"Is it so wonderful? Were you not sorry yourself, when your friend left us so suddenly?"

"No, Carry; I had no room for sorrow, regret, or disappointment. I was in perfect content with everything in the world."

into

She coloured, in silence, as she led the way the dining-room, declaring again that "luncheon was ready." But apparently neither of them cared much for that repast. It was very soon despatched, almost in silence, and then Caroline seated herself before the fire, and Vaughan took a chair beside her. He leaned his elbow on his knee, his head upon his hand, and looked up into her face thoughtfully. Some fascination seemed to lead the conversation back to the former theme.

"After all," he said, with some emphasis, "he is an excellent fellow, in his way."

"Who?" she asked, waking from her own reverie.

He smiled complacently.

"George Farquhar. I say he is a capital fellow, in his way."

"But what is his way?"

"That of a man of the world-a man who has drained life of all its sweetnesses, and is rather apt to quarrel with the dregs because they are bitter. A man of intellect that has been suffered to lie fallow; of fortune that has been misspent or wasted; of position that has been turned to no account. A disappointed, blasé, cynical man, Carry, whose nature you can hardly guess at, much less understand."

"I can understand enough to be very sorry," she said, thoughtfully. There was a pause. "I regret more than ever that he did not stay with us," she went on. "Poor man! poor Mr Farquhar! He should not have gone away."

"Of course, he is much to be pitied for not staying. But he seemed to think it inevitable that he should go, and I presume he knows his own affairs best."

"Business affairs-yes.

But there are other

things. It would have done him good, Vaughan, to have been in this pleasant country, and to have enjoyed the beautiful autumn weather we have had ever since you came down. Don't you remember

the one day at Crooksforth, how it cheered him? He was like a different person after he had been in the fresh, sweet air for an hour or two."

66

My dear child, Redwood air is dear to you, I know, and doubly dear to me. But, with all due respect for its merits and its health-giving properties, I yet doubt its power to regenerate a morbid mind."

"Oh, Vaughan! remember that one day on Crooksforth!"

"I do remember; shall I ever forget it? But it is not of him I think in connection with that day; it was too full of other things. And since then there has been so much happiness in my life, that all morbidness and misery went out of even my remembrance."

He spoke very tenderly, and for one minute Caroline shyly nestled her cheek against his hand.

"Dear Vaughan, it is precisely because I am so happy that I feel doubly compassionate to all who are not so. I yearn to give away out of my abun. dance."

"I like to hear you say you are happy. I like

And you are really

to see you look like that

happy, Caroline?"

"Have I not said?" she returned, with a bright smile. But it faded a little, as she went on-" If only my uncle were quite well, and himself again, I should be in the condition I used to repudiateI should have nothing left to wish for."

"He will get strong again, in time; never fear. Dr Barclay thought well of him yesterday, you know."

"Still it is a mysterious sort of ailment, which makes me anxious. Every day he is later in coming from his room; every day, exertion seems more painful and difficult. He was never very active; now his love of repose almost amounts to torpor. And his memory is not so good as it used to be."

"Ah!" said Vaughan, struck by the fact.

"Do you think that is a bad symptom?" cried Caroline, in eager alarm. "Dr Barclay did not take much notice when I told him; he said, with the physical weakness all mental disorder would go. And he is very cheerful, always."

"That is a great advantage. Don't frighten

yourself, or be too anxious, dear child. There is nothing dangerous in the sort of chronic influenza which, after all, my uncle's illness resolves itself into."

But Caroline's serious eyes took no new light.

"Don't look so grave, dearest. Do you know, I fancy your cheek is the least in the world less blooming than it was a week or two since. Suppose we go for a walk?”

He had no cause to complain of her want of bloom at that minute. Radiant and rosy was her blush as she replied, "Oh, Vaughan! I've something to tell you something you won't like to hear."

"You little puss! I'll punish you

"No; don't laugh. It is really something you will think disagreeable. I knew it last night, but I did not wish to vex you before there was absolute need."

"What is it, then?" he asked, with a momentary peevishness, which escaped him unawares, being the natural protest against anything disagreeable or vexatious which it was part of his character to feel, though he did not always express it.

"It is about Miss Kendal. She arrived at