"Edith, my dear," said he; "the morning that the Captain took you for a drive-do you remember it?"

"Perfectly."

"Well, I then opened my heart to your dear father, and received his permission to say something to you." And he paused"Well?" was the response presently, when she found that he had stopped abruptly.

"You see what a large measure of responsibility has been unexpectedly devolved on me in the acquisition of this estate with all that is involved in it. I must have some one to share it with me. Don't you see?"

"But the Captain is going to remain, is not he?

"The Captain! Yes. But, Edith, I can't marry the Captain. The Captain cannot be my wife."

And at that notion, as soon as it was uttered, the young girl burst into a merry ringing laugh. And it was so odd a thought that he had thus negatively presented, and her innocent laugh was so joyous, that it proved contagious. But as deeper thoughts were in the man's heart, the contagion did not amount to an answering laugh, but only produced a happy smile, that spread however over all the countenance, and gave its tone to the remark with which he followed it up.

"When I said some one to share my duties and responsibilities, my dear, I meant some one to share my lot altogether, to love me, and be loved by me, through all our mutual life. Edith, darling, I meant a wife."

"Would not Lilli make a beautiful wife?" said Edith, still with perfect simplicity, and she launched out into the heartiest encomiums on her young friend to whom she gave ungrudging admiration.

"Nonsense, Edith. Lilli! I have set my heart on you. Will you be my wife, darling?"

It was as though an earthquake had yawned before her, or a whole pile of thunder clouds had burst within her soul. She stood still, frightened, and pale as death, and trembled in every limb, and would have fallen had he not caught her in his arms, and placed her on one of the rustic seats that were scattered here and there over the grounds.

'Edith, dear! Don't be frightened. I never dreamed that you could fail to understand me so. Forgive me, my love, if I have been too abrupt."

Still the young girl shook like an aspen tree. A great gulf had in one moment come between all her simple maidenly past and the unknown future.

The Mr. Sydney of her free, artless girlhood had vanished ;--swallowed up, in a moment, in that strange gulf that seemed to

have opened right before her, and another Mr. Sydney was there, the same in figure, indeed, in appearance, and voice, and everything, and yet another. No longer the friend and brother, with whom she had been so free;-but transformed-and not yet transfigured-into a possible-husband! And for herself--that same moment had changed the girl, into a-woman. And all the relations of earth were in that instant changed and confused; and she knew nothing.

"Edith, dear, I won't press you for an answer. I was wrong, very wrong, to have taken so much for granted. But now you know my feelings towards you, and we will let time solve the question. Will you forgive me for my abruptness? he asked, tenderly. But the increased tenderness of his tone and manner only added to the disturbance of that young bosom. And when she could speak, she said faintly, in a subdued voice, "Please, take me to my father."

He put her hand in his arm that he might support her to the house, for the trembling, as if a cold chill had struck her, did not cease; and as she unevenly stepped along over the intervening space, she felt as if a strange distance separated her from her old friend, and yet as if a new nearness too were possible perhaps. She was as in a strange dream. A heavy night-mare weighed upon her heart. And would the terror ever change to something less formidable, to something bright even?

When she reached her father, she flung herself passionately into his arms and burst into tears; at the same time clinging to him, and kissing him, as if some one were seeking to tear her away from him. A glance at Sydney, who answered by a look of significance, told him that the crisis in his child's life had that morning come. And then Sydney left the father and daughter to their own mutual confidings. She had no mother, into whose maternal heart she could pour all the strange and conflicting feelings of that totally unlooked-for hour; and Mr. Langston, from the time of his own terrible bereavement, had sometimes felt it was not quite easy to be both father and mother in one. But he gradually drew out all he needed to know in order that he might act accordingly. And, before that long and touching interview was over, he had acceded to the earnest wish of Edith to hasten their departure from Gaunt House. Instinctive maidenliness taught her what was best. Mr. Sydney could no longer be the brother she had till now taken him for, and she was utterly unprepared, in a moment, to change the old relation for a new one. The idea had never

entered her mind, that the long-time fond and faithful lover of "The Mayflower" could ever wish for her to fill the vacuum that death had made. Whether other girls would have had a keener

eye for the possible-whether they ever allow an idle fancy to entertain proposals that have not been made, and yield up their maidenly imaginations to a chance crowd of pictured lovers, or instal some one chosen favourite in their hearts before their love is solicited, how should I know? I only know that, though possibly some of her sex not older than herself may smile halfpityingly at her utter surprise, she was as thoroughly confounded at the notion, when seriously put before her, as if she had been hailed Queen of England. And the fact was, Mr. Sydney, now that the fraternal, as she had hitherto felt it, had ceased, would have to win her heart as he might have had to win any other; though, of course, it is not to be concealed that he stood every chance of success, nor was it likely that the task would be a very hard one. She wished to leave Gaunt House, however, and felt she could not be at her ease again until she and her father were in another position than that which the issue of the morning's walk had made so strange. She felt painfully embarrassed at the prospect of meeting Mr. Sydney again, and begged that she might keep her chamber at all events for the remainder of the day.

The Captain returned earlier than was looked for. He had not been to Jersey. For at Southampton he had learned that there was no prospect of a smooth passage at that season, and from all he heard he feared it would be too rough for an invalid to venture. He therefore proposed the south coast of the Isle of Wight, either Sandown, or Shanklin, or Ventnor. And after a brief discussion this was agreed on. And it was a great relief to Edith when she found that Mr. Sydney had requested the Captain to take charge of the party; himself staying at Gaunt House for a while, but proposing to visit them as soon as Mr. Langston should inform him they had recovered from the fatigue of the journey, and were settled in a comfortable house, and felt ready to welcome him.

And soon the last afternoon they would pass at Gaunt House had come, and an air of pensiveness stole over the whole party, Miss Llewellyn alone excepted.

"Mr. Sydney," said she, in her lively way, "are you sure we have seen all that is worth seeing in this queer, delightful old house? Hav'n't you some haunted chamber? I am sure there ought to be one. Gaunt House! I declare I thought I saw a ghost last night, and it pointed with a finger dripping with blood to a sort of Bluebeard's den. Or else I dreamt it. Come, now, give me the key, Sir, and let me just peep into the terrible chamber. Gaunt House! Oh, I am all in Oh, I am all in a shiver."

"Well, young lady," answered the host, "now you speak of it, there is a room which I confess is a mystery to myself, and I

shall be delighted if Miss Llewellyn can make anything of it." He rang the bell, and requested the housekeeper to have the octagon chamber opened, and prepared for a visit presently.

"It is a room," he said, "which puzzles me to understand what it was built for. As you will see, it is connected with the main building only on one of its eight sides-that by a door in which, the only door too, we enter it. But you shall see; and I confess I would give a trifle for some clue to its meaning."

So presently the whole party proceeded to inspect it, the housekeeper and Mr. Sydney leading the way. Up the first broad staircase of polished oak, along one gallery, turning now to the right hand and descending a few steps, then to the left and ascending two or three, winding about hither and thither, so that a chart would have been needed by a stranger. At length the door was opened, and they stood in a large chamber, having, as we have said, eight sides. In each of the seven walls a mullioned window of old painted glass, except where portions had been broken, and repaired without regard to the original design. The stone roof was groined. A large old-fashioned hearth, and chimney-place, with the stone sides of it elaborately carved. But the chief feature of all was the huge solid oak table that occupied the centre. It was large enough for some eighteen or twenty men to sit at comfortably without elbowing each other. Unlike the long table in the old baronial hall, this was round. It was composed of various solid pieces most carefully fitted together, so that no join could be detected except on careful scrutiny. It was four or five inches in thickness, and was supported on a heavy frame-work in proportion. The housekeeper said there were different traditions about it. Some said it was brought over from the Holy Land by a Crusader. But this was absurd, for it must have been built in the room itself; that was evident, they all agreed. What could be the meaning of it? Who had built the chamber, and for what purpose? "I have it," said Miss Llewellyn; " why, it is the famous Round Table of my noble ancestor, to be sure, King Arthur. Ah, don't you see here is an odd-shaped L; and that stands for Lancelot, of course. And I should not wonder if you find a G, if you look, and then that will mark Sir Gawaine's place at the board."

"Oh, but," said Mr. Langston, "the Round Table of King Arthur was in the open air, if I remember rightly. And was it not of turf, too, with a circular seat of turf running round it? I fear the true solution is yet to seek,"

"No, no, no; I can't have my theory put out of court in that fashion, Sir. I shall borrow a hint from my good countryman Fluellen-Captain Fluellen, I mean, Shakspeare's Fluellen, you know-and will undertake to prove this to be the identical

Round Table of King Arthur, quite as easily and as satisfactorily too as he proved the similarity of Monmouth and Macedon."

There must be some clue to it, one would think," said Mr. Langston, "in some old history of the county, or other. Or, perhaps, there may be old writings lurking unsuspected in outof-the-way chests in closets or corners overlooked."

"I think I must invite the Archæological Society to pay us a visit, some day," said Mr. Sydney. "But I must wait till I am in a position to receive company, especially such a distinguished body. Eh, Edith ?" And he looked at her with pleasant meaning in his voice and manner; but Edith blushed, and was silent.

The next morning the party, with the exception of Mr. Sydney, took leave of Gaunt House for Southampton, which they hoped to reach the same night, and the day following they would cross over to the island. A few days more, and they were comfortably settled in a furnished house for the winter, and began to call it "home;" and then soon they began to find their way about Ventnor, and Bonchurch, and the Undercliff, and had even extended their little excursions as far on the other side as Niton and Blackgang. And every day saw Mr. Langston's health improving. And Edith's pale cheeks, too, gained something of colour, and her eye was full of a deep, deep consciousness that was altogether new, and quite a new loveliness spread over the countenance, and one which evidently was the working of the soul within. One would have fancied the dawn of a new life in her.

The Captain had returned to his friend.

"Well, Edith," said her father one day, about three weeks or rather more after they had settled at Ventnor, "Mr. Sydney wants to know when we can welcome him at Myrtle Cottage ?" "When you please, Papa, dear," was the answer with a smile.

(To be concluded in our next.)

THE SLAUGHTER AT THE BROOK KISHON.

FEW things more strikingly show the wonderful difference between the tone of the present day and that of the ages before Christ ("B.C.") than the effect often produced on the modern mind by such narratives as that recorded of the prophet Elijah, in 1, Kings, xviii. 40.