development of those views by which he earned an unrivalled position as a geologist. Mrs. Lyell has furnished an important contribution to the history of science, at the same time that she has presented to the world an admirable picture of a singularly amiable as well as highly gifted

man.

From Temple Bar.

THE FRERES.

BY MRS. ALEXANDER, AUTHOR OF "THE
WOOING O'T."

CHAPTER XLIII.

loving exactitude, and felt they were the incarnation of such a nature tender, true, resolute; the full grave eyes, the breadth of brow, the figure of more strength than grace, yet not without dignity; the soft, mellow voice, which yet could ring out loud and full.

No! Maurice was not handsome, like Max or Wolff von Falkenberg: but oh! lovely and good in her eyes- yes, worthy to be loved as a friend and lover, and she would love him whether he loved her or not. Perhaps he did, and even then they must part; perhaps he did not, and then the parting must be more complete. In any case she must hide what she felt, because it would help him; because if he was resolved not to speak, he had force A LONG ride in the fresh pure mountain enough to keep his purpose, and need not air failed in its usual effect. Grace could be subjected to unnecessary pain; if he not sleep; she was restless, and oppressed felt no more than brotherly affection, why by vague forebodings. The look and it would be doubly necessary to be on tone with which Balfour had uttered, guard, for Grace was peculiarly alive to "How can I ever bid you good-bye?" the wholesome womanly shame of giving were perpetually present to eye and ear; a love that was not sought. "Not that I and though she told herself she was fanci- | can ever be ashamed of loving him in my ful, that she exaggerated probably what own heart, if I can only keep it all hidden might have been an expression of natural there." friendly regret, the first effect remained stamped upon her mind her heart; for she recognized almost with awe, yet with a strange tremulous delight, that whatever doubt she might have respecting Balfour's feeling, she could have none about her own. This long happy spell of frank companionship had drawn her heart so closely to the comrade of her early days, that the thought of parting with him was too bitter to be endured. She had never suspected where this confidence, this mutual understanding, was leading her; but now, that instantaneous glimpse of tenderness and passion which he had betrayed, seemed as by an electric touch to have set the sources of love and devotion, which had silently gathered in the depths of her heart, flowing full and quick.

Yes; she loved him as she had never loved any one else! Her first attachment to Max, it was an uneasy mixture of imagination and excited vanity, which yet might have settled into something true and lasting; but this-ah! how sweet the mixture of friendly comprehension | and confidence, with a touch of tenderness beyond what friendship could reach! There was so much strength in the gentle repose of Balfour's manner; a breadth and toleration in all his ideas; a simple sincerity that disdained disguise in his manner and opinions. And then she conjured up his face and form and voice with

But she greatly dreaded meeting him; she feared to encounter his eyes; she hesitated to speak, lest he too should perceive what she did in the very sound of her voice; she shrank from giving him her hand, lest the mysterious magic of the touch should betray her. But his composure, his quiet self-possession was an infinite relief, when he came in later than usual the following day, and Mrs. Frere seized upon him directly to read aloud passages from a letter of Randal's received that morning.

She was, as usual, prettily posed in her easy-chair near the window; her worktable with its vase of flowers beside her. Grace sat a little behind on the sofa, diligently at work, with a large basket full of sundry objects to be repaired. If there was a hidden blessing in Adam's sentence, "In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread," so there is a double benediction of tranquillizing power to woman in needlework. It is a refuge and a strength, as Grace found it that morning. Balfour placed himself between them, at a little distance, so that he could observe both faces.

"I am sure you will be interested in my dear boy's account of his life at Cairo - he writes so graphically! If this Sir Alexander Atwell writes a successful book, I know who will have done the best part of it; he says, "The padrone is as

than ten days since she left, and she has | only written once. I answered immediately, and she has not written again."

Oh, she will write, I dare say, when she gets to London," said Mrs. Frere carelessly, and rising from her seat. "I am going to meet Mab on her way from school; she wants some new gloves. Will you come with me, Maurice?"

"Certainly, Mrs. Frere."

"I will put on my bonnet directly." She left the room, and Balfour moved his chair nearer to Grace.

"You would not mind Randal being a rough fellow like me?"

"No, indeed; I wish he were. I should like a real brother just like you."

"Ah, it is true! I am not a brother; but I can be a true, real friend, can I not? Your hand on it, Grace, and look at me!"

He held his out, and she placed hers in it without hesitation; but it took all her self-control to raise her eyes to his while her hand lay in his grasp. He held it with a soft, lingering pressure, palm to palm, each pulse throbbing against pulse. Nothing short of her passionate desire to mask her heart could have nerved her to meet his glance as she did, fully, gravely, for a moment; and then her eyes sank slowly, though his revealed nothing save an eager questioning. He sighed deeply; and letting her withdraw her hand, was beginning a sentence, with "Grace, if" when re-enter Mrs. Frere.

"Oh, Gracey, I cannot find the key of the large Schrank (wardrobe); I am sure I gave it to you."

"I will come and look for it," said Grace, rising quickly and leaving the

ities, though not undervaluing himself, he was not disposed to think that Grace was in love with him. Had he felt anything beyond vaguest suspicion of her prefer ence, he neither would nor could have exercised so much control.

He reproached himself bitterly for the momentary slackening of the rein which he saw had startled her, and vowed over and over again to himself that he would let nothing disturb the pleasant tranquillity of the last few days he had to spend in the society so dear to him.

The evening had passed much as usual. Balfour had persuaded Mrs. Frere to let him drive them out to Oybin; and with Grace and Mab as guides and supporters, she had explored the lovely ruins more completely than she had before done. They had steeped themselves in the beauty of the various points of view; they had watched the sun sink over the wide Silesian plain, and had been completely, quietly happy. But Balfour had not been a moment alone with Grace, nor had he sought to be. Grace had been composed and natural and companionable as usual; but there had been (to Balfour) a new, subtle, indefinable charm in her voice and manner-something subdued and pensive, which he scarce dared interpret into reciprocity, yet which at moments sent thrills of giddy rapture through his veins, and paled his brown cheek with sudden throes of emotion. But he was lord of himself through all; and now he walked to and fro the Hof garden, after he had bid good-night to the little group which made a beloved home to him, to think, to battle with himself, and gain composure before he tried to sleep.

What mastery this passion for Grace Frere had obtained over him! for it was passion, strong and deep. At first, it was the pleasant surprise to find in his old playmate, or rather plaything, a charming, graceful woman -a thoughtful, sympathetic companion, bright, natural, intelligent, untainted with coquetry, and gifted with considerable powers of observation; at first the delightful intercourse was just sufficiently dashed with the salt of boy and girl companionship. But how soon his pulse began to beat at her touch, his heart to throb at the sound of her voice! and then he had cast himself unresisting into the strong current of love, reckless where it might carry him, so long as his idol was untouched. And now, he almost regretted that so much of passion had come to mingle with the tender friendship which was the basis of his love. If he

could win her- if he had not been condemned to expatriation or if she had not been tied at home, perhaps she might have yielded him her love, had he ventured to seek it; and once given, they could have dared and conquered all things. If!

With such probabilities, would he not be justified in offering himself to Grace? Putting sentiment out of the question, her position was not much beyond his own; her portion of this world's goods considerably less, for he could add to his share and she could not. Yes, he would try his luck - even an engagement

Blessed be Darnell for giving him such a chance! And it must be confessed that Balfour's next proceeding was to rush upstairs and look at himself in the glass; and though he laughed somewhat cynically at this impulse, which sprang more from self-distrust than coxcombry, he did not disdain to put his thick wavy dark hair in order before he started for Bergstrasse, considerably disturbed in mind by the hope and fear which contended in his heart, and earnestly praying that he might find Grace alone.

Oh, miserable mite of a syllable! did ever so small an obstacle hold great issues in the balance? But for the necessity of repeating it, into what a golden cloudland of home and happiness might he not shape his course! what a future of success, with such a wife, would lie before him! And the tone of her voice, - lower and softer than usual that evening- the beauty of the down-sweeping lashes dropped over her averted eyes, came back to ear and sight; and the possibility that she might have given him her heart, came over his in a wave of mingled joy and agony. If he could believe this, he would not leave her without confessing the love he felt. And who could tell? the appointment heure. expected might prove better than he anticipated some hints in Darnell's last letter suggested this hope: if so, he would try his chance. If she did care for him well! such a possibility even, brought heaven almost too near for sanity; if she did not, he would be on the point of departure, and need vex her with his pres

ence no more.

Even so much of a resolution brought composure, and throwing away the end of his second cigar, Balfour ascended to his room, to sleep and dream and wake, and toss restlessly, and sleep again by snatches, till it was time to rise and go forth to meet the day.

Much depended on the way she would take the intelligence of his near departStill to avow all to her would be a relief and delight, take it how she would. So with head erect, and an elastic step, vaguely conscious that his beloved was not indifferent to him, Balfour soon accomplished the distance between the Sächsische Hof and her abode. As he mounted the stair, he met Paulina rushing down with the door-key in her hand.

"Ach, du lieber Himmel!" she exclaimed, stopping. "I go now to seek you, mein Herr. Ach, come quick! the Gnadige Frau wants you. Oh Weh - oh Weh!"

"Why, what is the matter?" exclaimed Balfour, alarmed and astonished: and then, without waiting for a reply, followed her up-stairs, not heeding the stream of exultations which Paulina did not cease to pour forth while she opened the door.

Influenced, perhaps, by some unac knowledged presentiment, he lingered over his breakfast and the small local Zeitung, waiting till the post came in, feel- The salon was empty when Balfour ening strangely restless and excited. And tered. He stood a moment, looking imwhen at last the Träger entered the patiently round; but almost immediately salle à manger, he held forth a letter Grace came in through the door which led with the London postmark, and a news-into Mrs. Frere's bedroom. She was paper. very pale, with an expression of grief and horror in her eyes, while tears still hung on her eyelashes.

The former was the long-anticipated summons. His friend, however, wrote in anticipation of the former appointment, telling him he had about a week's law, and giving him some private particulars particulars that brought the light to Bal-pressed them to his heart. four's eyes, and a smile of satisfaction to his lips. The decision as to the most feasible line was to be left to him, with a good prospect, as he at once perceived, of working the whole thing into his own hands, while his absolute pay was considerably beyond his expectations.

"Oh, Maurice, Maurice!" was all she seemed able to say; but she stretched out both hands to him. He took and

"What is it, dear? Speak to me, Grace!" he said.

"Oh, Maurice, she is quite gone! We shall never see her dear, kind face again ! and drawing away her hands, she covered her face with her handkerchief, and yield. ed for a moment to a burst of tears.

"Who, for God's sake?" cried Mau- | nent; nor will it be easy to fill the place rice, fearing it might be the mother. she held in the brilliant literary and artis"Lady Elton!" sobbed Grace "it is tic society which weekly assembled in her too terrible! Here, read this," and she hospitable mansion. Her nephew, Mr. took up an open letter which lay beside Maxwell Frere, was telegraphed for at a newspaper on Mrs. Frere's writing- once and is expected in Paris this morntable. ing."

The letter was from Jimmy Byrne:

"It is an awful business!" exclaimed Balfour, looking up.

"To think that she should be stolen

who had risen to re-read the startling pas-
from us in such a way ! cried Grace,
"that a touch,
sage over his shoulder-
a word in time might have saved her! I
always feared that chloroform. Oh, how

"I have a sad piece of news to communicate, which I fear will upset you and Miss Grace. The death of your friend Lady Elton, in Paris, is announced in this day's paper. I post it with this, that you may see the sad particulars. Before writing, I managed to run up at dinner-time to the City, and inquired at Freres'. It is too.true; and Mr. Max started off for wish I had gone with her! I would Paris last night. He is, I understand, have watched her well!" and she sat her ladyship's executor, probably her heir; but I do hope she has not forgotten Miss Grace, for they say she has left a power of money."

"Now read the newspaper account," said Grace, who had recovered herself a little" the worst part of the sad business is in there;" and she pointed to a paragraph headed

"SUDDEN DEATH OF LADY ELTON. "We have to announce the sudden demise of Lady Elton, in Paris, yesterday, under the following distressing circumstances. Her ladyship had arrived at Meurice's Hôtel, where she was always in the habit of stopping, about ten days ago, en route from Germany to London, accompanied by her maid and manservant, an Italian, both old and trusted employés. Her ladyship had long been a sufferer from severe neuralgic pains in the head, to allay which she used opiates and chloroform. The night before last, the maid saw Lady Elton to bed as usual, leaving a bottle of chloroform, a glass and nightlight, as was her custom, on a table by the bedside. When she returned in the morning, she found her mistress quite dead, and holding in her hand the bottle of chloroform, from which the cork had dropped upon the floor. It is supposed that the deceased had sought relief from pain by the usual application of chloroform, which she perfectly understood. Perhaps it took effect quickly, for she had evidently dropped the stopper, continuing to inhale the dangerous fumes until life was extinct. The deceased was the widow of Sir George Elton, second baronet, and leaves no family. Lady Elton was well known and highly esteemed by a wide circle, both in London and on the Conti

down again with a fresh burst of tears.

Balfour, drawing his chair beside her, and
"And I am glad you did not!" said
laying aside the paper.
"This dreadful
tragedy would have happened all the
same; you would not have watched her
when she was not specially unwell- and
what a shock for you, had you been on
the spot; I am awfully cut up myself;
but I can't stand seeing you cry, Grace.
I wish you would stop.'

"No; don't mind," returned Grace, trying to dry her tears. "It is a relief; and I could not shed a tear at first. My mother is in a dreadful state; I will make her come in and talk to you, it will do her good."

"Stay one moment," urged Balfour, terribly uncertain what to do; not liking to lose this opportunity- not liking to obtrude his affairs and feelings on her at such a time. Grace looked at him inquiringly. "Oh, I had something to tell you, but not now. We must think of Mrs. Frere, and yourself -you look very ill."

"Oh, Maurice, you don't mean to tell me you are called away now-immediately? It would be too cruel;" and she looked at him with tearful, imploring eyes and quivering lips.

"No, no; not immediately. At any rate I will not go if I can be of any use to you, Grace," cried Balfour, catching her hand and pressing it between both his, while he looked intently, tenderly into her eyes. "You know

Yes, yes; I know how kind you are," interrupted Grace, a little confused, but soothed by the warm sympathy of her companion; "but we don't expect you to throw away your chances in order to comfort us. You see no one can do us any good; our dear friend has gone. Nothing can bring her back; and we