She had been so shut up, so thoroughly kept under -this proud, ambitious girl; her high spirit had been so curbed, her opportunities of ascertaining her exact position so singularly few, and her desire to escape from the dreary walls of Monkswood so vehement,that she at once accepted the love-enthralled John Erskine, and persisted in marrying him, though her mother said him nay, and advised her to live a single life, and devote herself to works of piety. But a single life and works of piety, as Mrs. Denham interpreted them, meant painful economy, entire separation from society, the reading of much mouldy theology, and wearing mortified apparel. Lucretia very naturally declined; she knew full well that the fortunes of the Denhams were nearly at the lowest ebb; and here was Mr. Erskine asking her to share his fortunes, which were a perpetual in-coming tide; for he had mines, and railway shares, and such a balance at his banker's! So the strong-minded mother, altogether amazed at the sudden strong-mindedness of a girl who had been obedient all her life, actually gave way. Miss Denham had a splendid settlement, but she went as empty-handed to her wealthy husband, as if she had been a hard-worked seamstress, or a third-rate daily governess. She did not even take with her the usual trousseau which young ladies of family think indispensable for the best of reasons, that she had not more money than sufficed to buy her weddinggown and bonnet, and a few inexpensive garments, which she really could not do without. She was too proud to run in debt-too conscientious then, it is but justice to remark. Not that she accused herself with contracting debts in later days, she had no temptation to that perilous and most exciting game. When your husband holds out money with both hands perpetually, you must indeed consider debt a luxury, if still you will incur it; and Mr. Erskine was exactly such a model husband: he even gave his wife blank cheques to fill up at her pleasure, and he never had the bad taste to inquire what she did with them. An enviable woman!

as many an aristocratic dame in Dublin said and thought!

A sweet little girl of five came in with the dessert -Mrs. Erskine's only child, and Mr. Erskine's of course-only nobody ever dreamed of attributing any kind of possession to that gentleman; the house in Merrion Square was Mrs. Erskine's, so was the lovely villa on Killiney Bay, the servants all were hers, the pew at church, the orchard, houses, and the pineries, and of course this little daughter! Never had anybody a clearer and stronger sense of meum, with so decided an inclination to ignore tuum, as far as her liege lord and master was concerned! Yet the world considered John and Lucretia Erskine a very happy pair!

Little Lucy sat upon her uncle's knee, daintily munching candied-apricots, much to Mrs. Denham's horror, for she was not quite sure that it was not pampering the flesh sinfully to eat such things at all! Only they certainly were very nice; and at her age, and with her settled habits of self-discipline, it did not matter, just for once or so, just while she stayed at Forest Range, where they kept habitually a shamefully luxurious table. But with a child it was another case; she ought to have had some bread and milk, and gone to bed whereas, as she gathered from sundry. revelations, uttered in a silvery, voice, that Miss Erskine had dined on chicken and rhubard-tart, and had been dressed, and was quite ready for fruits, candied or uncandied, and biscuits at discretion!

"Cyril!" she said at length uneasily, "you are doing that child harm; why not have given her one of those small apples, or half an orange, and perhaps a fig? Figs are good for children, just one at a time. Lucy, put down that nasty sugary stuff, and have a fig."

"Tant you, Drandmamma," replied Miss Lucy, courteously, like a little lady, as she was; "but the atritot is very nice, not nasty at all; and I can have a fid any time I like; nursie always keeps a bots of fids for me."

And then Elizabeth, Agnes, and Cyril, and even Lady Ashburner went into raptures with her pretty

lisping tongue, which ignored at least half a dozen consonants of the English alphabet. I dare say it really is very senseless, but to many people, men as well as women, the prattle of a child who cannot turn its k's, and p's, and g's, is irresistible. I must say, I like to hear a little lad or maiden chattering just as Miss Lucy Erskine did, when she declined a“ fid!”

Cyril, however, was not exactly wise, neither was Elizabeth; and the two, with Miss Craven for accomplice, would soon have made little Lucy ill, had not that discreet young maiden affirmed, "I tant tate no more; Mamma says I must eat only one sing at dessert; I should lite a little more atritot, but I musn't have dried sherries!" From which genuine speech you may infer that Mrs. Erskine understood how to govern and train her little daughter wisely. Ah! wisdom of a certain sort Mrs. Erskine did not lack; the art of governing prudently was hers in all its fulness.

After dinner, while the ladies gossiped over their coffee-cups, Mrs. Denham progressed rapidly with her stockings; she was narrowing the heel, or doing something at the heel that involved much careful counting, and she did not join in conversation. When the gentlemen appeared, she grimly kissed Elizabeth and Mrs. Erskine, and said "good night," carrying off Sally Hawkes to the upper regions. And no one saw her again till next morning, when she appalled the housemaids by taking up her quarters, knitting and all, in the breakfast-room, while the dusters were still in requisition, and the fire newly lighted. Sally had read aloud the "Meditation for the Day," and the best part of a sermon, before anybody else came down. Lady Ashburner, shocked at Sally's faint look and totally exhausted voice, gave orders that a cup of tea should be taken to Mrs. Denham and to Miss Hawkes, every morning at half-past seven, during their stay at Forest Range. A piece of consideration for which Sally was devotedly thankful; for she was not so strong as she had been, and Mrs. Denham with her iron constitution was merciless through want of thought.

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CHAPTER X.

THE STAR OF HOPE.

Two days afterwards the party at Forest Range was augmented by the arrival of Elizabeth's old schoolfellow, Miss Kate Gower, and her brother. Miss Gower was a merry, open-hearted girl, moderately clever, but scarcely moderately pretty. Yet when you had known her a few days, and especially if you had been rather poorly, or in any little trouble, you would begin to think her square cheeks and chin, her want of complexion, and her decidedly snub nose, far from unattractive. And then she had beautiful honest eyes, of no particular colour indeed, but beaming with the truth, with purity of mind, and kindliness beyond description. She had plenty of good common sense, and used it too, and like the little fountain bubbling through the herbage, she had learned to "do good secretly." She became a great ally of Sally Hawkes at once, and volunteered to read sometimes to Mrs. Denham, if that lady would permit an interchange of duties; Kate undertaking the miserably printed sermons, and Sally joining the walking or riding party, or the merry circle in the morning room, where music, drawing, literature, and chat filled up the hours when the weather kept them in the house.

It was astonishing how_Sally mended, even in the first week of her visit at Forest Range; there was a little colour in her sallow cheeks, and she had lost something of the prim old-maidish air, which had distinguished her of late. Poor Sally! these were halcyon days; only Monkswood would seem so much drearier when she went away. In the meantime, however,

every one conspired to make her happy. Sir John and Lady Ashburner treated her, not only as a welcome, but as an honoured guest; there was no side-table, no grateless attic, for her, no put-offs or make-shifts of any kind, such as generally fell to the lot of a poor "companion," who accompanies her lady on a visit. Elizabeth petted her to her heart's content whenever she had the opportunity, and Agnes Craven liked nothing better than a quiet half-hour with Sally Hawkes.

Mr. Gower did not at all resemble his sister; he was strikingly handsome, brilliant in conversation, aristocratic in his general aspect, and languidly indifferent to everything which did not concern himself. Cyril did not like him; Agnes regarded him with something bordering on disfavour, and Sir John and Lady Ashburner, while they strove to be as cordial to him as to his sister, blamed themselves for a coldness they could not overcome. Mrs. Denham said at once he was "a son of Belial," and told him so within a day of his arrival, but he only shrugged his shoulders, French fashion, and declared that she was a "most charmingly original old lady."

A week's frost followed the gathering of the party at Forest Range, and there was a great deal done in skating on the streams that intersect the valley of the Ilster, about the villages of Ashchurch and Fairchurch, and Forest Range; they were frozen "gloriously," the gentlemen declared, and many a pleasant hour was spent upon the ice, the ladies, wrapped in furs and velvets, laughing at the cold. But there were some days when there was no going beyond the stables, when the ladies were compelled to take their exercise in the gallery, or to have a game of romps with little Lucy; and what with walks across the snowy meadows, sharp constitutionals in the sheltered portion of the grounds, when for an hour or two the sun came out, loiterings in the greenhouse and long mornings in the library, the intimacy between Agnes and Cyril Denham progressed most satisfactorily;