came to pass that they returned quite late, crossing Southam-water in the ferry-boat that plies between the shores. It was a wild night, and would have been intensely dark but for a moon not three days from the full. But heavy clouds hung low upon the sea, and only now and then a beam of melancholy moonlight quivered on the tossing waves. All were silent as they made the brief but rather dreary passage. Agnes looking over the side of the little steamer saw the black billowy depths beneath; black were the heavens overhead, and black the shadowy coast; not a star shone out to pierce the wild night gloom, and only once they saw the pale moon's face as she shed a sickly beam upon the crested paddle-foam with its weird and sable hollows. But down the river, far away in a region as it seemed of impenetrable darkness, a silvery light poured forth its clear broad lustre. It was a lovely light, fair as the morning star is before the daybreak dims its mellow rays. It was only the lighthouse, yet to all but Mr. Erskine, who had not the smallest particle of ideality in his composition, it seemed a beauteous spirit shining on them through the sullen gloom.

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"A herald, too, of the clearer, fuller light that comes with the new day," said Agnes, dreamily, scarcely knowing what she meant. But that did not matter, for Cyril seemed to understand, and she had thought the pure soft radiance a Star of Hope," from the first moment she had caught its gleam. It was very sweet to her that Cyril and she should think alike. But Elizabeth, though generally quite ready for any poetic fancy shivered and drew her cloak around her, saying as she did so, "You know it is only the lighthouse; it is always there. I wish we were at home; mamma and Janet will be anxious!"

Cyril rose and insisted on wrapping her in his own plaid, which at

ness.

first she refused to accept, but presently she nestled down among its folds, and said that it was cozy only she felt so miserably selfish; and Agnes watched the "Star of Hope till the boat had reached the pier, and accepted its brilliancy till the last minute as an augury of happiShe could see it even as she looked out into the dismal night from the window of the fly that took them to the railway-station. They caught their train by making extra speed; and rushing along the line again Agnes saw the lovely starlike beam shining clearly through the darkness. The five miles of railway travelling were quickly passed, and they found themselves once more at the little Fairchurch station, and the Forest Range carriage waiting ready for them. Agnes never forgot that night scene on the deep salt Southam-water, the plunging little boat, the red light streaming from the funnel, a ruddy beacon on the pier they left behind them, and out to sea, amid all the blackness and the mingling gloom of wave and sky, that solitary Star of Hope."

The next morning all was bustle and confusion, Mrs. Denham and Sally were shut up with their sermons; Kate Gower, who had an universal genius for usefulness, was swallowed up in the housekeeper's room, Cyril was busy with the evergreens, Elizabeth, Janet, and Agnes found work enough to do. Vivian Gower went to Southchester, and came back just in time to dress for the evening.

Whether it was fatigue from yesterday's excursion and the morning's occupation, or whether it was mere reaction from the full contentment of the night before Agnes could not tell, but she felt in nowise ready for the gaiety of a large party. A strange depression seized her when she went to dress, and when she came down she felt languid and dispirited. Elizabeth was already in the drawing-room!; she was looking radiantly beautiful and was evidently not at all desponding, she had seized Cyril by the hand, and was polking with him round the room, wildly

and gaily as a child. Happily, Mrs. Denham was not there to see. But Lucretia Erskine saw it and felt well-pleased; it was just as she would have it; and then the two, soon out of breath, wandered away to the smaller drawing-room, and Agnes and Cyril's sister remained alone. Mrs. Erskine wore pale blue silk and diamonds, Elizabeth was all in white, in clouds of gauzy muslin, beautifully embroidered; she had roses in her hair, and a splendid bouquet in her hand. She looked like a rose of June, and Mrs. Erskine like a bell-donna lily. It was certain they would be the rival beauties of the night.

Agnes, in her plain black tulle dress, with one white flower in her raven hair, looking quiet and subdued; she was wondering if it would do her good to see, just for a single second, the "Star of Hope." Mrs. Erskine quite intended to say something to Miss Craven that should cause her to believe in an understanding between Elizabeth and Cyril; she would not commit herself by telling positive untruths, but she would link their names together as it were quite involuntarily, as if it were natural to think of them as one, and then she meant to beg Agnes to be discreet," She spoke in confidence, she did not mean to imply that anything was settled, but Miss Craven must have seen how matters were; only not a word was to be said," &c., &c. But this laudable intention of hers perished in its birth, for ere she had said half-a-dozen sentences, of which Agnes scarcely caught the drift, a crowd of people swarmed into the room, and all idea of private conversation had to be dismissed.

The evening wore away and every one seemed bright and happy; Elizabeth particularly so. Agnes herself was the centre of a brilliant circle, and she bore her part in the conversation well. A traveller lately returned from Nubia was of the little party, and all were deep in stories of the Nile, the Pyramids, and the Holy Isle of Philæ. But there was a certain book the traveller wished to see just to settle a disputed point, for he was not the only

person present who had seen the land of Pharaoh, and Agnes went to fetch the volume. She knew exactly where to lay her hand on it, and she entered the library, where the lamps were all turned down, and the moon, clear of clouds to-night, was pouring its clear beams through the tall unshuttered windows. In one of the window recesses Cyril stood, looking pensively upon the quiet scene with

out.

"I want Stanley's book about Palestine," she said, going up to the shelf where it generally stood. Cyril reached it down; he knew the whereabouts of nearly every volume in the place. "Stay one minute," he said, as after thanking him she was speeding back to the circle she had left; "Just one minute; let us rest and think of better things than all the bustle and loud gaiety going on to.night. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Very much. I was low-spirited when the evening began. I was tired, perhaps; but the last hour has been delightful! We have had such beautiful accounts of the Philæ temples from Mr. Sullivan; and Mr. Banks has seen the Nile; and they are not quite agreed about some obelisks at Karnac, so we are going to refer to the Egypt notes in Stanley.""

Miss Martineau would be the better reference; but never mind; you are really enjoying yourself?" Very much; and you?"

"Not so much; something has happened to annoy me; you see I tell you the plain truth."

I hope you always will."

I always shall. To you, at least, I may say what is in my mind, without a fear of misconstruction. How little friendship has to do with time! One month ago we met as strangers, now I can open all my heart to you; and yet taciturnity has been my stumbling-block from childhood. And yet,-if you knew all my weak

nesses!"

'Nay," she said laughingly; "half inclinations go for nothing; I must run back; they are waiting for the book."

"Let them wait. You once accused me of being moody and melancholy without a cause."

That was when I knew you first; but still, I will not help you to be melancholy now!"

"I wish you would help me to be courageous?"

"Is there any need for that-you a man, and I a woman?"

"So much need, that I despise myself. Did you ever read a poem called Silent Love?'"

"Yes. I found it but the other day."

What is your opinion of it,rather, of the hero?"

"I think he was a foolish man. Instead of droning about, crying, 'No man e'er loved like me,' he should have spoken out; he could but have been rejected for his pains; it is better to know one's fate, even though it be a stern one, than to live in dreams, and be a coward."

"It is; and I will live in dreams no longer. I am acting treacherously by staying here. To morrow I will speak to Sir John Ashburner. I have been a coward and a visionary far too long."

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Speak to Sir John Ashburner?" said Agnes, wonderingly. She thought it was a curious way of putting the case, though of course Sir John must be consulted; but it was taking so much for granted: he had not spoken a word, save of friendship, to herself.

Yes. I almost betrayed myself to-night; I cannot trust myself any longer. I must tell Sir John the truth, and if he banish me, he must; but I cannot be dishonourable; he thinks, and Lady Ashburner thinks, I regard Elizabeth as a sister."

"Elizabeth?" was upon Miss Craven's lips; but she did not speak. She stood quite still in the moonlight, feeling as if some horrid nightmare had benumbed her senses.

"Now I have told you all!" said Cyril, presently. He had been talking in the interim, but she had not heard a word; "and I need not ask

I

'Yes, but not as a son-in-law. know how it will be, but I will not despair. I will at once set about carving out a way to fortune. A settled purpose has gradually dawned upon me, since you strengthened me by your words the evening that I saw you first. Oh, how much good you have done me! If I must go away, I must. I shall go to toil, and toil gives hope: I shall work and wait till I may exultingly come back, and claim my Elizabeth from her father's hands. And you will be a sister to her, as you have been to me?"

"I will. I promise to serve you in this matter to the best of my ability, faithfully and entirely; that is, so far as is consistent with my duty to Lady Ashburner and Sir John. I could not assist in anything clandestine."

"Do you think I should ask you? No! be my open friend, and take care of my darling when I am away." She knows, then?"

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She cannot help but know; though I have never spoken clearly; how could I, when her parents repose in me such perfect confidence? But to-morrow all shall be made plain. I am prepared for the worst; but one thing I am resolved I will not quit Forest Range without a word with Elizabeth herself. Yes, go! I have kept you shamefully; how cold your hands are, like ice! A thousand thanks for all your goodness."

And pressing her trembling fingers to his lips, he turned back to the window.

In the doorway stood Elizabeth, intently regarding the scene before her. As Agnes came towards her, she passed quickly on; in five

nectar, and infinite laughter rang round the happy banqueting board, and the feast was at its fullest, the music at its sweetest, suddenly there came gasping towards them a pale Jew, dripping with blood; a crown of thorns on His head, bearing a great cross of wood on his shoulder; and He cast the cross on the high table of the gods, so that the golden goblets trembled and fell, and the gods grew dumb and pale, and ever paler, till they melted in utter mist. By the light of that Divine countenance-such a light as never before shone the world might see how the soul of Godhead and the highest ideal of beauty were wanting to the Greek imagination, and all their gods and heroes diminished and faded away before the might and majesty and winning tenderness of this purer presence.

Well, then! it is this ideal of beauty, this one earthly image of Divine love, that we want to get wrought into our own life; for this is the great want of the world; the need of every one of us! In whatsoever life, individual or national,

this beauty has blossomed, it has produced the most precious fruits that have ever been reared in human soil, and it has enthroned this England of ours immeasurably higher than any nation of the past.

But how to get at this beauty? How shall we draw near enough to catch a glimpse of it, and reflect it as best our poor cracked mirrors may? The Greek ladies, we are told, held their ideal of beauty in such esteem that the mothers would have statues of their most lovely youthful gods set up in their sleeping apartments, so that they might bear children like them, and by looking longingly on them make their own offspring more beautiful. We cannot possibly adopt a better method in looking at Christ, and trying to grow some likeness of Him. Only instead of the cold marble statue, we have the warm living image set before us, the eyes tearful with tenderness, the life warm on the lips that speak such precious words; and the arms extended to embrace

us.

Let us look on Him then who came more than half-way to meet us, and by looking on Him lovingly, yearningly, possibly the new life of our thoughts and feelings may be created in the image of his person! We know how the serpent-stung Israelites looked up at the brazen serpent; and even while they looked, the miracle of healing was going on. We know how the Ecstatics of old would look at the figured crucifixion until the senses swam, earth passed away, and heaven opened on the rapt soul. In our day we may witness how certain persons can look themselves and are looked into the mesmeric trance. There is a great mystery in this looking, and the mystery often veils a miracle.

So we may look at Christ, until we are placed en rapport with Him, if the heart's cry be piercing enough, and the looking be sufficiently yearn

ing. He who was once here in person is for ever near in presence, and the finger of faith has only to touch the hem of His garment, now, as of old, to make him turn round, and give us our chance of looking on Him in order that we may grow more in His likeness.

And surely there is enough in the coming, and the character, and the cross of the Man Christ Jesus, to make us look? First, we cannot help looking in wonder at the stupendous mystery of the Son of God coming to walk the roughest paths of human poverty, and suffer the sharpest stings of human pain, to climb a cross in the end, and offer up His life as a pleading sacrifice. appealing to God above in behalf of guilty man below. He came to die that we might live. Is it not amazing why this should ever have been

done? Does it not startle us when