I hope we shall never quite give up Great Copley-dear old place! "

"If you went away you could have Mrs. Gray and Ambrose and Maud to visit you; and think how good seabreezes would be for Ambrose."

"I do not quite know; he never thrives away from Town Head House. But Criff-dear old Criff!-I should see little of him; editors cannot get away for weeks together, like clergymen and lawyers can. It would seem so strange to feel that Criff and I were actually living many miles apart."

"That was the case when you were in Italy. There was the sea between you then."

"Ah! but I knew I was coming back here; and I was thinking all the time of how much I should have to tell them at home. I knew how Christopher would enjoy our description of Mentone and San Remo."

'Ethel, it is very silly of you to think so much about Christopher. Now you are married your chief thought

should be for your husband."

"And so it is!" she interrupted quickly, her sweet face flushing and the tears rising in her eyes. "Oh, George! you know you are first! Criff is very dear, but you are dearer still; yet he is my brother, and he has no wife to love him best. You must not mind my caring for him next to you, George."

"My pet, don't cry!" and the tears were soon kissed "I suppose Criff will get a wife of his own one of these days."

away.

"I don't know anybody good enough for him," said Ethel, foolishly. She was beginning to find out that Criff's praises were not exactly music in George's ears.

"Beside," she continued hurriedly, seeing the cloud again on her husband's face, "he cannot marry as things are; when Maude marries, perhaps-but then he will have to take care of Mamma and Ambrose, unless—

"Unless what, my dear?"

"Unless we did something; and if we are to be very rich, we might might we not, dear?"

"To be sure," said George, promptly. If he was careless in his expenditure, he was always open-handed; he liked giving it was a real pleasure to him; and as for promises he was ever ready with any stock of them. "When things are straight, Ethie—when everything is in my own hands— we will see what can be done; only, why on earth Criff doesn't speak now, I cannot divine. She has enough for two families, or twice two, for the matter of that.” "She !-who do you mean, George?"

"Marcia Trevanion, of course."

"What about Marcia Trevanion?"

“You little silly! cannot you see that Christopher is in love with her?"

"Christopher in love, and with Marcia: oh, George, you take my breath away!"

“And is it quite news to you?"

Quite. And Marcia ?”

"Ah, there I am not so sure. I should not be surprised if Master Criff, when he does speak, should get a rap upon his knuckles to punish him for his presumption."

Ethel looked pained: it was the tone more than the speech itself that jarred upon her ears. She felt instinctively that George thought her brother presumptuous, and that he would be glad if the said "rap" were most unmercifully inflicted.

66 Shouldn't you like Criff to marry Marcia?" she asked timidly.

"No, I should not," he replied, bluntly.

"Why?"

"I cannot tell you, Ethel. I should not like to marry a rich wife, when I had nothing of my own. I should not care to be the husband of an heiress."

"But are you quite sure that Criff does care about her?" Pretty sure."

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"Poor Christopher! No wonder he looks so worn and

wearied. What a terrible thing an unrequited attachment must be."

"Ah, but Criff is so sensible, so philosophical, so wonderfully wise, that there is no danger of his dying of a hopeless attachment. Of course he has more strength of mind than to fret himself about a woman's heart, though he may like her personally, and have intense yearnings towards her rentroll and her bank-book."

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'George! but you are only in fun. You know Criff is not mercenary."

"I know Criff is only a mortal man, and not a demi-god, as you imagine him to be. And he will soon be an editor out of place—the foolish fellow! Now, my child, dress for dinner, will you, and put on the silver-grey moire-antique, with the black lace, and the pink coral ornaments; and, Ethel, just take your hair a little further back—so.”

"I understand. I am glad you spoke, for I thought of putting on my blue silk. Oh! George, I saw Rachel

Meacham to-day."

"Well, what of that? You have seen her a hundred times before."

“But she was so strange; she would scarcely speak to me. And she looks so ill, poor girl. She is lovelier than ever, though; her face looked like a white cameo: all her beautiful bloom is gone, and she is very thin."

"Is she?"

"Yes, but she looks none the worse, and her features are so perfect that she does not need colour to set her off, though there did come a pink flush on her face, just for a moment, while I spoke to her. I could not quite make her out; but I suppose she thinks that now I am married I am a great lady, and not to be spoken to, as was Miss Ethel Gray."

"Of course, that makes all the difference."

"And George, she wore a lovely carved ivory cross, just like those we were admiring at Dieppe. It might have been the very one we noticed so particularly. You remember a

plain cross wreathed about with passion flowers and lilies? I wonder how she got it. She could never buy it here in Copley; besides, a hundred francs is a good deal for a girl like that to give for an ornament, and—”

But George had shut himself into his dressing-room, muttering something about dinner being nearly ready, and Ethel laid out her coral ornaments, wishing she had asked George to buy her the flower-wreathed cross they had seen at Dieppe. What would she have said had she known the truth—that George had bought the cross, and not for her ; that he had given it to Rachel Meacham as a sort of peaceoffering after his marriage, and that she was wearing it as a treasured keepsake from him? For while she was making purchases in another shop, George had rushed away, as he said, to buy a photograph of the church of St. Jacques; and he had bought the photograph, which he showed triumphantly to his wife, and the ivory cross as well, which, as he had decided on its destination, he very naturally did not show.

"MAMMA, how well Maude is looking to-night!"

She was indeed. Maude Gray had suddenly lost her school-room air, and developed into a very charming young woman. Her face had all the classic beauty of her twin brother's, and much of the sweetness and intellectual power of Christopher's; it was very evident that, as far as looks were concerned, she would by far outshine her sister; and Ethel herself, far from regretting at the prospect of suffering eclipse, rejoiced in the promise of the girl's superior beauty and cleverness. Maude was a spirited young lady, and she

liked to speak her mind, and was by no means afraid of telling people what she thought, or of proclaiming her dissatisfaction, and the reasons thereof, whenever it appeared to her that anyone was intending to perpetrate a folly, a mistake or, worst of all, an injustice! With her whole heart she applauded the bravery of Mr. Lewiston's party, and she gloried in her brother's adhesion to the unpopular cause, comparing him to the Gracchi, to Aristides, to Epaminondas, to all the worthies of ancient celebrity, and to not a few patriots and philanthropists of later days.

Ethel never knew till she had left her girlhood's home how much she had leaned upon Christopher. And that was not surprising, for all the house leaned upon him, and looked up to him for counsel, and guidance, and for help and extrication from every difficulty; but her affection for her elder brother was quiet, though deep, and certainly, as a rule, undemonstrative, and mingled largely with implicit trust and reverence. Maude reverenced him too, and her confidence in him was unbounded; but her love for him was an enthusiasm, and she was angry with anyone who presumed to question the wisdom or the perfect excellence of his slightest actions.

It was Mrs. Trevanion who remarked to her mother how well Maude was looking, as indeed she was, sitting by George and talking to him in her own earnest and all but irresistible way about the coming election. Her dark eyes were all a-blaze with the excitement of her subject; her whole face was lighted up with soul and intensity of feeling. She was very simply and inexpensively dressed, and her rich raven curls fell in luxuriant clusters round her stately neck, that made one think of the polished shaft of a slender marble column. There was almost passionate eloquence in her words, and George felt himself well nigh carried along by her ardent manner, and her impetuous and nearly unanswerable flow of argument. She was angry, too, though she reined in her displeasure as a gentlewoman should, and disdained to resort to recrimination, or to raise her voice above

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