'But I could not, Harriette. If I am ever married, I shall, I trust, try to do my duty; but I could not bear to be an old maid. Only fancy how dreadful it would be to be like Miss Margaret Watson, or even our own Marianne!'

'But we need not be like anybody but ourselves. Good people and sensible people will love and respect us all the same, whether we are married or single.'

Perhaps; but still, as I said before, I could not bear it.' Harriette sighed, but said no more.

At dinner the following day, besides the two strangers, there were a few of the neighbours, including Mr and Mrs Johnstone of the Grange, with whom the gentlemen in question were staying, being relations of the latter. Mr and Mrs Johnstone were a strangely-matched couple. The former was a tall, stupid-looking man, about forty, well-meaning enough within the limits of an understanding bounded to the consideration of crops and cattle. Nor had he any expansiveness of heart to atone for the narrowness of his mind. He was not bad hearted, he was not cruel; but his sympathies were not larger than his understanding. He would not really have injured Harriette, but he bore her a grudge for her rejection of his suit. He would probably have forgiven a man cordially enough who had attempted to murder him; but his nature was not sufficiently magnanimous to pardon what he had taken in the light of a personal affront. His wife was a woman about thirty, handsome, but formal-looking, acute, clever, and wellinformed. But though often sensible, amusing, and even agreeable enough in conversation, she occasionally seemed to take a sort of pleasure in saying, in the kindest manner, things which she must have known her listeners could hardly like to hear. Thus if there had been a party at which one had happened not to be present, Mrs Johnstone was certain to inform him that she was 'so sorry:' it was the most agreeable party she had been at for an age; quite grievous to think you had missed it. Or if you were shewing her your greenhouse, she had seen Mrs -'s the other day, and her geraniums were exquisite: she would have given the world to have been able to carry off some for you. She had had a long conversation that very morning with Mr Hartley and Mr Clavering, in which, having remarked the direction of their flirtations the preceding night, she had given them a sketch of the Bertram family, with anecdotes, many of them very amusing, and graphically told, of Mr Bertram's fruitless attempts to get matches for his daughters, and his various disappointments: they were, she said, the laughing-stock of the whole country round. The result of this conversation was, that Arthur Clavering thought his cousin a less agreeable woman than he had supposed; but at the same time he determined to be on his guard with Harriette Bertram. But Mr Hartley had known Mrs Johnstone longer, and what she said made little or no impression upon him; he had, in fact, nearly made up his mind to marry Susan Bertram. Mr Hartley was certainly rather a clever man, with a good share of common sense, and a will of his own, but good-tempered in the main. His notions with regard to marriage were much more commonplace than those of his cousin. Good-humour and good looks were all he sought for, and were indeed the sole qualities of which in a woman he had any appreciation. As it was not in his own nature to love with romantic ardour, he did

not care about inspiring such an attachment. He had been much pleased with Susan's manners and appearance: she was just the sort of pleasant, commonplace girl to take his fancy. Possibly she did wish to be married; but what then? It was very natural, and in her conduct there was nothing forward or indecorous. Her father certainly was a drawback; but as he lived at so great a distance from him, perhaps he was a drawback of little consequence. In short, Mr Hartley was a man who valued himself on thinking for himself. He would watch Susan during the six weeks he was to remain at the Grange, and if at the end of that period he should find her what she appeared, he would make her an offer of his hand.

At dinner, half to her annoyance, half to her satisfaction, Mr Clavering was assigned to Harriette. He had come to Fernielee with the intention of being very prudent; but he had not been there half an hour ere he completely lost sight of this wise resolution. He and his fair companion fell into an even more animated strain of discourse than on the preceding evening. Inspired by Harriette's approving glance and animated reciprocation, from music and poetry he was led to speak of the sentiments and qualities of which these are but the expression-of sympathy, of generosity, faith, constancy, magnanimity, of natural and moral beauty, till at last, as he drew a picture of happiness with the true, unforced eloquence of feeling, forgetting all the littleness and meanness of life, Harriette's heart echoed his sentiments, and her eyes shone with the enthusiasm his words had kindled. And once more Arthur Clavering said to himself: 'I am sure she is perfectly single-minded, and so beautiful, and so fresh in her ideasso unlike the hackneyed, commonplace, stereotyped agreeableness even of intellectual women in London society. Meanwhile Harriette would have been perfectly happy had it not been for the fulsome attention her father paid to Mr Clavering. After dinner he led him up and down the drawingroom, exhibiting to him the family pictures with which this apartment, as well as the dining-room, was hung, descanting on the marriages and intermarriages of the family; and finally, telling him that his grandmother, ‘a very handsome woman, and one of Lord -'s family, was considered very like his daughter Harriette. Harriette is the belle of my family-indeed of the neighbourhood, it is generally allowed; and she is a very fine singer also. I am certain she will be delighted to sing for you, as you are quite a favourite of hers. Harriette, my dear, sing to Mr Clavering.' Harriette blushed scarlet.

'I am quite out of voice to-night,' she replied; 'I cannot sing. I trust our guests will excuse me.'

'Ask her to sing, Mr Clavering. I am sure,' continued Mr Bertram, with a frown at the recusant, 'she will not refuse you.'

'I cannot flatter myself that I am likely to prevail where you do not. I can only say, nothing would afford me so much pleasure as to hear Miss Harriette sing.'

Mr Clavering spoke gravely, for he saw that Harriette's feelings were wounded, and yet he could not help fancying that he was a favourite of hers the extreme mortification she could not conceal only helping to confirm him in the flattering idea. She answered somewhat pointedly: 'I trust I am always happy to oblige any one.'

6

'Nonsense, Harriette!' cried her father; she shall sing to you to-night,

No. 75.

Mr Clavering. I have desired you to sing-are my wishes nothing? Am I nobody in my own family? I suppose you think my wishes of no consequence; but I beg you to understand they are not quite so insignificant as you suppose!'

Harriette now hurriedly rose and approached the piano. She felt ready to sink into the earth with shame, and hastily opening a music-book, began to play and sing. Never had she sung so ill before; but, even hoarse and agitated though her voice was, there was in it a deep pathos-a perfect expression of the music such as Clavering had rarely heard. He was more and more charmed, but he forbore to say more than—‘Thank you!' adding, loud enough to be heard by Mr Bertram-'We must not trespass on your kindness again to-night. It would give me pain to hear you sing again, for I see it is quite an effort to you.' He then led her from the piano, and seemed to endeavour, by every sort of soothing attention, and by the most sprightly conversation, to obliterate from her memory the annoyance she had suffered. At last his efforts were successful. Harriette became once more her natural, lively self. Arthur Clavering left Fernielee that night perfectly convinced that Harriette Bertram, whatever her father might be, was no schemer for a husband, but a creature possessed of more beauty, sensibility, and mind, than any woman he had ever known. He was not ignorant of the danger he ran. He felt that he was fast falling in love; but now he had begun to think, not so much whether he ought to fall in love with her, as whether there was a probability of her loving him. Of this, however, he did not quite despair. As for Harriette, she lay awake half the night thinking of Arthur Clavering. At last her imagination was excited; at last her feelings were touched; at last she had met a man who at once excited her sympathy and respect-one who, she felt, could draw out her better self; in whose company she seemed to become a superior being. But then came the recollection of Mr Johnstone's speech: 'The Bertrams of Fernielee the greatest husband-hunters in the country!' and the remembrance of all her father's too-pointed attentions, to poison all the pleasure of her reflections. She felt that, though too polite to shew it, she was perchance an object of contempt to Arthur Clavering. In the feelings produced by this idea she was almost tempted to wish she might never see him again. The next minute, however, her heart reproached her, and she was forced to confess to herself the intense delight she experienced in his society.

III.

Thus days and weeks rolled on; and long ere the six weeks had passed Mr Hartley was Susan's accepted lover. He was now a daily visitor at Fernielee, and he rarely came unaccompanied by Arthur Clavering. The latter had now become Harriette's constant companion in her walks. Together they climbed the wild, heathery braes; together they admired the foxglove, the scarlet poppy, and the tiny blue harebell, growing among the long, wild grass on the top of rock or scaur, or peeping out amid the tangled growth which bordered the 'wimpling burnie;' together they moralised over the fading woods and the falling leaves; together they

thought and felt; and though no word of love had been spoken, there seemed to be a sort of tacit understanding between them that they were all to each other. Meanwhile the grand drawback to Harriette's felicity was the obsequious and unremitting attention her father paid to her lover. At times she felt certain that it was impossible he could believe her a party to her father's evident scheming; but often her heart was filled with apprehension lest such might be his belief. Refined, sensitive, and with even an exaggerated sense of the dignity of her sex, Harriette was wretched as she brooded over such thoughts. It was only in the presence of Arthur Clavering that she ever entirely forgot them: they were her constant companions during his absence. Her mind was distracted between love and doubt. Meanwhile it was within a few days of his departure, and if he felt love, he had not yet declared it. 'Could it be,' thought Harriette, 'that he imagined a husband-hunting girl was a fair subject for an idle flirtation?' Arthur Clavering was a man of the world, and in that great and gay world of which he was a denizen she had heard that such proceedings were not uncommon; and her cheek burned and her spirit rose as she thought of herself made the subject of such an indignity. But then came the image of Arthur Clavering; the recollection of his manly, honourable, and even noble sentiments; and her heart was soft towards him once more, and she felt that she had wronged him by her suspicions. Meanwhile Mr Bertram fretted and fumed that Mr Clavering did not propose. Not a day elapsed that he did not ask Harriette: 'Has he not made you an offer yet?' No, sir,' with a trembling lip, was Harriette's invariable reply.

6

At last one day, after the usual response, Mr Bertram remarked, with an air of wisdom: 'I have been thinking over the matter, and I have come to the conclusion that Mr Clavering is probably waiting till I break the affair to him. I shall therefore take the earliest opportunity of speaking to him on the subject, as he leaves the country in a few days.'

'I entreat, papa,' cried Harriette in an agony of distress, 'that you will not do so. It will be of no avail, I can assure you. Mr Clavering is not a man to be forced into marrying any one, nor should I accept him unless his offer were spontaneous.'

Almost for the first time Mrs Bertram ventured to oppose her husband. 'Oh, Mr Bertram !' she cried, suddenly roused from her gentle, apparently apathetic sadness, 'I beg and pray you will not so far compromise our daughter's dignity. I hope Harriette may marry Mr Clavering; but indeed you take the wrong way.'

'The wrong way, madam! Very pretty indeed, madam! Is this your respect for me? Is this the way you teach your daughters a proper deference for my opinion? Of course you and Miss Harriette know a great deal better than I do. Of course I am a fool, and have seen nothing of the usages of society. Of course I ought to allow myself to be governed by my wife and daughters; but I will not, Mrs Bertram! And allow me to tell you both, I intend to take my own way with regard to Mr Clavering, imagining myself quite competent to judge in the affair.' To such a speech mother and daughter alike felt that it would be useless to reply. After Mr Bertram's indignation had cooled a little, he inquired of Susan: 'Does Mr Hartley ever say anything to you about Mr Clavering?'

6

'Yes; he has said several times that he hoped Arthur would marry Harriette; that he was very fastidious, but that he had never seen him so much taken with any one before; and that he thought he would marry her.' 'He thought he would!' cried Harriette; and does he imagine that it depends solely upon Mr Clavering?' This speech was the signal of another from Mr Bertram, which sent poor Harriette to weep alone in her bedroom, where Susan followed her to comfort her, while Marianne agreed with her father that Harriette was a fool, and the three younger girls made up their minds that she was utterly incomprehensible. Mrs Bertram, according to her custom after such domestic scenes, took a religious book, and withdrew to the quiet of her own dressing-room, till she was summoned back by her husband. 'What was she always read, reading about?—a parcel of such canting nonsense too! She preferred her books to his society, that was very evident.'

The following morning brought Mrs Johnstone to call. She was received by Susan and Harriette, the rest being out. As she was an intelligent woman, half an hour passed away agreeably enough in conversation on general topics. She then began to allude to subjects of a more personal nature; hinted at the prospect of having Susan for a relative; and finding herself encouraged by the blushes and smiles of the latter, began to grow quite confidential. You will find Mr Hartley a very excellent man—a little peculiar in the temper perhaps, and with a will of his own; but, my dear Miss Susan, it is always the way. He is not worse than other men, and, take my word for it, matrimony is not the sort of heaven young ladies expect when they are in love. But I must not say any more on the subject, in case I should frighten your sister from following your example, which I should not wonder if she did erelong. Hey! Miss Harriette!' Harriette returned no answer; but Susan looked encouraging. Mrs Johnstone continued: Another cousin of mine is very often here; and I know’-'What do you know, my dear Mrs Johnstone?'

'Oh, I know a certain person who thinks Miss Harriette Bertram has the finest voice he ever heard, &c. &c. In short, I wonder it has not been all settled before now; but I have always remarked that men like to be tantalising.'

'Of course it is very wrong,' continued Mrs Johnstone; if they read their Bibles they would see that it is not doing as they would be done by; but I fear there is little religion in the world.'

'Yes,' cried Harriette; but we are also told to think no evil; and''Oh, my dear Miss Harriette, I really beg your pardon for interrupting you, but your simplicity, though very charming, quite amuses me. I really envy you your good opinion of mankind. I am sorry to say I know them better, and I could tell you a very different story even about my good Cousin Arthur himself; but perhaps I had better not.'

'As you please, Mrs Johnstone. It does not concern me at all.' 'Nay, but it does concern you; indeed, in one sense it is quite flattering to you, while at the same time it shews the conceit of the young man. And as it is much better that you should know what you are to expect, that you may not be disappointed, I shall tell you at once. As we were all sitting together over the fire the other afternoon, we began to talk of