in which he had been trained, in consequence of the necessity of stillness during Sir Edmund's long illness. It was more natural to him to shut the door quietly than to bang it, to speak than to shout, and to amuse himself tranquilly in the house than to make a great uproar. He was courteous, too, and obliging; and though Lionel and Johnny were in consequence inclined to regard him as a 66 carpet knight so trim," the ladies fully appreciated these good qualities. Mrs. Lyddell perhaps made the more of her satisfaction, because she was conscious of not liking his sister's stiff, formal, frightened manners.

Mrs. Lyddell waited till the boys came from dressing, and took them all three down with her. Clara sat down in the windowseat to watch the arrivals, as soon as she had recovered from her amazement at hearing that Marian had not been in a house with a dinner-party since Gerald was born. "Is it possible!" she went on saying, and then bursting into a laugh, till Caroline said sharply, "How can you be so silly, Clara? you know the reason perfectly well."

"But it is so odd," continued Clara. Why, we never are a week without a party, and sometimes two!"

"Hush," said Caroline," or I shall never finish my Italian." The little boys came up to tea; Gerald would not make much answer when Clara asked if the ladies had talked to him, but Johnny looked cross, and Lionel reported "it was because his nose was put out of joint." Coming up to Marian, to whom he seemed to have taken a fancy, Lionel further explained confidentially how all the ladies made a fuss with Johnny, and admired his yellow curls, and called him the rose-bud, and all sorts of stuff; and how Johnny liked to go down all in his fine crimson velvet, and show off, and have all his nonsense praised. "And the pretty dear is so jealous," said Lionel, "that he can't bear any one to say one word to poor me-oh no!"

"Why, do you wish for them to do so?" said Marian.

"Oh no, not I-I never did; and I'm glad I'm grown too big and ugly for them. I always get as near Elliot as can, and try to hear if they are saying anything about the hunt; and the ladies never trouble their heads about what is good for anything, so they never talk to me.'

"That is no great compliment to Gerald," said Marian.

"Ah! you'll soon see. If there is any fun in him they will soon cast him off; but now he is new, and he has not found them out yet, and they do dearly like to say Sir Gerald; so Johnny is regularly thrown out, and that is what makes him look sulky."

"Well, but it is using him very ill to desert him for Gerald," said Marian.

"Oh, they don't desert him. They like mamma's good dinners too well for that; only Johnny can't bear any one else to be taken

notice of. Trust the County member's son for their making much of him."

“But that applies to you too, Lionel.”

“Ay, and I could soon get their civility if I cared for it,” said Lionel, grandly. "But I know well enough what it is worth. Why there is Walter, who is the best of us all-nobody cares one straw for him except Caroline and—”

"And you?" asked Marian.

"Why-why-yes, if he was not so much of a parson already.” "Oh, Lionel !" said Marian, shocked; and he turned it rather hastily into "I mean, he is not up to anything; he does not shoot, and he does not care for dogs, or horses; nothing but books for ever."

A summons to the tea table put an end to Lionel's communications, which had so amazed Marian that she could do nothing but ponder on them all the time that Clara would leave her in quiet to think.

The going into the drawing-room was to her a most awful affair; and Saunders seemed to be very anxious about it, brushing and settling her hair, and arranging the plain black frock, as if she would never have done; seeming, too, not a little worried by Clara, who chose to look on at all her proceedings. At last it was over; Marian wished Gerald good night, and descended with her two cousins and Miss Morley. Caroline and Clara were in blue, Miss Morley in white; and as they entered just opposite to a long pier glass, Marian thought that with her white face, straight dark hair, and deep mourning dress, she looked like a blot between them, and wished to shrink out of sight, instead of being conspicuous in blackness.

The ladies came in a few minutes after, and Caroline and Clara went forward, shaking hands, smiling, and replying in a way which was by no means forward, and with ease that to Marian was marvellous. If people would but be kind enough not to look at her! But Mrs. Lyddell was a great deal too civil for that to come to pass, and presently Marian was called and introduced to two ladies. She was seated between them, and they began talking to her in a patronising manner; telling her they remembered her dear mamma at her age; saying that they had seen her brother, and congratulating her on having two such delightful companions as the Miss Lyddells. Then they asked about Devonshire; and as Marian's cold short replies let every subject fall to the ground in a moment, they proceeded to inquire whether she could play. Truth required her to confess that she could, a very little; and then they begged to hear her. Poor Marian! this was too much. She felt as if she was in a horrible mist, and drawing up her head as she always did in embarrassment, she repeated, Indeed, indeed, I cannot !" protestations which her tormentors would not believe,

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and which grew every moment more ungracious, as to augment her distress, she saw that Mrs. Lyddell was observing her. At the moment when she was looking most upright and rigid, Caroline came to her relief. The same request had just been made to her, and she came to propose to Marian to play the one thing she knew she could play a duet which she had that morning been practising with Clara. It was very kind, and Marian knew it; for Caroline had said that she never liked that duet, and was heartily tired of it; but all the acknowledgment her strange bashfulness would allow her to make was a grateful look, and a whisper, "Oh, thank you!"

Afterwards one of the young lady visitors sang, and Marian, who had never heard much music, was quite delighted; her stiff company-face relaxed, a tear came to her eyes, and she sat with parted lips, forgetting all her fears and all the party till the singing was over, and Caroline touched her, and told her it was bed time. Marian wondered to see how well Caroline and Clara managed to escape without being observed; but she marvelled at their going to bed so much as if it was a thing of course to have no good-night from father or mother. When they were outside the door, in the hall, Marian, her heart still full of the music, could not help exclaiming, "How beautiful!"

"What? Miss Bernard's singing?" said Clara. “I declare, Caroline, Marian was very nearly crying! I saw you were, Marian."

"She does sing very nicely," said Caroline, "but that song does not suit her voice. It is too high."

"And she makes faces," said Clara. "She strains her throat; and she has such great fingers-I could never cry at Miss Bernard's singing, I am sure."

Marian did not like this. "Good night," said she, abruptly. "You are not vexed, are you?" said Clara, kindly. “I did not think you would mind my noticing your crying. Don't be angry, Marian.”

66 Oh, no, I am not at all angry," said Marian, trying to speak with ease, but she did not succeed well. Her "good nights" had in them a tone as if she was annoyed, as in fact she was; though not at all in the way Clara supposed. She did not care for the notice of her tears, but she said to herself, "This is what Edmund calls destroying the illusion. If they would but have let me go to bed with the spell of that song resting on me!"

She sighed with a feeling of relief and yet of weariness as she came into her own room, and found Saunders there. Saunders looked rather melancholy, but said nothing for the first two or three minutes; then as she combed Marian's hair straight over her face, she began, "I hope you enjoyed yourself, Miss Marian."

"Oh, Saunders," said Marian, "I'm very tired: I don't think I shall ever enjoy myself anywhere but at home."

“Ah-hem-ha!" coughed Saunders, solemnly; then, after waiting for some observation from Marian, and hearing only a long yawn and a sigh, she went on, "Prettily different is this place from home."

"Indeed it is," said Marian, from her heart.

"Such finery as I never thought to see below stairs, Miss Marian. I am sure the Manor House was a pattern to all the country round for comfort for the servants, and I should know something about it; but here such a number of them, such eating and drinking all day long, and the very kitchen maids in such bonnets and flowers on Sundays, as would have perfectly shocked Mrs. White. And they are so ignorant. Fancy, Miss Marian, that fine gentleman the butler declaring he could not understand me, and that I spoke with a foreign accent! I speak French indeed !"

"But, Saunders," said Marian, rather diverted, "You do speak Devonshire a little."

66

Well, Miss Marian, perhaps I may; I only know 'tisn't for them to boast, for they speak so funny I can't hardly make them out; and with my own ears I have heard that same Mr. Perkins himself calling you Miss Harundel. But that is not all. Why, not half of them ever go to Church on a Sunday; and as to Mrs. Mitten, the housekeeper, not a bit does she care whether they do or not; and no wonder, when Mr. Lyddell himself never goes in the afternoon, and has gentlemen to speak to him. And then down at the stables-'tis a pretty set of drinking, good-for-nothing fellows there. I hope from my heart Sir Gerald won't be for getting down there among them; but they say Master Lionel and Master John are always there. And that Mr. Elliot-"

In this manner Saunders discoursed all the while she was putting Marian to bed. Both she and her young lady were doing what had much better have been let alone. Saunders had no business to carry complaints and gossip, Marian ought not to have listened to them; but the truth was that Saunders was an old attached confidential servant, who had come to Oakworthy more because she could not bear to let her young master and mistress go entirely alone and unfriended among strangers, than because it would be prudent to save a little more before becoming Mrs. David Chapple. Fern Torr was absolute perfection in her eyes; and had the household at Oakworthy been of superior excellence, she would have found fault with everything in which it differed from the Manor House. Her heart was full; and to Miss Marian, her young lady, a Fern Torrite, a Devonian like herself, she must needs pour it out, where she had no other friend. On the other hand, Saunders was still in Marian's eyes a superior person-an authority-one whom she could never dream of keeping in order, or restraining; and here a friend, a counsellor, the only person except Gerald who had known the dear home.

So a foundation was laid for confidences from Saunders which were not likely to improve Marian's contentment. When she had bidden her maid good night, and sat thinking before she knelt down to say her prayers, she felt bewildered; her head seemed giddy with the strangeness of this new world; she knew not what in it was right and what was wrong; all that she knew was that she felt lonely and dreary, and as if it could never be home. Her heart seemed to reach out for her mother's embrace and support, and then Marian sank down on her knees, rested her face on her arms, and while the tears began to flow she murmured, "Our FATHER, Which art in heaven."

Soon after her weary head was on her pillow, and the dim grey light of the summer night showed the quiet peace and calmness that had settled on her sleeping face.