Sally Hawkes, I suppose?"

"No indeed. Sally Hawkes must be a dear creature, but she is not the wife for you: indeed, I am sure, from what I know of her, she would not have you if you asked her. Sally Hawkes, indeed! you might as well think of wedding one of the saints in the calendar."

"Janet Anstruther then? She will never marry any one. She has lived her life as women say, and is as much out of my reach, out of any man's reach, as the planet Venus."

"I know little about Miss Anstruther, but I was not thinking of her."

"Of whom then could you be thinking?"

"Of whom? O Cyril! blind, blind, blind! I was thinking of Agnes Craven, of her whom you once called 'sister,' of your friend, your true friend, I am well assured. I have not forgotten those two letters of hers you once showed to me; such a woman would indeed have made your happiness; on such an union you might indeed have sought God's blessing.'

66

Mrs. Rattenbury, it never occurred to me to think of Agnes in that way. And if I had thought, it would have been useless: I made her my confidante respecting my love for Elizabeth; afterwards I associated her somehow with all my pain and wrong; and, deeply as I revered her, fully as I trusted her, I could not write to her. And because she did not write to me, I tried to persuade myself that she was faithless in friendship as another had been in love. Now she knows my present entanglement. I could no more presume to make love to Agnes Craven than to a lady of the blood-royal."

"Well, you know best; but if I had been a man, I think I know who I should have chosen of the fair sisterhood at Forest Range. You will tell me that 'women cannot judge for men.' I am not so certain of that; at any rate, some men cannot or do not judge wisely for themselves, especially in the article of matrimony. There is my next-door neighbour, a

widower with half a score of children, marrying a pretty girl in her eighteenth summer; there is young Stukeley at the office, grave, tranquil, given to erudite research, marrying a gay flirt, several years his senior, who will rule him with a rod of iron; and here are you, contracted to a woman of whose family you know really nothing, and whose tastes and habits are certainly at variance with your own. No; men are too frequently unwise judges in this the great epoch of their lives. But we asked you here this evening to tell you something concerning ourselves. My husband wished that I should tell you. I wonder if you

will be sorry."

"I shall be very sorry if it be anything that brings misfortune in any way to you."

tune.

"Oh, but we hope it will bring fortune, not misforRobert has given the matter his most serious consideration. At first I could not be persuaded. Of course I would have gone with him to the world's end, to Greenland, or the Sahara, if he had resolved to go thither, but he was so good-just like him, you know -as to refuse to make decision till I also was convinced that the change was desirable."

"Mr. Rattenbury is going to leave our office?"

"Yes, we have an opportunity given us of improving our circumstances, and we believe for the sake of our children we ought to take advantage of it."

"I believe you ought, but I for one shall be very sorry to miss his honest face in our dreary room in Parliament Street; still, we seldom converse privately there, and if you do not leave London we may meet as frequently as ever after business hours."

"Oh, that is the trouble; we shall leave London, and, what is worse, leave England. My boys will lose their jolly Uncle Cillill!"

"Mrs. Rattenbury! Is it possible? How did it come about?"

"It is a long story, which Robert will tell you better than I can. You have often heard us speak of old Mr. Harper, a friend of my husband's-through

whom, indeed, he holds his present situation. This gentleman has of late years connected himself with a firm doing an immense business in Russia; the partner who has hitherto resided at St. Petersburg is dead, and Mr. Harper, now sole head of the concern, naturally shrinks from leaving his own country; he is more than seventy years of age. He has watched my Robert for years," continued Minnie, with pride. in her voice and emotion in her pretty innocent face, "watched him closely, he says, and he feels sure that to no one can he with greater confidence commit the management of the foreign house than to Mr. Rattenbury. He offers us £700 a year, and will pay all 'expenses of our journey: moreover, he promises to take Robert into partnership in three years' time, if they work together to each other's mutual satisfaction. So, all things considered, we thought it right and best to go to St. Petersburg;-it was only yesterday that Robert signified to Mr. Harper his acceptation of the terms proposed. All was settled at once, and very early in the spring we go; for some reasons I am very sorry."

And so was Cyril: the early spring would seal his fate, and also separate him from these kindly, simple people, who had proved themselves such faithful friends. Very, very dark looked the shadowy future, and all the darker for his own lack of faith. If it had not been for this wretched engagement, he would have asked Mr. Rattenbury to find a place for him in the Russian counting-house: on the banks of the Neva, he might forget that which had befallen him on the shores of the river Thames; or, at least, remember certain passages of his history with less bitterness and pain.

After that evening, one would have expected to find him continually at Pibroch Place, but with the strange inconsistency of his nature, he availed himself but seldom of Minnie's cordial invitation to come to them as many evenings as he could spare; he was getting feverish and reckless, and about that time he formed acquaintances that would have suited neither

Robert Rattenbury nor Minnie; and he began to frequent scenes and haunts from which a year ago he would have turned away in horror. He could not spend one evening in the society of the fast men and unprincipled women to whom he had lately been introduced, and the next in the calm chaste atmosphere of Mrs. Rattenbury's little drawing-room.

About Christmas, he took suddenly a step which considerably astonished the members of Mrs. Matthews' "family." He withdrew altogether from that favoured circle, and established himself in chambers near the Strand, to the infinite disquietude of Mr. Somerset, and to the deep regret of Adeline and Angey, who considered his departure as a personal affront, although, since his engagement, they had ceased openly to worship at his shrine.

Already it was the New Year, and February was fast approaching. Laura was busy with her trousseau, and Minnie was beginning to make preparations for the family exodus. Cyril had long given dissatisfaction in Parliament Street, and since his removal to Arundel Street, he had become so careless of his duties that Mr. Rattenbury thought it but right to warn him that loss of confidence would certainly be followed by loss of office. And Cyril listened drearily, and for the time really cared very little what became of him; and Robert Rattenbury, telling his wife some circumstances that had come to his knowledge, added, "I am sorry as I can be, Minnie; for that young fellow is certainly going to the bad, and the next thing will be that he is dismissed from our office. I begin to think the sooner he is married to Miss Somerset the better; anything is better than the life he now leads, and I dare say I do not know the worst." And the simple-hearted couple mourned over Cyril's degradation, but felt themselves powerless to save him from the abysses of sorrow towards which he so madly rushed. Had Agnes known all the truth, I cannot think how she would have borne it. She would have wept tears of bitterest anguish

over the miserable change; she would have mourned with almost broken heart over the defaced ruins of the glorious temple of that once fair and noble manhood. But she did not know; we, far away under the shadow of the mighty Alps, on the Mediterranean shore, little guessed of all that was transpiring with Cyril; only sometimes we wondered whether he and Laura were yet married, and we looked constantly in the papers for the intelligence we expected to receive. He never wrote to us, not even to Agnes, and so the correspondence between us died quite away; at last, it seemed as if the link between the Denhams and the Ashburners was broken or quite lost; and our own anxieties were so great, that we had little leisure for the indulgence of any but an ever present and imminent grief that, day by day, closed more heavily about us, for Lady Ashburner's strength was declining rapidly.

The blow that Mr. Rattenbury had dreaded came even earlier than he had anticipated. He had finally quitted the office, and was busily occupied in gaining the necessary experience for his new undertaking, so that there was no one to give the unfortunate Cyril a word of warning. Some of his escapades had reached the ears of the great men at the helm of affairs; the heads of the department had long been disgusted with his carelessness and general remissness; one or two instances of glaring neglect came to the knowledge of the "powers that be;" and one morning Cyril was civilly, but haughtily informed, that his services were no longer needed—“circumstances had occurred that rendered an immediate change necessary, etc. Mr. Denham's own conscience must tell him wherein and how deeply he had erred; in a word, another gentleman was already selected from a crowd of eager candidates to fill the vacant post."

So it came to pass that Cyril found himself once more a gentleman at large, and he resolved at last to give himself up to literature, forswearing all other kinds of labour. On one account he rather rejoiced