the question, but gave no sign of attaching any meaning to it, and by her reply, made it clear to Edward Vernon, that she had no idea of banishing herself, her thirty thousand pounds, and her beauty, to the land of heathens, of lions, and of tigers. At the end of a week they parted, and met not again, till one at least had learnt the value of sincerity. It has been necessary for us to go back thus far in our history, to make it clear and intelligible to the reader; but having once more arrived at our starting-point, we shall not again make such long digressions. CHAPTER IV. 3 Golden Balance. "Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting."-DANIEL v. 27. WHEN Earth walketh on the earth, glistering with gold; WHEN Mrs Harcourt received intelligence that Eleanor was about to return for the vacation which was to bring her as a resident under her roof, she informed Mrs Haye, in a letter written to that lady, that as it would not suit with her numerous engagements to send for the purpose of meeting Miss Harcourt, she should be obliged if an arrangement could be made by which the person in whose charge she travelled might accompany the young lady to her guardian's house. Inconvenient as was the unreasonable request, it was judged well to comply with it; and therefore the English governess, in whose care the pupils had been placed, after having seen the others safe with their friends, had to defer her own gratification (for she too had a home to go to), until she had conducted Eleanor to her future abode. At the door of a handsome house, at the west end of London, the two parted, and Eleanor, with her usually majestic step, followed the tall footman, stately as herself, into the spacious drawing-room, where a neglected-looking fire shewed that the apartment had been long deserted by the mistress of the house. The servant having restored some animation, and succeeded in raising a blaze, departed, leaving the young lady alone. Before long, however, a lady's maid appeared. "She hoped Miss Harcourt was well; Mrs Harcourt, who was dressing to go out to dinner, would be glad to see her up stairs;" and Eleanor accordingly followed her guide to another floor, and in a few minutes. stood in the presence of her guardian's wife. "Oh Eleanor, there you are, my dear; very tired? I would kiss you, only it tumbles one so much when one is dressed. Minette, you have given me the wrong bracelet. If you had but arrived sooner, Eleanor, you could have gone with me to-night, my fan, Minette,-and I would have introduced you to some charming people. However, that will do another day, and I daresay you have nothing fit to wear, if you had been here earlier, so it is just as well. I must be going now, my dear; how blooming you look! Make yourself quite at home; Minette will attend upon you, and they will let you have either dinner or tea, whichever you wish ;" and, with a nod and a smile, Mrs Harcourt swept from the room, in all the splendour of her velvet dress. Eleanor was too proud to betray anything of her feeling at her reception, whatever it might be. She requested Minette would conduct her to her room, and acquaint the housekeeper that, having dined, she would like to have tea sent up into the drawing-room. On descending thither, she found it was no longer solitary, as her little cousin Juliana had come down to see her. We have not mentioned her before. She was an only child, and now between six and seven years old, with nothing particularly attractive about her; perhaps as agreeable as a child could be, brought up by such a parent. Eleanor had never been very fond of her, but to night Juliana was the only person who had said, and really seemed to mean it, that she cared to see the new comer, who was now sincerely glad of her company. The rest of the establishment were as dignified and freezing as the marble goddess who stood on her pedestal at the end of the room. Before Eleanor's meal was concluded, the nurse came to summon Juliana to bed; and the child having departed, and the tea things been removed, she was left to solitude, and such meditation as she might find most pleasant. There was room for thought leaning back in her easy chair, the beauty gazed at the fire which was her only companion, and fell into what has been called a brown study. This was her welcome; she could not add, "home;" no, on that point she did not deceive herself; it was not home, and her thoughts travelled back to happier times which she had valued too little. The hills that her infancy had looked on were before her, with the clothing of their purple heather; the laburnums of Holmdale were streaming in their luxuriant gold; she was wandering again with the companion of her childhood, she was chasing the boys round the orchard, she was gathering rosy apples under a tree, she was learning the mysteries of hemming from dear Evy, she was sitting by the side of one who called her my daughter. Were they dreams she had dreamt? Or dissolving views that were but deceptions? Or had she, indeed, been once that little child? The solitary room was peopled, she was no longer alone, and a tear, proof of a heart not quite hardened, found its way down her cheek. And then followed other scenes, and she saw a young girl who had listened eagerly to those who spoke of wealth and beauty; she beheld her growing each year in proud defiance of wise and gentle counsel. The times of old had vanished, other voices and other tones were heard; she recognised even in the bending figure in Mrs Haye's schoolroom, the same absorbing wish to be brilliant, admired, and great; and a smile passed over her |