en door had been left open, and there was no reliance to be placed on Flower. In all likeli-ure. hood he had come home in a state of drunken- seriously what you say now in a generous imness, as was his wont-a state in which, how-pulse of pity." ever, he seemed always to possess a mechanical

Again he interrupted me, this time gripping power of attending to his stable duties. Flower my wrist until the pressure of his fingers hurt had never been known to neglect a horse, father was accustomed to boast in speaking of the man. I explained my errand in a word or two, and taking up a small lamp which had been left burning in the hall, I made for the kitchen.

this to-night. Let me go to mother. She is, and ought to be, my first consideration."

66

But you are mine, Anne! First and best and dearest. There, I will not try to detain you. I will press for no answer now. I have eased my heart by speaking. Think of me a little kindly if you can."

We returned to the sitting-room, where mo- makes me say so, nor any prejudice against ther was standing at the open window. Gervase. I like him. He is genial and kind-"

66

'How close and heavy it is!" she murmured, without turning her head, as she heard us enter. "Not a breath stirring! Is the house secured?"

We told her that it was so. And then Mr. Lacer took his leave.

"You must walk? It is late. You have no apprehension? Our road is generally safe enough. But at this time-" 66 Apprehension None whatever. People will be about all night long. And, though it is late for Water-Eardley, it is really not such a terrible hour. It wants half an hour to midnight. God bless you, Mrs. Furness! I will be here betimes in the morning."

He went away into the sultry darkness.

I was so weary that I thought I must fall asleep the instant my head touched the pillow. But as soon as I was in my bed I was haunted and haunted by troops of thoughts and fears and fancies that rushed through my brain and broke my rest.

Only as the dawn began to glimmer through my window did I fall asleep. And I woke with a violent start, as if I had been struck, when the sun was high.

CHAPTER XXXII.

I was first in the breakfast-room; but mother presently stole down stairs, white and noiseless as a ghost.

"Your father is asleep," she said, almost in a whisper, although his room was far out of ear-shot. "I have no heart to disturb him. It is better that he should sleep."

"I am sure, mother," I broke in, "that we have reason to like him, and to be grateful to him."

She made no answer.

"Is it not generous and noble on his part to ask me to be his wife at the very moment when when loss and trouble have fallen upon us?" "Do you think he is the only one that could be so generous? Love does not reckon and balance in that way."

"I can not be insensible or unmoved by it, mother."

"That is pity and gratitude. Gervase is too chameleon-like. He has no holdfast in himself. He takes his colors from those he is with, and sways backward and forward weakly."

"He has been steadfast enough to father," I said, with a little touch of indignation; for I thought she was hard on Gervase.

"Against what temptation to be otherwise? His is just the nature to flatter itself that it is devoted to friendship at the very moment it is simply following the current of its own inclinations. But I will not vex you, my child. If you loved him indeed-"

She stopped and returned my glance with a wan half smile. "No, Anne; you do not love him. Ah, no, no, no! If you loved him, I should be anxious and uneasy. Many things would conspire to make me so-things that I am only now beginning to see in their true light. as it is hard! Was that your father's bell? Is he stirring yet?"

But

Mother glided out of the room and up the stairs with a light, stealthy tread.

The idea of my father's waking, and all that In truth, we both dreaded the moment when, it involved, came to banish, in a measure, the awaking from the heavy stupor that steeped thoughts called up by the conversation that had him in forgetfulness, he should live to the full just come to an end. They remained in abeyconsciousness of all that had happened yester-ance, as it were. I listened breathlessly for a day.

long time.

There was no sound to be heard I persuaded mother to take some tea. For up stairs. Mother must have been mistaken, a long time she refused to attempt to eat, say- I thought. I stole up to the door of my paing that she felt as if food would choke her. rents' chamber. It was open, and I entered But I finally succeeded in getting her to swal- softly. Father was up and dressed, sitting by low a few mouthfuls, on the plea that if she a little table on which he leaned his elbows, broke down and fell ill it would be an over- while his face was hidden in his hands. A cup whelming blow for father. I told her, as we of tea stood untasted beside him. Mother was sat at the breakfast-table, what Gervase La- bending over him, with her hand upon his cer had said to me last night. She leaned her head. She looked up as I entered, but said head on her hand, and looked at me thought- no word. fully. "I expected this," she said. "What answer did you make him?"

"I told him that I could make him none at that time, mother," I replied, casting down my eyes under her gaze.

Presently my father groaned aloud. "Go away and leave me, Lucy. I am a wretch. You can never forgive me. You must hate me."

"Oh, George, if you knew what a knife you

plunge into my heart when you say so! Though I know, darling, you don't mean it-yet I can not bear to hear the words."

"Oh, Lucy, Lucy, you are an angel from heaven! Oh, my poor, gentle Lucy! I— shall-die," he said, in a hoarse whisper, and You must hate me. You drawing a long gasping breath between every two or three words.

Mother made a sign for me to go away. As

"I do mean it. ought to hate me." "Hate you, my own one! Oh, George, George! if I could hate you, whom should II closed the door I saw her kneel down on the love?"

"Those who have done you good, and not evil-who have not ruined and disgraced you and your child-your father." And he groaned again in his misery. It was the first time that he had voluntarily mentioned my grandfather for many a long day, and I noted it.

"You know, George," returned mother, with a quiet air of conviction, "that you are the first and dearest in the world to me. It would be late in the day for you to begin to doubt that, or for me to protest it."

"So much the worse for you, my poor girl! So much the worse-so much the worse. Mother took up the cup and offered it to his parched lips. "Take some tea, dear George," she said. "It will do you good."

He turned away with a gesture of disgust. "Pah!" he exclaimed; "I can't touch it. I can't touch any thing, unless- Get me some brandy." He saw me standing hesitatingly just within the door, as he turned his head away from the cup mother was proffering to him, and fixed a haggard gaze on me.

What a face it was that I saw! White, with burning eyes and stubbly beard, and wild, unkempt hair! Father seemed to have grown

ten years older since yesterday.

"Is that you, Anne?" he said, hoarsely. "Poor lass! It is a hard thing to have to be ashamed of thy father."

floor and put her arms round my father, and I heard the murmur of her voice lavishing every fond and loving epithet upon him she could think of, and beseeching him to be comforted.

Down stairs I found Mr. Lacer, who had just arrived. He asked for my father, and how Mrs. Furness was this morning, in nearly his ordinary tone. Then he looked at me wistfully, and said:

"How I wish, my dearest, that it were any comfort to you to know that I love you better than all the world besides! That your happiness and welfare are the dearest wish of my heart! Well, Anne, I will say no more at this moment if it distresses you. But-you will owe me some kindness for my patience, Anne? Throw me a crumb or two of hope to live on, won't you? Not even a kind look ?"

This tone was distasteful to me. And as I felt that it was so-as I shrank away from the hand he stretched forth to take mine, mother's words came into my head: "You don't love him, Anne. Ah, no, no, no!" I own to a perverse vexation on remembering them. I was unreasonable, irritable, and altogether out of tune. But I made a struggle to conceal, if I could not overcome, the feeling.

Mr. Lacer began to move restlessly about the room. Now looking out of the window into the flower-garden; now idly fluttering the leaves of some books of prints that lay on the side"Ashamed!" echoed my mother, fixing a table. Where was my father? Was he not kindling eye on me as though to prompt me to coming down? A headache? Well, some sodaprotest against the word. But I was tongue-water and brandy would cure that, and the fresh tied. I could not utter a syllable. air; or, if not cured, it must be endured. Time was precious, and the morning was slipping away.

"Ay, Lucy, ashamed. The girl would fain tell a lie and deny it, but she can not. You may thank God for that, Lucy. I mind the time when I could not have told a lie to save my life. Oh-h-h!"

He uttered a long-drawn, quivering sigh, partly extorted by bodily pain; for as he closed his heavy eyelids and pressed his hands to his brow, it was easy to see that he was suffering from a racking headache.

"And

"Won't you try to take any thing, my darling?" said mother, in a coaxing tone. let me bathe your forehead. There-so. That's my own dear. Poor, burning forehead!"

She drew his head on to her breast as if he had been a child, and steeped her handkerchief in some sweet waters and laid it on his brow. Father remained passive for a second or two. Then his broad, strong chest began to heave, and the great veins stood out on his forehead like cords, and he burst into a terrible passion of tears. Terrible it was very terrible to me, to see the powerful man's frame gasping and struggling, and to hear his laboring sobs.

"What is there to be done that is so pressing? Must my father go into Horsingham ?” I asked.

"Yes, yes; he must go, of course. And so must I. I have appointments with-several people. And this is the last race-day, and the Horsingham Plate will be run for at three-" Mr. Lacer checked himself, and turned away abruptly to the window.

"Oh, you are not going-father is not going again to that dreadful race-course?"

"I don't suppose Furness need show there." "But you? Are you going?"

"I must!" he answered, sharply, and with an impatient frown on his face.

A week ago I should have remonstrated against this resolution. Now I felt it was impossible for me to assume any privilege of intimate friendship with Gervase Lacer. His sternness displeased me less than his tenderness. And again mother's words rang in my ears: "You do not love him, Anne. Ah, no, no, no!"

"I wish," said I, after a minute's pause, into the gig, and by the time the vehicle was "that grandfather were here."

Gervase turned quickly, and asked, with eagerness, "Has Doctor Hewson been here? When did you see him last?"

"He has not been at Water-Eardley for many weeks. Mother spoke of sending for him. But she feared it might displease my father if she did so without consulting him. And now, less than ever, would she dream of disregarding father's wishes. So she waited until she should be able to ask him about it, and hear what he would say.'

"She was right. She was quite right." "I should like grandfather to be at hand on her account. But self is her last consideration

always."

"I trust that I should wish that which was best for her and you. But-I have no reason to desire Doctor Hewson's presence for my own sake."

"You? Why not?"

"He is an enemy of mine-or, at least, no friend."

I was taken by surprise, and felt that I flushed and stammered as I tried to combat this assertion. I had a secret conviction that it was true, although I could not in the least tell how I had arrived at the conviction.

ready he supposed that father also would be | ready to accompany him to Horsingham. And so left me.

Presently my father and mother came down stairs. Father was ready to go, he said. The servant had brought him word that Mr. Lacer was waiting for him. But in a very few minutes Mr. Lacer came hurrying into the house declaring that he could not find Flower, and that the two women-servants said they had not seen him that morning.

Father was sitting huddled together on the sofa, holding his hat in his hand. He scarcely raised his eyes at Mr. Lacer's intelligence.

"Is the mare in the stable?" asked my mother. Yes; the mare was safe in the stable, but Flower was nowhere to be seen.

"It's my belief the fellow has bolted," exclaimed Mr. Lacer. Father muttered something about a falling house, and the rats flying from it; but neither rose nor moved.

"Well, what is to be done? We must get into Horsingham somehow," cried Mr. Lacer, after standing irresolutely for a few seconds looking from one to the other. "If you will tell me where to find the harness, I'll put the horse into the gig myself."

"Is it absolutely necessary that you should go to Horsingham this morning?" I asked. Mr. Lacer looked at my father as though ex

"I do not think grandfather ever saw you in his life. How can he be your enemy? Enemy! Grandfather is too just and too sensible to en-pecting him to answer. But as father remained tertain a baseless prejudice. And why should he be prejudiced against one who-who has shown such friendship for my parents?"

"H'm!" muttered Mr. Lacer, with closed lips, and tapping his foot impatiently on the floor. "But did it never strike you, Anne, that Doctor Hewson might not be disposed to like one who cherished a warmer feeling than friendship for your parents' daughter?"

"How could he know-?" I began, hastily, and left my sentence unfinished.

"Ha! Then you think that if he did know he would not approve? So think I. You need not try to deny it, Anne. It is no news to me." "But-"

"And as to knowing-why, do you suppose all Horsingham does not know that I am your suitor ?"

passive in the same bowed, despondent attitude, Mr. Lacer replied himself, with some heat, "I have told you that it is absolutely necessary for me. As to Furness, he must do as he pleases. But I should think there can be no doubt about his having to show. I took it for granted. I came out here on purpose to accompany him to town. You can tell Mrs. Furness and your daughter whether or not you ought to go, can't you?" he added, turning to my father with an impatient shrug. I felt that his impatience was justified. After all, he was here on our business-to serve us.

"I must go," said father, rising up from the sofa. He followed Mr. Lacer slowly from the room.

“George—George, darling! say ‘good-by!'” cried my mother from the window, as the two "All Horsingham," I answered, coldly, "con- men passed through the garden on their way to cerns itself very little with me or my affairs, I the stable-yard. Father stopped, turned, hesiam confident." But though I spoke coldly, my tated. Mother held out an imploring hand to heart was throbbing painfully, and I felt some him, and he came straight up to the open winhot tears well up into my eyes. All my shy dow, raised his tall figure to its full height, and, pride was in arms at the idea thus abruptly pre-taking mother in his arms, pressed his lips to sented to me of having furnished food for vul- her forehead. gar gossip, and of my name having been bandied from mouth to mouth accompanied by comments and speculations and suppositions, whereof the most good-natured would have been humiliating in my eyes. I do not justify this over-sensitive pride. I merely faithfully record it.

I think he perceived that he had vexed me, for he said that he would go round to the stable-yard and hasten Flower in putting the horse

"Oh, Lucy, Lucy," he murmured, "how much better for you, my poor, dear lass, if this was the last 'good-by,' and you could be quit of me!"

He was gone before she could say a word. Mother's face was blanched to a deadlier white than it had worn that morning; and as she withdrew her head into the room again she shivered from head to foot, although the hot

sunshine had been pouring its rays directly upon | her poor aching heart. her.

And after a while she

grew very calm, and I saw with thankfulness that her face had quite lost the rigid, stony look it had worn since last night.

"And will you not send to grandfather?" I asked. "Did you speak to father about doing so?"

I stole up to her side and took her hand. She returned the pressure of mine, but we did not speak for some time. There was still that shade between us to which I have alluded; for although it had never for a moment entered my thoughts to utter a reproach against my father, she knew that reproaches were in my heartthat my yearning compassion for her almost implied a reproach to him who had caused her so to suffer. This same slight shade between us had not been lessened by our conversation about Gervase Lacer. It seemed to me that mother's devotion to her husband made her unjust toward her husband's friend, and that she accepted Gervase's good offices with scant grat-in peace and sunshine. Not a creature was to itude.

"Do you know what father has been obliged to go to Horsingham for, mother dear?" I asked at length.

"The the tradesmen ?"

"Yes; I said a few words. George had a confused idea that he had heard that my father was absent from Horsingham. But I will write to him. After to-day, when your father is more settled, he will meet your grandfather, and talk with him."

Then I coaxed mother to take a little stroll with me in the shade of the trees by the riverside meadows. The whole place was steeped

be seen. Every one who could get leave was away at the race-course. We had no fear of coming upon Flower's insolent face. He was gone, it seemed, for good. I thought afterward

"To meet the men who have claims on him," that we had all taken his desertion with much she answered, briefly. indifference. It had scarcely caused even surprise. But we had no emotion to spare for Flower. The only sensation his absence caused in me was one of relief. And I believe mother felt as I did.

"No, no, child-the men he has lost money to. My poor darling-my poor George! He who was afraid to look no man in the face. And now- He dreaded meeting these people He told me that he was going with a feeling of death at his heart."

So.

The sweet influence of the country sights and sounds, and of the serene autumn day, came down upon us despite of all.

Before we returned to the house mother and I had actually begun building castles in the air, to be inhabited in the new days that lay be

"But he will be able to meet these claims?" "If we sell the clothes off our backs, they shall be met! Surely there is property enough here to suffice. I told him that there is no sac-fore us. rifice we will shrink from to save him from disgrace and humiliation. We will blot out the past-and forget it."

"And then, mother dearest, if we go away to some distant place, and begin life anew-" "Yes, yes; that is what I told him. I begged him to look forward. You would not repine, my Anne?"

"I should thank God with all my heart for any change that promised you peace of mind." "And peace of mind for father. You must pray God for dear father."

"And for dear father."

"That's my precious treasure!" cried mother, throwing her arms around me and pressing me to her breast. "Poor, dear, dear father! He loves you so, Anne. You were always his pet from a baby. He thought more of you than of any of the little ones that were born before you-more even than of our blessed little Harold. Do you know, Anne, that he wears a little flaxen lock of hair, like the down of a wee yellow fledgeling, that was cut off your head when you were two years old; and now look at the thick dark brown tresses! Well, father wears that flaxen baby hair in a little plain locket on his breast. He is so proud of you, Anne; and it would break his heart to believe that you no longer loved him."

The tears were pouring down her cheeks. But the constraint which had fettered her tongue was broken, and she talked, and wept, and eased

As we crossed the flower-garden we had a glimpse of a hired fly from Horsingham driving quickly up the avenue that led to the front-door. A hired fly was so unusual an apparition at our gates that we both stopped in surprise to look at it. As we did so the vehicle stopped also. Mr. Lacer jumped out of it, and ran toward us.

"Don't be frightened !" he cried, breathlessly; for mother was alarmed and trembling. "George?" she exclaimed.

George?"

"Where is

"He's quite well. He's all right. I left him in Horsingham. There's nothing the matter, on my word. But I-I want to say a word to you and Anne."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"A FRESH trouble?" said my mother, seating herself in the little sitting-room, in the place where father had sat last night. She clasped her hands and leaned them on the table before her. Mr. Lacer placed himself opposite to her, and I sat down on the sofa by her side.

"No, not a fresh trouble," answered Mr. Lacer. "At least it need not be one, if you are collected and firm, as I am sure you will be."

He spoke eagerly, and yet with a certain embarrassment and abstraction, as though he had something to say which it was not easy to put