any remarks as to what was or was not suitable for him.

Then as to this discovery, of course he could not be sure even now that his mother was wrong; but with any doubt in his mind he could not have a share in

Greystone," etc. etc.

CHAPTER LII. AT UNTERBERG AGAIN.

As we have seen, Unterberg was not a town which could in any way be called lively or fashionable. From month to month its life certainly varied as did the seasons. There were fresh soldiers, fresh students with fresh scars after their many duels; but when all was said, the old town always looked much the same to the rare stranger who returned to the quaint place. Austin had travelled very quickly in order to find out something he wanted to know at Unterberg. He did not waste his time on the Rhine, nor, indeed, did he stop anywhere that was not absolutely necessary; for the winter did not make the country look inviting, and the traveller had no temptation to linger.

Austin thought the German trains unpardonably slow-all the slower because his mind was never at rest. He was deeply grieved at what had happened at home; but what troubled him most was that he could no longer place his mother on the mental pedestal she had always occupied. Was it this horrid money that had made the difference? Money was certainly the root of all evil. Ah, if only they had never come in for James Gordon's money, then his mother would not have made plans about heiresses for him, and would not have entertained such exalted notions about her only son. He might have married Grace without

him a handsome cheque which would last him some time, and then what Grace said and did would settle his future career.

Unterberg at last was reached one cold winter's evening. Quickly he jumped out of the train, and leaving his portmanteau, he walked hastily through the familiar avenues and streets towards the Professor's house. How happy he had been in that spot, which to most Englishmen would have appeared dull enough! It was there that he had known what is the greatest event of any human life

the finding out that it loves some one beyond itself-some one who stands in the place of the self who has before, even if unconsciously, been alone worshipped.

The house door was shut now, and Austin had to ring, whereupon it was opened to him by the porter who lodged below, and who was a stranger to Austin. He ran quickly up the stairs; he even paused before Frau Hanson's door, hoping he might hear or see Grace coming out; but, thinking better of this conduct, he hurried up the next flight of stairs, rang the bell, and asked if the Professor or his lady were within. Yes, of course, they were never out, and in another moment Austin was receiving a warm welcome. Why had he come? Was he staying in the town, or would he stay with them? His room was not occupied. The real, hearty welcome was quite a pleasure to Austin,

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only he was longing to come to the point. At last he said:

"And how are Frau Hanson, Gretchen, and the English ladies?" The Professorin took up this thread at the same time as she took up her grey knitting; she could spin a tale about her neighbours, at all events.

"Frau Hanson is just the same as ever; she has very few ideas, but she is a good woman; she will be very glad to see you, I am sure. Gretchen still talks of the English gentlemen; she has improved very much; indeed, some say she is a very clever child. She talks English like a native. That dear miss was a great blessing to her."

"Does she still learn with Miss Evans?" asked Austin, to get quicker to the point.

"Ach! do you not know? No, how should you? Let me see, it was after you went. You remember the letter you sent me? Why, strange, it was only this morning I was talking of you, because that letter was at hand. When I had read it, I wound a great ball of grey worsted round it, and it was this very morning that I finished the worsted around it, and your letter dropped out. It was because of that worsted that I could not give your letter to Fräulein Grace. Yes, I remember, she said she was sorry; but then it does not matter now, you are more likely to see her now than I am." "Why?" asked Austin, not understanding all this rigmarole, and yet feeling something was altered.

"Because the two English girls went away quite suddenly—to London, I think. Fräulein Grace was quite excited about it, and Frau Hanson did say- Austin really heard no more; after all, his haste and rashness were punished. Every hour which he had fancied was taking him nearer to Grace had in truth placed only greater distance between them; and here he was in the depth of winter in a dreary -yes, absolutely dreary-German town, having accepted the kind Professor's invitation to stay with him. What should he do? How should he get out of his bargain? How, indeed! But there was nothing to be done now-nothing but to call himself names, and declare that his evil star was in the ascendant.

However, evidently he managed to put in the right answers, for the Professorin talked on very happily for a long time, and when she was tired the Professor took up the thread of her discourse.

"And how is our young friend, Herr Chones? Does he still read the 'Sorrows of Werther'? Together we never finished it. That was a pity, but perhaps it was happily so; the immortal Goethe would not have admired our young friend's mind." He tapped his forehead as of old, but even this well-remembered trick could not make Austin smile. He was too anxious to hear about Grace. Where had she gone; who knew her address ? Gradually the unpleasant idea came to him that he had been a fool to rush off without first writing to find out if Grace were there; and how he would make himself talked about if he absented himself from his sister's wedding, for Austin never doubted that everything would come off as his mother had decided.

Why had he not stayed at home and sifted the matter thoroughly; and, above all, why had he not found out whether Grace was at Unterberg before coming? He found himself obliged to change his tactics and invent an excuse for his coming.

"You are very kind to ask me to stay here, but indeed I am only a bird of passage, and I felt bound to come and pay my Christmas respects to you. However, I must be off to-morrow again, so I will go and see Frau Hanson this evening."

"Do; but you must stay over Christmas. A German Christmas is so hearty."

"I am sorry to say I cannot. My sister is going to be married, and I ought to be present at the ceremony." Which was true enough; so presently Austin walked sadly downstairs, feeling altogether out of tune, and wondering how people could go on living in this dormouse kind of way, which thought, it must be remembered, had not entered his head when he was daily seeing Grace walking about the old German town. He found Frau Hanson near her stove reading a story-book to Gretchen, and it need not be said how surprised they both were, and what genuine pleasure they displayed at his appearance.

"And you can, of course, tell us about Fräulein Grace," said Frau Hanson, almost immediately. "She is in London, and you live near to London, you told us."

London had, in the imagination of these good folk, no greater dimension than Unterberg.

"No, I have not see the English sisters. expected you would tell me all the news." "Fräulein Grace wrote to me once," said Gretchen, "such a nice letter all in English; it took me quite a long time to make it

out, but I did at last. I will show it to you if you like. Wasn't it a pity you didn't give her a ring? See, here is my ring; I wear it every evening and on fête days," and the demure maiden became suddenly eloquent, for her English friends had opened her mind considerably. She seemed now to have a very large circle of friends in spite of their living so far away. Austin eagerly accepted the offer of seeing Grace's letter, and it was at last, after much searching, found in Gretchen's desk.

Austin looked first at the address, 18, Audley Street. How was it Grace was there? What was she doing?

"Is her home in London now?" asked Austin, finding it quite as impossible to draw out any real news, but feeling rich indeed now that he had her address.

"Yes," said Gretchen; "they went away quite suddenly one day, and I do believe, Herr Jones, that the Fräulein is married, and she is shy about it. See what she says and she only ends 'Grace.' I don't know whether to write Frau or Fräulein

now."

"Nonsense, Gretchen; she would have told us the news," laughed Frau Hanson; but all the same the idea took possession of Austin's mind. That was it; yes, some old lover had turned up-that friend she spoke of, and she had gone back and was living in Audley Street. This was the letter, and Austin read a great deal between the lines.

"MY DEAR LITTLE GRETCHEN, - We went away so suddenly that I did not say half what I wished to say to you. I wanted to thank you for a great deal of happiness and love-more than you know of, child. Never mind; when you are grown up and are a big girl I will tell you about it, and you shall come and see me in my home. Yes, Gretchen, I have a new home-such a very, very happy one-where I can feel safe from all misfortune; but how I got it would be too long to explain. You shall know that, too, when you are bigger. Sibyl lives with me and with the loved person who has given us this happy home-some one I can never love enough. You will like to hear this, child, and so will your mother and the Professorin. How kind she was when we were in trouble and when my sister was ill. London is a big place-so big and sad for those who are not happy. I never could have expected I should have loved it as I do; indeed, I never expected

to love any place at all again, but I was wrong. God heals old wounds and makes little green twigs to come forth from the old brown bark. You don't know about that yet, Gretchen, but you may some day, and you will then think about your old friend who told you this. Write to me in English, and then I shall still be teaching you a little, and some day you must come and see me in this big, big London.-Your affectionate friend, "GRACE."

"I think Gretchen is right," said Austin, folding up the letter; "indeel, I feel sure she is. Miss Grace is married." He said it very deliberately, but it seemed to him as if all the lights in God's big world had gone out suddenly. This, of course, explained Grace's conduct; perhaps that mysterious he had once forsaken her, and in her sorrow she had turned towards him

Austin-for comfort. Then most likely the misunderstanding had come right and she had found happiness. What a selfish brute he was not to feel for her joy; but this he found nearly impossible-he could not do it; he had woven plans, such plans for his Grace and himself, and now all his dreams faded away. Life was a great mistake; even his mother had forsaken him, and all the old landmarks seemed cut down.

So it was with a kind of desperate despair that he rose at last and went away, for even forsaken lovers have to go on talking and answering questions; and however unhappy they may be, they have to hide their deepest suffering.

Unterberg reminded him too much of Grace; he now felt only impatient to leave it, and forced himself to go again to the Hansons' and say good-bye. He found them in a great and pleasing excitement. A lodger was coming who would pay well— quite a godsend to the widow; he was a rich artist, and if you gave them little furniture and plenty of room, artists were quite convenient people and especially rich ones. Fräulein Grace was almost forgotten in the excitement, only Gretchen did say:

"If you see Frau Grace, tell her I will come and see the big London; don't forget."

Austin went out once more into the town before starting to the station and bought presents for all the good people who were looking forward to Christmas. For Gretchen Austin purchased a gold chain with a locket to wear round her neck; Grace had loved her, so he thought, and

that was the secret of Gretchen's luck that day. However, one good had come out of all this. He had got Grace's address in Audley Street, even if by going to see her he found that she was no lor ger Grace Evans.

CHAPTER LIII. THE OTHER GIRLS.

EVERYBODY was more or less out of The tune at this time at the Warren. reason for this, on the outside at least, was merely the ordinary worries of life in a week before a wedding. The dressmakers would not send home the dresses; the bridesmaids were much dissatisfied with their colours-they did not all match; one of them wrote to say she could not wear the shoes selected by the other five, whereupon Minnie declared she wouldn't pair with her-it would spoil the look. The wedding-cake was delayed on the road; and Mrs. Gordon, through one friend, heard that another friend was much hurt at not being invited.

Beatrice tried not to be worried about such minor evils; she hardly went out except alone on the heath, which looked somewhat dreary now, except when flooded by sunshine, and all the while her mind would recur to that journal. It was very foolish of her, of course, since her Colin had said it was all right; but somehow she could not help it. One day she even went down to the cottage where she had first heard of the young ladies, and tried to draw out the woman about them; but by this time the poor woman had heard the truth about them-how they had been "mistakes," as she put it-and felt shy of talking to Miss Gordon about them. Her information did not go further than "Poor things, miss, they was very genteel-looking, all the same." Coming out of the cottage, Beatrice encountered Dr. Smith; she knew him by sight, barely more; but to-day she felt impelled to talk to him. Surely he must be the very man mentioned in that diary. Their road lay the same way; he was taking a short cut across the heath to a distant part of the parish. Naturally, he would merely have bowed and passed on, for he felt somewhat shy of these grand Miss Gordons, and always jealous for his own favourites; but to-day Beatrice would not let him pass on.

"You visit Mrs. Dance, I think, Dr. Smith," she began, shyly; "how do you think she is now?

I

what was said of her. For my part, never could add a word of blame to what is already said; and though I do not doubt the fact, yet there must have been some mystery about her, which no one has yet discovered."

"Suppose," said Bee, earnestly, forgetting her mother's warning-even what Colin thought-"suppose she had married, Dr. Smith, and that for some reason James Gordon would not let her own herself his wife; suppose he had done such a very wicked thing, do you imagine that would account for the mystery?"

"Yes, certainly it would; but then how about afterwards? She died very soon and so young; and the girls grew up with James Gordon, and he never once alluded to the subject. Your idea is too improbable."

"That is difficult to understand. Yes, I suppose impossible; and yet the poor wife certainly believed this to be the case, so he must have deceived her."

Dr. Smith stood still from sheer surprise. What was Miss Gordon talking of He had himself sifted the matter with Mr. Blackston; he knew all there was to be known; and yet here was a young girl, a stranger, talking about the mother of Grace and Sibyl as if she had known her.

"I beg your pardon, but you are talking of what you know nothing about," he said,