all seemed lightened and exhilarated by their taste of the free air on Crooksforth Height. Mr Farquhar, especially, after his last reverie seemed to fling off the last suspicion of "wisdom and metaphysics," and yielded himself to the pleasurable influences of the time. A fund of quiet humour, and better still, of genial appreciation, began to be evident in this gentleman. Caroline had no idea he could be half so pleasant, so likeable. Her fastincreasing regard manifested itself in the bright glances she turned upon him, and the unconstraint and entire frankness with which she began to talk.

When she alighted from her horse, Mr Farquhar being at some little distance, she was able to relieve her mind, by whispering to Vaughan, "Oh! I was unjust to your friend. I like him so much!" With which she gathered up her long skirt, and flitted into the house.

"Vaughan," Mr Farquhar proposed, "let us take a few turns on the terrace.

like veritable elixir vitæ. Come!'

This sunshine is

But Vaughan's face was slightly clouded. He

demurred.

"I have to go to my uncle. I'll join you afterwards, if you like. Must go now." And he turned in at the wide-open door, leaving Mr Farquhar to make his way to the terrace by himself.

Chapter v.

It was late in the afternoon when Vaughan Hesketh left his uncle's room, slowly descended the staircase, and entered the study. No one was there. A fire was burning, and Mr Hesketh's great chair was drawn towards it, awaiting him. But the window was open, and on the table near, two or three books had evidently been recently laid down. Moreover, a cambric handkerchief lay on the floor beneath the window-Caroline's handkerchief, with her initials embroidered in the corner. Vaughan took it up, and regarded the fanciful letters with curious thoughtfulness for a long time. He was disturbed in his reverie by the faint sound of voices at a little distance, floating gently on the evening quiet. Yes, there she was, and Mr Farquhar beside her. Both were standing at the end of the terrace, looking at the young moon that was

just rising over the tops of the pines. The musical vibration of Caroline's sweet laugh reached his ears.

He stepped out, and taking a slanting path across the lawn, overtook them as they slowly paced the broad terrace. He noticed that Mr Farquhar was talking earnestly, and Caroline listening with interest; he noticed also that the gentleman held in his hand a shell-pink rose, which he knew must have been gathered from Caroline's own particular tree. Somewhat brusquely he broke upon the conference.

in

"Did you know you had lost this, Carry?" holding up the handkerchief.

"Oh! thank you. Is my uncle coming down

now? Does he seem better?"

"He appears pretty well, and is coming in to dinner. You have been admiring the moon, I suppose?"

"Why do you suppose?"

"Oh! you look like it. There's a peculiar sonnetish appearance in the eyes of persons under such circumstances. You'll see it in me presently. I already begin to feel in blank verse."

Caroline laughed lightly. Mr Farquhar was

silent.

"I could make a poem about you, Carry, this minute," Vaughan went on, as if restlessly bent on talking. "You look completely poetic in that white robe, with the blue shawl wrapped about you, and that fair young crescent behind your head. I allude to the moon, which evidently counts it a destiny enough to fill the ambition of a moderate moon'―to make an ornament for your back hair. I think I must get you a moon of your own, Carry, in mother-of-pearl."

"You are very kind," she responded, in her gay

est tone.

Not a suspicion of embarrassment clouded her smile. Presently she looked at her watch, and exclaiming at the lateness of the hour, she fled across the grass, and disappeared inside the study

window.

The two young men walked on for a little time in silence; then Vaughan, with some slight hesitation, commenced by saying, "I have been thinking, George, that the full disclosure I in