siderably, but any hard work would bring on a return of headache and prostration. They had travelled to Aix-lesBains for the summer, and then back again to Nice as soon as the weather permitted. Mr. Hungerford, in his shattered state of health, was happier there than elsewhere. He would talk of moving, and speak as if a few weeks would see him strong again; still there had been no improvement; indeed, his acquaintances quite understood what the doctor told them, but concealed from Lady Selina and his children, that he would never be better, and that, should he have another seizure, it would probably be fatal. Mark's was a real repentance and reformation. The days as they came round saw him a wiser and a better His whole life was now devoted to his father, from whom he would hardly ever separate,-reading to him, walking with him, striving to lighten the heavy hours by every means in his power.

man.

A

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE HEIRESS ABROAD.

"Some girls who love to ride and race,
And live for dancing, like the Bruens,
Confess that Rome's a charming place
In spite of all its stupid ruins."

F. LOCKER.

BOUT a week before the opening of the last chapter Mr. Hungerford greeted his lady-wife with these words "Mamma, my dear, here's a piece of news that Helen tells me. I don't know whether it is true, but I'm sure I should be glad enough. She says that the Fitzroys have come, that she saw them pass the window. Very good thing for me, for if they had put off coming till-till, when was it they said? we should have been gone. I expect they hurried just to catch us-hey? Do push my chair into the sun, my dear; talk of the warmth of this place,— Trecarrow was twice as warm! Ah, Mark, that is better; thank you, my boy. Let me see: it's two years since we saw Miss Fitzroy. Pretty girl. You'd better look out, Mark, she is a great hand at flirting. Mamma, what was that story about her and that big Travers ?"

My dear, I'm sure I can't pretend to remember. Mr. Russell said-"

"Confound Russell!" angrily answered Mr. Hungerford. "I thought we had done with him."

Now, truth to say, after Mark's scrape at Baden both he and his father had pretty plainly spoken their opinions about that gentleman. Yet Lady Selina, finding him an amusing scandal-monger, and, moreover, liking it to be said that she was intimate with the reviewer and the fashionable man of letters, would not agree, and from time to time would correspond with him, keeping him posted in all their family matters. Little she knew how the intelligence in those said letters had been twisted and turned about. What did it matter to Ashton Russell whether it was friend or foe, so that he could thereon weave a chronique scandaleuse? It was of no use to try and interfere with Lady Selina, so the correspondence continued.

This was great news for all the family. Julie Fitzroy and her father were of their county, and would bring the latest local intelligence from their dearly-loved home. A search was gladly made for the new arrivals. They had not to look far; and the evening found the Fitzroys comfortably installed at the Hungerford dinner-table. "The same good-natured rattle as ever," thought Mabel, as they were sitting round the wood fire, listening to Julie's exaggerated account of her last ball in England. Why are some people spared all care and trouble, whilst others are crushed down beyond their strength? Mabel's worn, anxious face could well testify that to the full she had had her share of trouble. Julie was well-pleased to find a handsome brother with her young friends. It was pleasant

to her to be able to be at once on easy terms with him, and to excuse it on the score of old friendship with his sisters. Any one to flirt with, to keep her hand in,-otherwise she would have thought she was losing her time!

Three years, and the heiress was still single! What a curious history hers would have been from its entire emptiness! It would have been about as useful as that of a well-dressed doll; and yet by nature Julie Fitzroy was fitted for better things, and it was the very frankness of her character, the candour of her love of admiration, that made you bear with her frivolity and giddiness.

Partly concealed, but not quite hidden, lay a depth of feeling which she did not care for the world in general to know. We must just describe her in a few words, that the reader may see there was some excuse for the spoiling she universally met with.

She was very fair, dazzlingly so, with golden hair, full of natural ripples of light on its rich thick waves; blue, bright eyes; a high colour, and lips of which the scarlet put even the holly berries to shame; tall, and with a figure which, perhaps, showed too much embonpoint for four-and-twenty summers, with a ringing laugh, a little too loud, and a little too often indulged in; her teeth unimpeachable; a quick, decided voice, with good temper stamped on every feature. Such was the young lady. Her father, her devoted slave, and who followed whither she led the way, was a quiet, douce man, whose astonishment was great at some of his daughter's vagaries, but who never dared raise his voice to gainsay her. She had

had seasons in London, Vienna, and Paris; had led cotillons in London; danced till early dawn with attachés of every nation under the sun; had flirted in all possible languages; had been proposed to by English peers; penniless dragoons, rich city men, diplomats, and curates,—all had had their turn. It was amusing enough to get Mr. Fitzroy on the subject. He would wax very confidential over his evening cigar; and a story was once told of him, that one evening when the claret had been good and the company congenial, he had wound up his list of the slain victims with the observations-"Yes, my Julie has had her admirers; she certainly has, from emperors downwards I may say." But through all Julie Fitzroy had never had to cry touchée. It had been often open fencing, but she had never given way an inch; her flirtation had been thrown aside as carelessly as her gown or hat on her return from the ball, ride, or walk which had left A, B, or C distracted. Many had proposed for the heiress, but few had been broken-hearted to find that they had failed to touch the heart of the woman. She saw through most of their attentions, and knew, none better, that les beaux yeux de sa cassette had more than their fair share of admiration.

"It was a pity," Mrs. Ramsay would say, as in bygone days they had talked the young lady over, "for she has a warm, loving heart at the bottom of all that flightiness." She herself would announce that she meant to be an old maid. "I have already settled upon the villa at Richmond I mean to inhabit," she would say. "I have planned