to be so many, since to her it had been expressly stated that her son was unable to give any addresses. She seemed to be the only person thus cut off from communication, and she eyed the army of envelopes dubiously.

Nor did she do so altogether without a cause, for Evelyn was an excellent letter-writer; and though he did not often sit down to the desk, when he did, he could dash off a dozen notes in an hour. Besides which, he was a sociable fellow, who liked to be en rapport with heaps of people, provided only they were good-humoured and hearty, and had, as he would say, no nonsense about them.

But, unfortunately, nonsense of the kind he meant was precisely what his mother was full of; and more, what she set a high value upon. She could not forgive people who were simple enough to dislike hearing their family pedigree descanted upon; and not to set store by every eligible connection, not to make the most of every visit paid to houses of note, as well as of every distinguished personage met there, was, in her eyes, a proof of ignorance and folly.

She wondered sometimes why her son bit his lip. He could not bring himself to pander to such a taste; and when conversation wound round to the strain Lady Olivia loved, he bore as little part in it as ever he could.

In short, Evelyn was ashamed of his parent; and though he was perhaps unaware of the fact himself, there was scarcely a person he had ever known whom he could not get on with better.

He felt instinctively that a large amount of the attention she bestowed on him was due to his position and means; that her affection was begotten less of maternal instinct than of pride and vanity; and that she spoke of him in a manner that too frequently was humiliating and ridiculous. To be hawked about in her train, to be made to dance to her piping, put forward, bragged of, and puffed off here, there, and everywhere, he had early seen would be intolerable; and, while yet a schoolboy, he had declined the position.

It followed that she was afraid of him, and more solicitous about his good opinion than of that of all the rest of the world put together. With a considerable amount of trouble and forethought, she had got together at Carnochan people whom she was aware he would consider were of the right sort; and although she might complain that they had

usurped her darling during their stay, she was in secret delighted to reflect that all had passed off so well.

Had she known how much their presence had done towards weakening in Evelyn's mind the recollection of the episode which had made such an impression on him previous to his arrival, she would have been still better pleased. As it was, now that the house was again empty, she could not have chosen a worse time unwittingly to unravel his

secret.

All his former interest in it returned directly in full force, and the impulse of a frank, outspoken disposition was at once to relate his adventure, and smile over the coincidence.

It was the length of Lady Olivia's tongue which alone stopped the disclosure. He had a moment for reflection, and in that moment's interval there rose before him a vision of two dark wet eyes shining like stars as he met their full, imploring gaze, and there sounded again in his ears those softly spoken, yet most sorrowful words, which had seemed so strange in the mouth of one so young,—and all at once he understood.

Her shame and mortification at being found by him, by Lady Olivia's son, her new brother after a fashion, in all the disgrace of a naughty child, who has been turned out of the room, and is discovered hanging about upon the stairs outside, must have been at the root of those sullen looks.

So that was why she had tried to pass undetected, and had shunned his presence and inquiries?

That was the reason why she had been afraid even to speak? It was for fear of letting out her little twopennyhalfpenny secret? He had thought something much more lay beneath. It was a fiasco, the whole thing. However, since it had been no joke to her,—and since, after all, childish griefs are as great to the childish soul as those in afterlife are to the mature, he must be careful not to do nor say anything to increase the discomfort of her situation. He was partly entertained, and just a little bit let down.

It was certainly droll to find himself listening to Lady Olivia's version of the story, with the consciousness that he knew a great deal more of the matter than her ladyship had any idea of; but he felt the tameness of her explanation severely.

Another point was also cleared up. He knew now of whom he was every now and then reminded by Alice. There was

no more than the most general family resemblance between the sisters; but occasionally a movement or an expression escaped which it had bothered Evelyn's wits to think where or when he had observed before.

All of this he had to meditate upon while his mother was talking; and the upshot was resolution to hold his tongue, until he had further spied out the land.

After all, it was not the handkerchief which had led to her detection.

Had he been on the right trail by other means, C. N. might have clinched the matter; but until the name of Miss Comline fell from Lady Olivia's lips, he was not aware that he had suspected anything.

It is probable, however, that one trifling incident and another had prepared his mind for the discovery. The farmer's reticence about Carnochan-the spurious likeness between the sisters-a dozen minor details,-had all led to the same point; so that, when his mother's comment on the unsuitability of the children's governess for her position recalled to his mind what he had thought on the same subject at the Muirland Farm-what he had mentally observed on worthy Mrs Comline's informing him of her daughter's holding such a post, he was ripe for hearing, and the next moment brought conviction. He did not suspect, he knew

that he had got hold of the truth.

For some time after she had done with Kate, Lady Olivia prosed peacefully on, and she thought her son remarkably patient and pleasant that day.

He heard her out, which he did not often do. He let her flit on from theme to theme, mash up whole cartloads of exalted names, and work upon such outer rind of the gossip of society as she loved to peck at, sans interruption or yawns. He did not appear to listen, but he picked a blue tassel to pieces as if it interested him.

She felt all the glow of gratified maternity as she looked across the rug, and saw him still there at the end of two hours, when pretty Alice came in to whisper her hope that brother Rupert would not think it too great a plague to be called upon to take the ride he had promised.

"So soon?" exclaimed Lady Olivia. But of course the young lady, who looked resigned, and said nothing, gained her point. Rupert would have gone if Marjorie had asked him to mount the dun cow; but when to his readiness to

oblige was added his desire to escape, he could spring to his feet with alacrity.

"You must really not tease your brother, unless he likes to go," observed the fond parent, in some displeasure: she made rather a point of saying "your brother," since, albeit she would have dearly liked to have kept her precious son all to herself, and permitted the Newbattle faction neither part nor lot in the matter, prudence suggested so strongly the expediency of there being no notion on either side of any tie of another nature ever being formed, that "brother" and "sisters," she felt, had best be established from the beginning. She thought herself sly and clever; and to avoid confusion, since the term was adopted universally, we shall use it also.

He was to be "Rupert" to them all, at once; and though Alice had tried to be shy and hesitating, and Marjorie to be mischievous, the arrangement had been taken so much as a matter of course by the good-natured young man himself, that nothing more could be made of it.

"But are you quite sure that he cares to ride to-day?" persisted Lady Olivia, one of whose ways it was to imagine that her darling could not possibly speak for himself. "You should not worry about a thing, Alice. It is for Rupert to decide, not for you. He may prefer the boat, or a drive with me, or a walk with your father."

"Or a seat on an elephant's back," added Rupert. "There is every variety of entertainment, isn't there, Alice? Well, come along."

"You might have let him alone a little longer," proceeded Lady Olivia, with her eyes now lovingly bent on the figure before her, now reproachfully turned on the one at her side. "You should not be so insisting, my dear; it is not wellbred. We were very comfortable together.' "Poor dear!" she murmured, as the door closed behind the pair; "he is at the mercy of every one of them: he gets no peace. I am glad, however," reflectively, "that he thinks Alice is pretty. He is a good judge. What if he saw Kate!"

"Alice," said her companion, as they dropped their horses to a walk after a long canter by the river's brink, “don't you miss your sister Kate very much? I suppose you and she are all in all to each other, eh?"

“I am more than a year older, you know."
"I know. Does that include a great deal?"

"And-and I don't think we are very much alike in our ways, and-and tastes."

"You are not alike in appearance,—at least, to judge from photographs."

"Are we not? But we have only such a very ancient photograph of Kate, that you would never guess who it was meant for if you knew her."

(Indeed he had not, or his mystery would have been solved long before that morning.)

"Some people think we are very like indeed," continued Alice. "Of course Kate is darker. But they say that that is the only difference."

"Oh."

"We are not at all alike in other respects,-at least not so much as most sisters are. But, of course, I do miss dear Kate," she added, pathetically.

"The others are so much beneath you both," observed Evelyn, "that I thought probably you were great friends, and had everything in common.'

"But Kate seems nearer to them than she does to me. She does not care for things that grown-up people like. I really don't know what is to be done with her when it comes to be her turn to go into the world, for she cares for nothing at present but burrowing in the library for old books, and spouting poetry in the dark!"

Evelyn laughed.

"When we tell her not to be ridiculous," continued Alice, "she gets very indignant. It is really ludicrous to see how she takes things to heart; and you have to be so careful-of course I would not say it to any one but you,-but she has such a shocking temper. Oh, pray don't say that I told you. What made me say it? I am so provoked with myself. It slipped out before I knew. I am so sorry I told you."

"No need," said her brother, drily; "I had heard all about it before. My mother has warned me of Kate's infirmity, and even the young ones speak of it with awe. Why should you be more reticent?"

"I was afraid you would think

"That it has been exaggerated?"

This was not the meaning of her pause; she had been afraid that he would think amiss of her for adding her voice to that of the others; but she was too quick not to catch at the right thing to say, and her "yes" lay so