

"There is no pursuit more worthy of me-more worthy of the highest nature that exists-than the struggle to win such a heart as yours," said the young man, taking her hand. "Rose, my own dear Rose, for years for years I have loved you, hoping to win my way to fame, and then come proudly home; in my day dreams how I would remind you in that happy moment and tell you it had been sought, only for you to share; thinking of the many silent tokens I had given of a boy's attachment and rally you who had blushed to mark them, and then claim your hand,as if in redemption of some old mute contract that had been sealed between That time has not arrived; but here, with no fame won and no young vision realized, I give to you the heart so long your own, and stake my all upon the words with which you greet the offer."

us.

"Your behaviour has ever been kind and noble," said Rose, mastering the emotions by which she was agitated. "As you believe that 1 am not insensible or ungrateful, so hear my answer."

"It is that I may endeavour to deserve you—is it, dear Rose?" "It is," replied Rose, "that you must endeavour to forget me -not as your old and dearly-attached companion, for that would wound me deeply, but as the object of your love. Look into the world; think how many hearts you would be equally proud to gain are there. Confide some other passion to me if you will, and I will be the truest warmest, most faithful friend you have."

There was a pause, during which Rose, who had covered her face

with one hand, gave free vent to her tears. Harry still retained the other.

"And your reasons, Rose," he said, at length, in a low voice, “your reasons for this decision-may I ask them?"

"You have a right to know them," rejoined Rose.

"You can say

nothing to alter my resolution. It is a duty that I must perform. I owe it alike to others, and to myself."

"To yourself?"

"Yes, Harry, I owe it to myself that I, a friendless, portionless girl, with a blight upon my name, should not give the world reason to suspect that I had sordidly yielded to your first passion, and fastened myself a clog, upon all your hopes and projects. I owe it to you and yours to prevent you from opposing, in the warmth of your generous nature, this great obstacle to your progress in the world."

"If your inclinations chime with your sense of duty—” Harry began.

"They do not," replied Rose, colouring deeply.

"Then you return my love?" said Harry. "Say but that, Rose; say but that, and soften the bitterness of this hard disappointment."

"If I could have done so without doing heavy wrong to him I loved," rejoined Rose, "I could have-"

"Have received this declaration very differently ?" said Harry, with great eagerness. "Do not conceal that from me at least, Rose."

"I could," said Rose. "Stay," she added, disengaging her hand. "Why should we prolong this painful interview; most painful to me, and yet productive of lasting happiness notwithstanding; for it will be happiness to know that I once held the high place in your regard which I now occupy, and every triumph which you achieve in life. will animate me with new fortitude and firmness. Farewell, Harry for as we have met to-day, we meet no more: but in other relations than those in which this conversation would have placed us, may we be long and happily entwined; and may every blessing that the prayers of a true and earnest heart can call down from where all is truth and sincerity, cheer and prosper you."

"Another word, Rose," said Harry. "Your reason in your own words. From your own lips let me hear it."

one;

"The prospect before you," answered Rose firmly, "is a brilliant all the honours to which great talents and powerful connec tions can help men in public life are in store for you. But those connections are proud, and I will neither mingle with such as hold in scorn the mother who gave me life, nor bring disgrace or failure upon the son of her who has so well supplied that mother's place. In a word," said the young lady, turning away as her temporary firmness forsook her, "there is a stain upon my name

L

which the world visits upon innocent heads; I will carry it into no blood but my own and the reproach shall rest alone on me." "One word more, Rose-dear Rose, one more," cried Harry, throwing himself before her. "If I had been less, less fortunate, as the world would call it,-if some obscure and peaceful life had been my destiny, if I had been poor, sick, helpless,-would you have turned from me then? or has my probable advancement to riches and honour given this scruple birth ?"

"Do not press me to reply," answered Rose. "The question does not arise, and never will. It is unfair, unkind, to urge

it."

"If your answer be what I almost dare to hope it is," retorted Harry, "it will shed a gleam of happiness upon my lonely way, and light the dreary path before me. It is not an idle thing to do so much, by the utterance of a few brief words, for one who loves us beyond all else. Oh, Rose, in the name of my ardent and enduring attachment,-in the name of all I have suffered for you, and all you doom me to undergo,-answer me that one question.' "Then if your lot had been differently. cast," rejoined Rose; you had been even a little, but not so far above me; if I could have been a help and comfort to you in some humble scene of peace and retirement, and not a blot and drawback in ambitious and distinguished crowds; I should have been spared this trial. I have every reason to be happy, very happy, now; but then, Harry, I own I should have been happier."

"if

Busy, recollections of old hopes, cherished as a girl long ago, crowded into the mind of Rose while making this avowal; but they brought tears with them, as old hopes will when they come back withered, and they relieved her.

"I cannot help this weakness, and it makes my purpose stronger," said Rose, extending her hand. deed."

"I must leave you now, in

"Once, and only once more,

"I ask one promise," said Harry. say within a year, but it may be much sooner,-let me speak to you again on this subject for the last time."

"Not to press me to alter my right determination,” replied Rose, with a melancholy smile: "it will be useless."

66

"No," said Harry; "to hear you repeat it, if you will; finally repeat it. I will lay at your feet whatever of station or fortune I may possess, and if you still adhere to your present resolution, will not seek by word or act to change it."

"Then let it be so," rejoined Rose. "It is but one pang the more, and by that time I may be enabled to bear it better."

She extended her hand again, but the young man caught her to his bosom, and, imprinting one kiss upon her beautiful forehead, hurried from the room.

CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH

IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN ITS PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST, AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME ARRIVES.

"And so you are resolved to be my travelling-companion this morning-eh?" said the doctor, as Harry Maylie joined him and Oliver at the breakfast table. " Why, you are not in the same mind or intention two half hours together."

"You will tell me a different tale one of these days," said Harry, colouring without any perceptible reason.

"I hope I may have good cause to do so," replied Mr. Losberne; "though I confess I don't think I shall. But yesterday morning you had made up your mind in a great hurry to stay here, and accompany your mother, like a dutiful son, to the sea-side; before noon you announce that you are going to do me the honour of accompanying me as far as I go on your road to London; and at night you urge me with great mystery to start before the ladies are stirring, the consequence of which is, that young Oliver here is pinned down to his breakfast when he ought to be ranging the meadows after botanical phenomena of all kinds. Too bad, isn't it, Oliver ?”

"I should have been very sorry not to have been at home when you and Mr. Maylie went away, sir," rejoined Oliver.

"That's a fine fellow," said the doctor; "you shall come and see me when you return. But, to speak seriously, Harry, has any communication from the great nobs produced this sudden anxiety on your part to be gone ?"

"The great nobs," replied Harry, "under which designation, I presume, you include my most stately uncle, have not communicated with me at all since I have been here, nor, at this time of the year, is it likely that anything would occur to render necessary my immediate attendance among them."

"Well," said the doctor, "you are a queer fellow. But of course they will get you into Parliament at the election before Christmas, and these sudden shiftings and changes are no bad preparation for political life. There's something in that; good training is always desirable, whether the race be for place, cup, or sweepstakes."

Harry Maylie looked as if he could have followed up this short dialogue by one or two remarks that would have staggered the doctor not a little, but he contented himself with saying, "We shall see," and pursued the subject no further. The post-chaise drove up to the door shortly afterwards, and Giles coming in for the luggage, the good doctor bustled out to see it packed away.

"Oliver," said Harry Maylie, in a low voice, "let me speak a word with you."

Oliver walked into the window-recess to which Mr. Maylie beckon

ed him; much surprised at the mixture of sadness and boisterous spirits, which his whole behaviour displayed.

"You can write well now," said Harry, laying his hand upon his arm. "I hope so, sir," replied Oliver.

"I shall not be at home again, perhaps for some time; I wish you would write to me-say once a fortnight, every alternate Monday, to the General Post Office in London: will you?" said Mr. Maylie.

"Oh! certainly, sir; I shall be proud to do it," exclaimed Oliver, greatly delighted with the commission.

"I should like to know how-how my mother and Miss Maylie are,” said the young man; "and you can fill up a sheet by telling me what walks you take, and what you talk about, and whether she-they, I mean, seem happy and quite well. You understand me?"

"Oh! quite, sir, quite," replied Oliver.

"I would rather you did not mention it to them," said Harry, hurrying over his words. "Because it might make my mother anxious to write to me oftener, and it is a trouble and worry to her. Let it be a secret between you and me, and mind you tell me everything; I depend upon you."

Oliver, quite elated and honoured by a sense of his importance, faithfully promised to be secret and explicit in his communications, and Mr. Maylie took leave of him with many warm assurances of his regard and protection.

The doctor was in the chaise; Giles (who, it had been arranged, should be left behind,) held the door open in his hand; and the women servants were in the garden looking on. Harry cast one slight glance at the latticed window, and jumped into the carriage.

"Drive on!" he cried, "hard, fast, full gallop. Nothing short of flying will keep pace with me to-day."

"Holloa!" cried the doctor, letting down the front glass in a great hurry, and shouting to the postilion, "something very far short of fly. ing will keep pace with me. Do you hear?"

Jingling and clattering till distance rendered its noise inaudible, and its rapid progress only perceptible to the eye, the vehicle wound its way along the road almost hidden in a cloud of dust, now wholly disappearing, and now becoming visible again, as intervening objects or the intricacies of the way permitted. It was not until even the dusty cloud was no longer to be seen, that the gazers dispersed.

And there was one looker-on, who remained with eyes fixed upon the spot where the carriage had disappeared, long after it was many miles away; for behind the white curtain which had shrouded her from view, when Harry raised his eyes towards the window, sat Rose herself.

"He seems in high spirits and happy," she said at length. "I feared for a time he might be otherwise. I was mistaken. I am very, very glad."