"Well, I am sure he was not so inexorable at Cheltenham,” Mrs. Atherton replied. "I told Grace and Ralph to-day no one could have been kinder or more considerate than he was then. Indeed, my dear, if he had not been, I never should have trusted you to him."

Ethel's brow flushed painfully.

"But Philip is most kind and careful of me, mamma," she said nervously; "and I am sure you will say so when I show you all the beautiful things he has given me." And she offered to take her mother round the long suite of rooms; led her through the long galleries and conservatories, gathered her a splendid nosegay of the choicest flowers, and ordered luncheon to be brought into her own boudoir. Mrs. Atherton hoped that Ethel would have insisted on her dining with them; but as Lady Leigh never proposed it, she did not herself know how to do so. She did not know that her child's great anxiety was to get her mother away, before Philip and his party returned home; but this was not an easy task to accomplish, when Mrs. Atherton was bent on making her visit as long a one as she could, in the hope of seeing Philip before she left, and judging for herself if the hints Grace and Ralph had given her could be founded on any thing but prejudice.

"You know Ralph is going to leave Leigh-Delamere?" Mrs. Atherton said, as she lingered over her luncheon.

"Philip told me so last night," Ethel replied, in a constrained tone, fearing what the subject might lead to.

"Yes; I was dreadfully annoyed with him when he told me so. Such a nice place as it is, and the people liking him so much, and so near to you; I can't make it out. But Ralph was always crotchety and unsettled. Nobody else would have thrown up a fellowship and married as he did."

"But Katie and he were engaged for a long time, and they seem so happy; and you know, mamma, we always said she was made for Ralph." "If the poor dear Dean had been alive, it would have been another matter; but now, circumstanced as we are, Ralph ought to have looked higher, and married somebody who could have pushed him on in his profession."

"Ralph is sure to do well; and though Kate's family cannot help him, she herself will give him her sympathy, and make a far better wife, perhaps, than a fine lady, who knows nothing of what a clergyman most needs."

"The mischief is done now, and can't be helped," Mrs. Atherton said, with a sigh; "but I do hope Grace will manage better. I shall quite look to you, Ethie, to get Grace well settled. You must ask her to see you in town. She has felt your loss very much, and it will reconcile her to it better if you can contrive to give her a little gaiety. Besides, if Ralph does throw up his curacy, she will be a tie to him. And having made such a capital match yourself, I shall depend on you to get Grace as well married as yourself."

"You may for Gracie; and

be

sure, dear mamma, I shall always do the best I can directly it is possible, she shall come and see us; but you must not forget," she said, in a constrained tone, "that neither Philip nor I can do quite as we like yet. Mrs. Leigh still exercises great control over us; and Philip, I am sure, will never do any thing to displease her or his sisters."

"Displease them! What could they be displeased at in your having your own sister with you on a visit? And so pretty and elegant a girl as Grace is too, though perhaps I ought not to say so of my own child."

"You forget, dear mamma, that neither beauty or goodness, nor virtue or accomplishments, have any thing to do with it. They think Philip went out of his way, I believe, in marrying me. The Leighs are very proud; for many generations they have never married out of their own set. I don't understand it all; but-but," she said nervously, and the colour flitted painfully over her face and neck, "they have accepted me into their family for Philip's sake. I do not think that at present I could venture to invite Grace."

"Accepted you indeed! Yes, I should think so; and proud enough they ought to be of you! Where, indeed, would Philip have found a wife to compare with you in beauty? And as to family, no one could say your family was not a good one. Your father was a Dean, and I was the daughter of a Colonel in the army. You had no fortune, I allow; but Philip told me himself he did not need it. What more could they want? And that puts me in mind," she added, almost in the same breath, and before Ethelind had time to reply, "you have never shown me your jewels, and your pretty Parisian dresses."

Glad to turn her mother's curiosity into any harmless channel, Ethel sent Valerie for her jewel-case, and showed her her prettiest dresses, and kept her eyes turned on the little pendule on the mantel-shelf, and listened nervously if she heard a footfall on the carpeted floors, dreading every time the door opened that Barbara should suddenly make her appearance among them. At last the visit drew to an end; the fly was ordered round, and Mrs. Atherton drew Ethel down, and whispered something in her child's ear. Ethelind coloured scarlet, and then as suddenly became quite pale. Her mother smiled proudly. "I am so glad to hear it, darling," she said; "an heir to Redenham will be quite sure to put you in your proper place. Now take care of yourself, and don't attempt too much. I shall be very anxious about you; I wish I could see Philip, to caution him. Young people are so thoughtless and inconsiderate." And Mrs. Atherton threw her arms round Ethel's neck, and, for the first time, they both experienced in their mutual anxiety the full knowledge of the deep gulf which now separated them from each

other.

Lady Leigh breathed a sigh of intense relief as she watched the hired fly, with Susannah's smiling face at the window, turn out of the

courtyard; then sat down to try and collect her scattered senses before Philip and his sister made their appearance. "Stephens tells me you have had visitors, Ethel," Philip said, when he came up into her room. "Did Grace tell you, last night, that your

mother was at the Rectory?"

"Mamma had not arrived when Grace left," Ethel replied quietly. "Her visit was as unexpected to them as it was to me."

"I suppose she came to urge your brother to change his mind, and not throw up his curacy?"

"My mother would not influence Ralph in any way. She is vexed about it, I can see; but I do not think she has attempted to alter his intentions."

"Then her visit was to you, I conclude?"

"I think so," Ethel replied gravely, and with a half-stifled sigh. Philip stood looking out of the window, whistling a low air. He turned round suddenly: "You told her, of course, that we left Redenham early to-morrow morning?"

"Yes, I did."

"That was right. I was afraid she might expect an invitation here; but whatever one might do in that way another day, I could not possibly have her here now."

"Whatever mamma's wishes were when she left Deignton, she was made fully aware of my inability to ask her here before she reached Redenham. Indeed, I think on the whole, she was perhaps less disappointed at our short and unsatisfactory interview, than I was at being unable to claim her as our guest."

Philip reddened. "Of course, your mother is woman of the world enough to know, when a girl marries into another set, she does not take her whole family with her. It is only some absurd notion you have picked up from your brother or sister. You yourself will grow wiser before another twelve months are over your head."

“I am wiser, Philip; far wiser, within the last fortnight, than I ever thought I should be; and I can truly say, that in my case 'ignorance was bliss,' compared with my present state of feeling;" and Ethelind buried her face in her handkerchief, and gave way to the tears she had been striving so long to keep back. Philip paced restlessly up and down the room. Ethelind's tears always unmanned him; he could bear reproaches infinitely better. He sat down, and putting his arm round her, drew her head down on his shoulder.

"It seems very hard," he said, "that a man's peace and comfort is to be thus broken in upon by people who have no business to interfere with us. What right had your brother to come here, annoying and worrying us in this way? You never wanted your mother and sisters when we were abroad. Why on earth you should be fretting after them now, I can't understand. If they would but leave you alone, you would do well enough. It will end in making you ill, I am certain; and I am

determined, if they come here any more, I will give strict orders to have you denied to them, and so put an end to the thing at once."

Ethel listened to all Philip said in mute horror; she dared not trust herself to reply; she could only comfort herself with the remembrance they would leave Redenham too early to run the chance of another call from the Rectory.

"There," he said, kissing her forehead, "now don't cry any more; you are quite unfit to come down-stairs; I will excuse you to Lady Gwynne, and tell Valerie to take care you are not disturbed." And, lifting her on to the sofa as he would have done a little child, he left her to her own reflections while he went down to dinner.

"Those Athertons are enough to drive a man wild," he said to Barbara, as they stood together, in the evening. "To be hunted out of one's house in this way is unbearable! If Clifford resigned his living to-morrow, that fellow should not have it, I am determined. And how on earth one is to get rid of him, I can't think. Of course, if he has a purpose to serve, he will stick there as long as he can, and Ethel will be ill if it lasts much longer."

"You must make a virtue of necessity, I suppose,' "Barbara said carelessly, "and find him a better berth elsewhere; I expect that is what he is scheming for."

"I would have done so willingly, if they had asked me; but to thrust himself and all his tribe on me in this way has cancelled all his claims to consideration. I strongly suspect it is the work of that eldest sister of Ethel's. She must be a strange person, to be doing all she does at Deignton; and she has great influence over the family."

"You leave this to-morrow," Barbara replied; "in London, you will cut them altogether."