after him; "what an intelligent countenance! He is your eldest, I presume and this was your youngest."

Was! She unconsciously spoke of the infant in the past tense, for she had noted its ghastly face and laboured breathing. Very, very fast was its life ebbing now.

1?" inquired Mrs. Elliot.

"How many children have you?

"None." And there was something in the tone of the short answer which told the subject was a sore one.

"You are well off," vehemently spoke Mrs. Elliot. "Better never have them, than have them only to lose. William was born soon after our marriage, in ten months, and then, for nearly three years, I had no more children. I did so wish for a girl-as did my husband. How I longed for it, I cannot tell you. The passionate appeal of Rachel I understood then-' Give me children, or else I die.' Well, a girl was born; but born to die: then another was born; but born to die: now this one, who has stayed longer with me than they, for she is fourteen months; now this one is about to die! You are well off."

"Is Dr. Elliot a good husband to you?" questioned Mrs. Turnbull. "He is a kind husband-yes-generally speaking," was the reply of Mrs. Elliot, while a vivid blush dyed her pale cheek. "But he is fond of pleasure-not altogether what may be called a domestic husband. And now, Clara, dare I ask you of my father? Two years ago I heard that he was living, and I see you are not in mourning."

"He is well and hearty. As full of business as ever."

"Does he ever speak," hesitated Mrs. Elliot, "of forging me?" "He has never mentioned you, never once. He was dreadfully incensed at the step you took. And when offended, it is so hard for him to forgive. You must remember that, Louisa."

"I wrote to him after Willy was born. And again when I lost my first little girl."

"Indeed!" cried Mrs. Turnbull. "He never told me. the result?"

What was

"Both times the same. He returned the letters in a blank cover. It is not that I want assistance from him, but I should like forgiveness." "But some assistance would not be unwelcome, I presume."

Oh, we can manage to get along. I suppose it is only right that straitened circumstances should follow such a marriage as ours. If I craved help for anything, it would be for the boy. He is a most intelligent child-as you saw by his eyes and countenance-can read as well as I can. But it is time his education was begun in earnest."

"Will you give him to me ?" eagerly asked Mrs. Turnbull. "I will adopt him, and do by him as if he were my own. Unless I am mistaken, you are shortly in expectation of another infant."

"It is so," answered Mrs. Elliot. been a fear of losing this one, have I "Then you can spare me the boy. is only to lend him, you know, Louisa; him will be great."

"Night and day, since there has prayed it may be a girl."

Talk it over with Dr. Elliot. It and remember, the advantages to

II.

TWELVE months passed away, and once more Squire Turnbull and his wife came to Wexborough for change of air for the former, bringing with them William Elliot, who was now resident at Turnbull Park.

Not long had they been at Wexborough this second time, before a disagreeable feeling, which during their former visit had stolen, like a shadow, over Mrs. Elliot's heart, rose again. Like a shadow indeed; for she would not allow herself to notice it then, and with their departure had dismissed it from her remembrance, never, she sincerely hoped, to recal it. Yet now it was forcing itself upon her with redoubled vigour the suspicion that her husband admired, not in too sisterly a way, Mrs. Turnbull; that there was too good an understanding between them. Not that Mrs. Elliot feared anything like guilt. Oh, no. Whatever opinion she may have had cause to form of her husband's laxity of morals during their married life, she was perfectly secure in her sister's principles; but that an undue attachment for each other's society had grown up, was very plain. On Mrs. Turnbull's part, it was probably nothing but gratified vanity; but Louisa had never forgotten how Clara had once, when they were girls at home together, confessed to something, very like love, for Tom Elliot. She, Louisa, had then thought that his love and admiration were given to none but herself: she now knew that, at least, his admiration was given to every handsome woman who came in his way. Few had he fallen in with so beautiful as Mrs. Turnbull; he was at no pains to conceal his sense of it, and she repulsed not the marked attentions of the very handsome physician. But all this was disagreeable to Mrs. Elliot, and as the weeks of the Turnbulls' sojourn at Wexborough lengthened into months, and her husband passed more and more of his time with Mrs. Turnbull, it jarred not only on her feelings, but on her temper. Existence seemed to possess for her but two phases: passionate love for her little baby-girl, and jealousy of her husband and sister. Never yet had she breathed a word of this unpleasantness to Dr. Elliot, but she was naturally of hasty spirit, and the explosion was sure to

come.

One afternoon, as she stood at her window holding her babe, she saw her sister and William advancing down the street. Then she saw her husband approach them, draw Mrs. Turnbull's arm within his, and lead her in. William came running up to the drawing-room.

"Where is your aunt, Willy ?" she said, as she stooped to kiss him. "She's gone with papa into his consulting-room. Mamma, who do you think is come to Uncle Turnbull's ?"

Mrs. Elliot did not heed him: she was listening for any sound from down stairs, jealously tormenting herself with conjectures what they might be doing, what talking about. Mrs. Turnbull came up shortly.

"I have had the greatest surprise to-day, Louisa," she exclaimed. "Who do you think came by the mid-day coach ?"

Mrs. Elliot answered coldly-that she was not likely to guess. "Papa."

"Papa!" repeated Mrs. Elliot, aroused from her brooding thoughts. Papa. I never was more surprised. We were at luncheon.

The

servant said a gentleman wanted to see me, and in walked my father. It seems he was at Widborough, on business for one of his clients, and being so near, ran over here this morning. But he leaves to-morrow by the early coach, and is gone now to the Royal Arms to secure a bed." "Did Willy see him?" sighed Mrs. Elliot.

"Yes. But papa took little notice of him: he never does when he sees him at the Park. I am going to leave Willy with you for the afternoon, for his presence always seems to cast a restraint upon my father. I wish," added Mrs. Turnbull, "you would give me a glass of wine, Louisa ; I am thirsty."

Mrs. Elliot laid down her infant, and brought forth a decanter of port wine. It was the same as that in Mrs. Turnbull's own cellar, Squire Turnbull having sent in a present of some to Mrs. Elliot.

"I am thirsty too," said William. "Let me have a glass, mamma." "Wine for you!" exclaimed Mrs. Elliot; "no, indeed, Willy. When little boys are thirsty, they drink water."

"What nonsense!" interposed Mrs. Turnbull. wine, Louisa."

"Give the child some

A half dispute ensued, carried on good-humouredly by Mrs. Turnbull, with bitterness by her sister. The latter handed William a tumbler of water: Mrs. Turnbull ordered him not to drink it till his mamma put some wine in it, and William Elliot, a sensitive child, stood in discomfort, his cheeks crimson, and whispering that he was not thirsty then. Dr. Elliot came in.

"Did you ever know anything like Louisa's absurdity to-day? Mrs. Turnbull said to him. Willy is dying with thirst: I say put a little drop of wine into that water, instead of letting him drink it cold, and she won't give him wine."

"He shall not have wine," repeated Mrs. Elliot. "It is improper for him."

"Nonsense!" muttered Dr. Elliot, and poured some wine into the water. His wife's face and lips turned of a deadly whiteness, with her the sign of extreme anger; she caught up the babe, and left the room.

"I must be going, Louisa," called out Mrs. Turnbull. "My father will have returned from the hotel. Good by." She went down the stairs, followed by Dr. Elliot, and Mrs. Elliot saw them walking slowly up the street together. She was boiling over with rage and indignation. Dr. Elliot did not return to tea, not, in fact, till it was time to take William home, and then came the explosion. The physician took it with provoking coolness, began to whistle, and asked whether the boy was ready. "He never goes back again," said Mrs. Elliot. "His bed is made up

at home."

"There is no reason for the lad's interests to suffer because your temper has turned crusty this evening," observed Dr. Elliot. "He shall certainly go back to Squire Turnbull's."

"When a woman can incite a child to disobey his mother, she is no longer fit to hold control over him. Mrs. Turnbull shall have no more control over mine."

"Was it worth while to make a fuss over such a trifle? As if a drop of wine could hurt the boy! Remember the obligations he is under to Mrs. Turnbull."

"Remember your obligations to me, your wife. I have borne much, Thomas, since we married, but I will not be domineered over by you both conjointly, or tamely see your love given to her."

66

Tamely!-love!" uttered Doctor Elliot; "what nonsense, now,

Louisa ?"

"Do you think I am blind ?" she retorted; "do you think I am a stone, destitute of feeling? Is it not too apparent that all your thoughts, your time, your wishes are given to Mrs. Turnbull ?"

"Oh, if you are going to begin on the old score of jealousy, I have nothing more to say," observed Dr. Elliot, carelessly, "but I think you might exempt your own sister from such suspicions. Harriet!" he called out, throwing open the room-door, "put on Master William's things, and send him down."

"I say the child shall not go back," passionately uttered Mrs. Elliot. "And I say he shall. When you have calmed down to soberness, Louisa, you will see the folly of sacrificing his advantages of education to your fancies, which are as capricious as they are unjust."

"I will apply to the law-I will apply to the nearest magistrate, rather than have my child forcibly disposed of against my will," she vehemently

continued.

"My dear, the law is not on your side, but on mine. A father's authority does not yield to magistrates," laughed Dr. Elliot. To preserve that nonchalant good-humour, was, in her present mood, as fuel heaped

on fire. She would rather he had struck her.

And the matter ended by his taking William back to Mrs. Turnbull's. "Loo's furiously savage," he thought to himself, as he went. "But she

should not take such crotchets in her head."

Mrs. Elliot certainly was "savage," as she sat alone that dusk evening. Things wore to her jaundiced mind a worse appearance than they really deserved. Her husband was magnified into a sort of demon Don Juan; her sister into a beautiful siren, who lived but to attract him, and rule over her. "Oh! the blind child I was, to fly in the face of my friends, and run away with Tom Elliot!" she bitterly exclaimed. "I suppose the act is working out its own punishment, for what a life is mine! Struggling with poverty-losing my idolised children-spurned by my father-neglected by my husband-patronised by my sister, and compelled to yield my boy to her charge! His education-there it is. It ought to go on, yet we have not the means to pursue it, and never shall, it seems to me.

"Why not ask my father?" The question came from her own heart, but with a sudden intensity that startled her to believe one must be at her elbow who had whispered it. Why not go to him now, this very moment, at the hotel, and press it on him?"

Mrs. Elliot was in the excited state that sways to action. Calling the maid to sit up-stairs, lest the child should cry, she put on her things and

went out.

The Royal Arms was not far off; a handsome hotel with a flight of steps and a blazing gas-lamp at its entrance. She turned her face away from its light. The landlord himself happened to be crossing the passage.

"Is a gentleman of the name of Freer stopping here?" inquired Mrs. Elliot.

"Freer? No, ma'am."

"A friend of Mr. Turnbull's in the Crescent," she explained. came in this afternoon and engaged a bed." "Oh, that gentleman-I did not know his name.

ma'am."

"The same."

"He is not come in yet."

"He

Wears a bag-wig,

But, as they stood there, some one else came up the steps, and passed them without notice; an old gentleman in a bag-wig. The landlord was pressing forward to mention Mrs. Elliot, but she clasped his arm to restrain him.

"Not here, in this public passage," she whispered, shrinking into a corner. "I will follow him to his bedroom. I am his daughter. There has been a difference between us, and we have not met for years. If you have children you can feel for me."

The landlord looked at her compassionately, at her pale face and visible emotion. He stood before her till Mr. Freer had received his candle from the hands of the waiter and had gone up-stairs.

He was winding up his watch when Mrs. Elliot entered. She closed the door and stood before him. He turned round in surprise, but he did not recognise her in the dim light. Her agitation was great, she became hysterical, and fell forward at his feet.

"Oh, father! forgive, forgive me!" she sobbed out. Mr. Freer started back from her, almost in affright.

"Louisa!-Elliot! you! what brings you here?" The Christian name had arisen involuntarily to his lips. He seemed to add the other by way of counteracting his familiarity.

"Sorrow brings me here-misery brings me. Father, I cannot live without your forgiveness. I think you must have cursed me, and that the curse is clinging to us, for nothing has prospered with me since I left your home.'

"I have not cursed you," he said, still standing aloof from her. " Will you accord me your forgiveness?" she continued to ask. "Yes; if you can be satisfied with the letter and not the spirit." She looked at him inquiringly, her lips parted, her thin white hands clasped in supplication.

"If to say that I forgive you will avail, that forgiveness you may take," he said, answering her look. "But when you cast me off, to become the wife of Thomas Elliot, you put a bar to all future intercourse between us."

"Your full and free forgiveness," she continued to implore.

"My free forgiveness," he repeated, "but not my friendship. You have your husband's."

"He has not been to me the husband I expected-hoped for," she cried, saying more than she would have said but for the jealous, angry feeling that was rife within her, so especially on that night.

The lawyer smiled, a grim smile. "Few wives, when they marry as you did, do find their husbands what they expected."