dance; and I thought a somewhat gloomy expression, approaching to a frown, was visible on his brow as he watched the inimitably graceful movements of his beloved. I observed to Captain Spencer that Lord Tintern was evidently most deeply smitten with Miss Sutherland, and I asked him whether he thought the attachment was mutual.

"No," he replied, decidedly, "I do not. I believe what heart she has to give is already bestowed on her present partner; but that she will marry Lord Tintern I have not the slightest doubt."

"And why," I asked, "if she does indeed love another?" Captain Spencer smiled; and pointing first to the lordly domain which, in its richness and beauty, was only terminated in extent by the distant hills, and then to the coronet on one of Lord Hartley's handsome equipages, which stood in readiness to convey an invalid home

"Behold my answer to your question," he said, “in these inanimate but irresistible objects of desire; irresistible, at least, to an ambitious girl like Miss Sutherland."

"And can you tell me the name and abode of her partner?"

"Yes," he replied; "he is an intimate friend of mine, in my own regiment. His name is Arthur Mildmay, and his mother lives near London; his father died when he was little more than an infant."

Mildmay! the name appeared to me associated with some indistinct vision of my early childhood, but I knew not why or how.

"And does Mr. Mildmay love Miss Sutherland?" I asked, in a tone of rather more interest than seemed altogether pleasing to my companion; for he answered, with an air of ill-assumed carelessness

"Really, Miss Vernon, I cannot pretend to satisfy your curiosity on this point. I am not his father-confessor; but I think I might venture to say, pretty decidedly, that Captain Mildmay is not a marrying man.'

"Nay," I answered, laughing a little contemptuously: "I did not know why you should be so well acquainted with the state of Miss Sutherland's affections, who is merely an acquaintance, and so utterly ignorant of the feelings of Captain Mildmay, your intimate friend."

At this juncture our remarks were arrested by a blinding

flash of lightning, succeeded, with scarcely a moment's interval, by a most awful and prolonged thunder-clap, which burst with a crashing sound immediately over our heads, and, on looking up, we saw Lady Hartley's beautiful Turkish tent, which had been pitched beneath a lofty oak, in flames.

An instant afterwards, and Arthur Mildmay appeared, emerging as it were from the midst of the fire, and bearing in his arms the seemingly lifeless form of Miss Sutherland, who was pale as death, with the blood flowing copiously from her shoulder.

Our thoughts had been so occupied, that we, with some others, had not observed the rapid approach of the storm, for it had been dark and lowering for some time past, and the low and distant rumbling which had been heard not long before seemed to have passed away. Neither had we perceived the retreat of Augusta and her partner to the tent, of which they were the sole occupants when the lightning struck it, but providentially not them. We learned that Miss Sutherland was sitting, and Arthur standing at a short distance from her, when the electric fluid shivered one of the massive poles which supported the tent, and close to which was Miss Sutherland's chair. Captain Mildmay, who at once saw her danger, darted forwards, and, dragging her away, saved her life at the risk of his own; but even his instantaneous movement could not prevent her receiving a heavy blow on the shoulder from the falling timber. She uttered a loud cry of pain and terror, and immediately fainted. She was borne into the house, and a servant was sent off with the utmost haste for the nearest medical

man.

Lord Tintern had retired to another part of the grounds, impatient probably of the length of the waltz which detained his Augusta from him; and never shall I forget the look of anguish and despair depicted on his countenance, as he rushed wildly past us towards the house. His first action, after one hasty glance at her, was to despatch a trusty messenger to town with instructions to take four fresh horses at the end of every stage, and halt not on any pretext till he had reached London, when he was to seek one of the most eminent surgeons, and bring him to Hartley Grange, with the same speed he had himself employed in travelling thither. This Lord Tintern did without consulting even

!

Sir Francis Sutherland; and, when done, it seemed some relief to his mind.

Long did Augusta remain insensible, and when at length she opened her eyes, it was only to look vacantly around her for a few seconds, and subside into her former unconscious state. The village doctor was attending a case of life and death, which, though that of a poor labourer's wife, he felt it impossible to leave just then. Poor Lord Tintern was nearly maddened by suspense; and Sir Francis and his son were greatly distressed.

After the space of an hour, Augusta began to show symptoms of amendment, and in about five minutes Mr. Stockwell was descried, urging his jaded horse with all possible speed up the avenue. To the joy of all, and the deep, heartfelt thankfulness of Lord Tintern, he pronounced his patient to be in no danger, and to be suffering more from the shock and alarm she had undergone, than from any severe bodily injury. Augusta was now able to speak, and to inquire into the particulars of her accident, of which she had but a vague and confused remembrance. She begged that Lady Hartley would convey to Captain Mildmay her warmest thanks for his prompt assistance, which had certainly been the means of saving her life.

This untoward event of course put a stop to the day's entertainments, and all the guests, whose abodes were in the neighbourhood, ordered their carriages to be got ready without delay. The storm had raged for about half an hour, and had gradually subsided. The sun was going down in full splendour, and the evening was as lovely, and less sultry, than it would have been without the lightning and the rain, which for a time had seemed to descend in a sheet of water. As my father and myself drove home, after discussing Miss Sutherland's adventure, he said

"I have had a great and unexpected pleasure to-day, Caroline. Not long before Miss Sutherland's accident, I discovered that the young man, who was afterwards her preserver, was the son of my almost only early friend. You have heard me speak of Mildmay, I think, dear?"

This was then the clue I had wanted to that name, "Yes, papa," I answered, "though not often, or lately, I have heard you mention General Mildmay. Captain Spencer told me he had been long dead."

"the few, the very

"Yes," said my father with a sigh; few, who loved me in my youth are all gone now, and while they remained to me, I did not prize them as I ought. But," he added in a more cheerful tone, "is not Arthur a fine handsome young fellow, Caroline? I think he threw even your admirer, Captain Spencer, into the shade in the eyes of many of the young ladies."

66

Captain Mildmay is the most striking person I have ever seen," I replied with warmth.

My father looked pleased, and said—

"Had I been told earlier in the day who he was, I should at once have introduced you to each other; indeed, I was going to do so after the very dance which terminated so disastrously. But it does not really signify; for he has faithfully promised me that, should he be obliged to return to town without paying us a visit, he will take the earliest opportunity of getting away again, and coming straight to Vernon Hall."

"I rejoice to hear it," was my reply; "I am sure he will be a great favourite of mine."

CHAPTER IV.

WE reached home about nine o'clock; and, as we were not expected for the next two or three hours, my mother was naturally surprised at our returning so early, and inquired the reason. While my father gave her a short account of the day's adventures, my eyes wandered round the room, only lighted by the dim twilight rapidly fading into darkness, in search of Agnes. Not seeing her, I asked my mother where she was.

"She has strolled out into the shrubbery to enjoy this beautiful evening," said my mother. "Poor girl! she had quite one of her old fits of low spirits after you went this morning, and I was afraid it was because she had stayed away from the fête; but she assured me that she would not on any account have gone, and that she had been foolishly dwelling on past times. However, she soon recovered her cheerfulness after she had been working about half an hour at my rug. Indeed, I don't know what would become of me without Agnes; she is quite a second daughter to me."

A second daughter! Oh, my mother, how little I deserved such consideration to my feelings as those words implied! An only daughter would have expressed the real state of the case far more truly. Even then I experienced a pang of self-reproach, but, chasing it away, I said—

"Well, mamma, I do not see much chance of your being deprived of her;" and I added mentally-" Mamma never could have loved me--we have nothing in common; Agnes is cold and gentle like herself, and just suits her.”

window,

At this moment Agnes stepped in at the open and, coming up to me, she said kindly that she hoped I had enjoyed myself that day: and, seeing that I looked rather tired, she proceeded to relieve me of my bonnet and scarf,