It has been well said that we are often surprised by a failure in those we know, at the very point where we thought them so strong. Looking back into the far past, it has been ever thus. Since the days when the brave, courageous prophet, who had defied the god Baal in the face of all his fierce followers, and had stood calm in the midst of the surging crowd-resolute and firm; who had not been afraid to lift his voice, and proclaim the wrath of God, to that unscrupulous king, who held all human life cheap, when it lay in the way of his selfishness or ambition; and yet, in the very hour of victory, Elijah could go to the God of Hosts with the half querulous, faint-hearted cry-"It is enough, Lord; take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers ! From that prophet onward, the instances are numberless ; of the bold, lion-hearted Peter failing as a coward in the hour of trial; of St. John, the loving and beloved, betrayed into vehemence and intolerance. In sacred and profane history it has been so, and in everyday life we are met with the same thing.

Sir Philip Dennistoun, who seemed unlikely to be swayed by the opposition or flattery of others, was undoubtedly much pleased by the interest which Lady Eugenia Le Marchant showed in his future. He almost confessed it to himself, that an evening at Bishop's Court was full of attraction; and yet, as he left Rockdeane and walked down into Rodham, having left orders for his carriage and servant to call for him at Ecclestone Square, he could not repress a regretful feeling as he thought of his bright little sister on her sick-bed, and the sweet gentle presence of Irene ministering to her with no selfish fear or thought of herself, or the probability of her taking the infection from Rosie.

Mr. Williamson was alone in his study when Sir Philip arrived. He had several matters of business about which he wanted to consult him; and then he gave him the letter which more directly bore upon the question of the election for the eastern division of the county.

"Do you

"I shall let them nominate me," he said. think there will be much opposition-or, indeed, any? Sir Wilton St. John seems to imply that I shall merely have to walk over the ground."

"Most probably it will turn out so," Mr. Williamson said; "and I think you are the man to blow the trumpet in the House with no uncertain sound."

"Wait till you hear that I have the chance. Well; I must put this in your hands. I am going to dine at Bishop's Court to-night, and I daresay I shall hear plenty of politics talked there. And now to turn to matters domestic. This is very unfortunate about my poor little sister, people are as afraid of scarlet fever as if it were the plague."

"Yes, I am very sorry about Irene; but Mary was panic-struck, and I did not like to press the point. However, Irene's letter sets me at rest, inasmuch as she seems to feel herself useful to Miss Dennistoun. She is useful wherever she is; really, her loss in our house is felt everywhere especially by poor Cuthbert."

"I should like to go upstairs and see him. I suppose there can be no possible danger in my doing so. I have not seen Rosie; and Miss Clifford kept at a very respectful distance from me. I would not go into Rosie's room purposely; you are not afraid," he said, as Mr. Williamson seemed to hesitate.

"No, not in the least; nor do I suppose my wife could

think there was any risk, if you are so good as to wish to see poor Cuthbert. I was only going to tell you that the mail is in; and I have had no acknowledgment from New Zealand for that legacy of £10,000, which I transmitted in October. I have been looking over Mr. Balfour's books, and I see the allowance which was made, regularly entered. Look, here is one entry ;" and Mr. Williamson took from his desk a book, and, passing his finger down the page, stopped now and then, and read: "Transmission of £250 to S. D. C. ;" then, "Acknowledgment of £250 by S. D. C., as by receipt"

"Well; evidently S. D. C. is not so grateful for the legacy as she should be-or he should be. I suppose you have no clue to this mystery, Williamson?"

"No; it has evidently been carefully guarded. But I confess I think it is a little odd that the sum of £10,000— a considerable sum-should not be acknowledged."

"Perhaps S. D. C. expected more," said Sir Philip, lightly; "or, perhaps, she is gone where she wants no more pounds, shillings, and pence."

"In that case, I think the banker at Canterbury would have made some sign. But we must leave the dead past to bury its dead."

A message coming for Mr. Williamson that he was wanted at his office, he had to leave Sir Philip, who found his way into the drawing-room. Cuthbert was lying quiet and unoccupied on his sofa, and turned his eyes wearily to the door, as Sir Philip opened it.

"Well, my boy," he said, cheerfully, "so you are all alone."

"Mother and Randal and Hilda are out," Cuthbert said. "I am so glad to see you, Sir Philip! an enormous time since you were here.

It is such

Do

you know

what Auntie is going to do? Mother would not let her come home—and, oh! I do want her so—and I am so afraid she should catch the scarlet fever."

"Your aunt is very well," Sir Philip answered, as the eyes, so like Irene's, were turned full upon him. "She is taking care of my sister; but I do not think she will get the scarlet fever, for she is not in the least bit afraid of it; and that has so much to do with it."

"Yes," said the boy; "but Auntie couldn't be afraid. She wrote me a little note," he went on, taking a crumpled piece of paper from under the pillow, which had evidently been saturated by disinfectants, for the writing had a blurred and blotted look. "She is sorry not to be with me, but glad to be with Rosie-Miss Dennistoun, I mean-and she says she has a lovely little room to sit in, and that she can get on with her story." "Her what?" asked Sir Philip.

'Oh, don't you know? Auntie writes lovely stories; and the money she gets for this one, was to have taken her and me to Orchard Leigh-the village where Grannie and she lived-down in Devonshire; and papa and mother were going abroad-to Switzerland, I think -to see the snow-mountains that you used to tell us so many things about, and show us all those beautiful pictures you painted. You never come here now, and talk about them."

"My dear boy," said Sir Philip, evasively, "I have to talk about things which are not half so pleasant: but I will tell you a story now, if you like."

"Oh, thank you! About the day when it was getting so dark on the mountains, and you could scarcely see the little notches you cut out of the wall of ice for your feet ; and you went back because there was a boy who was

frightened, and you tied him to your rope? That was the story Auntie liked best."

Sir Philip told it; and, to Cuthbert's delight, took a pencil and some paper out of his little drawing-case, and illustrated the story as he went on. All too soon the wheels of the carriage were heard, and Sir Philip had to go. Somehow it was worth a great deal to Philip, when the child looked up at him, and said, "Thank you for coming to see me. is sure to come when we are at our very nearly crying like a baby when you came in ; and now I feel quite jolly."

Auntie says help

worst; and I was

Sir Philip's meeting on the stairs with Mrs. Williamson rather took off from the pleasure which Cuthbert's gratitude had given him.

"Run up, Randal and Hilda; don't stop a moment. Oh, Sir Philip! I am always so charmed to see you. But have you been near Rockdeane? I am so terribly afraid of scarlet fever!"

"I don't think there can be any ground for your fears. I was not in the house more than two or three hours; and I only saw Miss Clifford for ten minutes."

"Oh! then, I am quite relieved. I can't help it, Sir Philip; I am a perfect coward about infection, I know; Irene often puts me into the most horrid fright when she goes into those dreadfully low parts of the town. I was really sorry not to have her home; but what could I do with these children? And I hear Mrs. Dennistoun is so alarmed that she has gone to Keswick with your brother."

"Yes; and an aunt of hers has come to take the head of the establishment in her absence. I am going to dine and sleep at Bishop's Court, I think the carriage is