will yielded as it was drawn, and a proud head bent to whisper what, for manner, might have been a royal declaration of love. Milly answered it neither by word nor look, only drew a little closer to her lover's side. But when, in answer to his pleadings, the golden-haired head was raised a little, the delicate flower-like lips and cheeks were pressed to the handsome black-whiskered face which was stooping over her. Bella was thunderstruck. The idea of such a calamity had never entered her head. However, there was no help for it. Miss Wilkinson_took the vacant place readily enough. Bella could have cried with vexation and spite, but she controlled herself with a violent effort, and the game began. Milly had beard Mr. Warburton's refusal to play, and the woe-begone little face had brightened. But it clouded again when he lingered watching the first hand. Perhaps he would stay there looking at them a little while and then go. She was in an agony of hope and fear. - Card after card fell would he never come away? Yes! yes! yes! he was coming, lounging across the room in his own superb style. The low chair by Milly's side creaked as he dropped into it, and she was in Paradise once more. “You look very melancholy to-night," said the gentleman. "No," and the little lady shook her head. No indeed." Mr. Warburton only smiled. "Shall you have to go away very early ?" she asked. It was the subject uppermost in her mind, and she could think of nothing else to say. "Not very; unless I go for a moonlight walk." "Oh—are you going?" "Not that I know of." Another "Oh!" and "What made you talk about it, then?" "Because it's just the night for it if any one felt inclined." "It's moonlight, then?" said Milly, looking across at the windows. It soon went back, leaning on Mr. Warburton's elaborate shirt-front as if that were its natural resting-place. And then Milly whispered . . . No; I won't tell you what she said. It's no business of yours. And if she talked nonsense Mr. Warburton set her the example, and he was old enough to know better. So if you like to blame him you may, though I shall not join even in that, for I think Mr. Matthew Warburton never did a wiser thing in his life than he did in that five minutes on the balcony. 66 (By the way, there was something I wanted to say about that moon, for I like to be accurate. Milly thought it was "lovely," and Mr. Warburton, as we know, described it as splendid." But I do not myself think it was very remarkable; in fact I should have said not full, and certainly a little misty. We have all seen the moon shedding such a flood of keen radiance that the landscape seems to wear a veil of transparent snow. But on this occasion there was nothing of the kind. I really think the utmost that could be said for it would be that it was like Mr. Birdofredum Sawin's star, "a middlin' shiny one." But then I did not view it from that balcony.) Mrs. Rivers's gilt clock ticked steadily, totally ignoring the fact that outside the window the minutes, marked by fond whispers and beating hearts, were going like lightning; while within, measured by the monotonous fall of the cards on the cloth, they dragged wearily on. Mr. Warburton laughed. "Why, of course it's moonlight-a splendid moon. Matthew was stroking Milly's rippling I say," lowering his voice, "what do you hair, and with all the soul he possessed say, Milly-will you come out on the bal-looking into her eyes. She drew her face a cony and see, eh?" Bella, wearily whist-playing, saw them cross the room and disappear behind the curtain. She would have cheerfully given ten years of her life to have been able to see beyond it. And if she had paid the price, and followed them, I think she would have cried out in utter bitterness of soul, "Take all the rest, and let me lie down at once!" For the safe shelter scarcely reached, she would have seen a strong arm round a slender waist, a slight form which, swaying, little away, and laid her soft cheek against his hand in a mute caress. "I must go now, Milly," he said. And Milly said, Please-please." Can you wonder that after so eloquent and convincing a speech Mr. Warburton should have remained at least ten minutes longer? But at last he did go. Parting from her with a long embrace, kissing the soft lips and the tremulous eyelids and the little hands, he withdrew the curtain for a moment, stepped into the drawing-room, and walked coolly up to the card-players. "Good-night, Mrs. Rivers-I'm off," he said. She took her eyes from the king of trumps for a moment, and returned his "Good-night: Good-night, Ford- you won't walk home with me, I suppose? 99 66 Mrs. Rivers was sorry for the disappointed girl, and Bella seemed to bear no malice, but came and went as of old. To Milly she was less variable than to others, almost always kind, but with a certain cold"Thank you, no,” said the gaunt seriousness, keeping her, and, still more, Matthew, doctor; "I must finish my game." "Yours takes some time to play," said Matthew; "Good-night, Miss Wilkinson." Then he looked over Bella's hand: 66 Well, Miss Mannering, and are you playing your cards pretty successfully? Seeing that Mr. Matthew Warburton knew perfectly well that for his sake, and for his only, Bella had joined the game, and while she was thus cruelly trapped, he had been making love to her rival a few yards away, it was a mean and ungenerous speech. The man who loved Milly, and whom Milly loved, ought to have been incapable of finding pleasure in pricking sensitive Bella with a taunting little jest. But he was not. I am more angry with him for that, I think, than for anything else. "I don't know," the girl replied, with a flash in her lowering eyes; some games are only played for amusement, and one does not trouble one's self about the end." "Oh, is that it?" said Matthew; " well, so much the better if you are losing-it sounds rather like a loser's speech;" and he held out his hand, which she just touched with the tips of her reluctant fingers - and so he departed. Little Milly watched her opportunity, stole across from the window, and went silently to her own room. When they had finished their game, the whist-players heard that Miss Hope was tired, and had gone to bed. The truth was, she did not want to talk that night. She even made up her mind to pretend to be sound asleep when her aunt should come in to kiss her. The dreadful hypocrite rehearsed a little beforehand, and did it very well-so naturally, indeed, that she had done the real thing long before Mrs. Rivers came in with her carefully-shaded candle. 66 All this happened in May, and it was now nearly the end of September. Every one in Drayford knew the result of that evening's inspection of the moon. The Mannerings had been ten weeks at Brighton, and were just home again. Bella looked better for her change," the gossips said. She was statelier than ever, but had a tired look about her eyes, and her temper was a little uncertain, - sometimes very gentle, so that its sad humility seemed out of harmony with her queenly bearing - sometimes fretful and sullen. at arm's-length. Mrs. Rivers might be sorry for Bella, but she could not help feeling glad that her niece was provided for. She could leave the child something when she died, but the larger part of her income would revert to her husband's family, and Milly was her sister's daughter. So, apart from her liking for Mr. Warburton, she was naturally pleased that her little girl should have secured the best match in Drayford. Nevertheless she had at first objected to a positive engagement. She hoped Milly knew her own mind, and would not change; still she had a feeling that the helpless motherless girl ought to have a certain amount of freedom secured to her." She is too young," urged Mrs. Rivers to the imperious and impatient wooer — “ only seventeen last February she is too young to be married too young to pledge berself finally. You must give her time." Mr. Warburton did not see that, and tried to put Mrs. Rivers down with a strong hand. But the placid lady proved surprisingly obstinate. Then he changed his tactics, and made concessions with an immense amount of fuss and parade. Mrs. Rivers accepted them gratefully, and discovered, too late, that he had hardly yielded anything at all. 66 Milly's birthday was the 19th. Mr. Warburton suggested that there could be no possible objection to their marriage then. Lent," said Mrs. Rivers. Matthew gulped down a strong word about Lent. " Well, then," he said, as soon after Easter as could be managed." After a prolonged debate, Mrs. Rivers yielded. If, when the New Year came, Milly had not changed her mind, it might be considered a settled thing. "And if she does, I'm to grin, and bear it, eh?" said Mr. Warburton. "Yes," said Mrs. Rivers, looking up with a smile at the jolly handsome face; you must grin, and bear it." Matthew said it was very hard. 66 Milly thought it was extremely absurd when she was told of it, and was rather indignant on Matthew's account. "As it I could ever change," she had whispered"as if I could ever change!" And Mr. Warburton tossed his head slightly back, with a broad smile of pleasure at her words, and amusement at Mrs. Rivers's folly. "My dear girl, do you suppose I was afraid?" "I never will," she persisted; "Matthew, I never will!' And that was how they settled the question of Milly's freedom. Mrs. Rivers had gathered up all her energy for one protest, and that being made, she drifted on in her usually placid passive way. As she sincerely wished for the match, and as she thought her niece really did seem to be sure of herself, she only faintly remonstrated when Mr. Warburton altogether ignored their covenant, and behaved on every occasion as if it were already a settled and positive thing. Indeed, after a few weeks the original treaty was almost totally forgotten. Bella perhaps remembered it. And Milly used merrily to threaten her big lover now and then, that if he wasn't very good she would change her mind before New Year's Day. At which capital joke they both invariably laughed. As I have said, the summer was ebbing fast. It was the end of September, and stray leaves began to flicker softly from the trees, the freshness of all verdure was gone, and the fields were grey stubble which had been golden corn. When next the summer came round, Milly thought, as she looked out at the warm, rich, yet mournful autumn landscape when next the leaves came out and the flowers b'oomed, she would be married. Before the little copses were blue with hyacinths but she would have time to go and pick some primroses as Milly Hope, and then did married ladies ever go out and pick primroses, she wondered? She rather thought not. And of course she would go out for walks with Matthew then, and she did not think he ever picked wild flowers. Well, she would have a last scramble in the Drayford woods, get a last nosegay from the hedgerows, and from the height of her approaching dignity and happiness look back with that mixture of scorn and pity and yearning to the simple childhood which had passed away for ever. Milly thought of it as if it were some little old-fashioned frock or ornament, once dearly prized, now altogether outgrown, absurd, impossible to put on, yet regarded a little sadly and tenderly by the young fashionably-dressed lady, who felt with a curious kind of pain that, though the world was before her and a thousand changes might come, there was one that could never be. Never could she change again into the simple artless little creature who knew no passion either of joy or sorrow, who loved her aunt and her nursemaid, and later, her governess, and liked to have bread and treacle for her tea. No, Milly reflected, half smiling, half sighing, all that was over for ever. She had been very happy through the past summer - passionately, triumphantly, excitedly happy. Mr. Warburton's future wife was an important personage in Drayford. Milly had been caressed and made much of where of old she had been ignored. And Matthew's good temper had been unvarying. Never had she seen the faintest flash of displeasure in his eyes except once, when he took it into his obstinate head that some one had slighted her. Then indeed he had raged, and Milly had had to soothe him with many innocent little artifices. But a woman delights in a lion-like fierceness, if to her the lion is a lamb. But I verily believe that word "but" was made to come in at the end of descriptions of felicity-there was one tiny flaw in Milly's great happiness. She had not the slightest doubt that Mr. Matthew Warburton was the first and highest of men. deed she considered him an absolutely perfect man. But she wished men in general could be altered in one or two little things. In Matthew Warburton since that moonlight night petted her, fondled her, loaded her with presents, but did not see that he was bound to be polite to her. He had no natural courtesy; his politeness was donned for company; it was irksome and chilling to him, so that of course it was flung aside when he was with his future wife. Milly could not have defined what it was pained her, but something jarred upon her finer feelings. It was a pleasure to wait on her lord and master in little ways, and yet she was angry with herself because of a certain irritation which she felt in so waiting. Mr. Warburton took such attentions as a matter of course, and saved his politeness for other young ladies, while he gave his love to Milly. After all, do not we see a good many husbands who do exactly the same? Unreasonable little Milly, to want both love and courtesy. I remember hearing once how the principle was thoroughly carried out at a young mechanic's wedding. The bride came with one bridesmaid, both decked out in what finery they could manage. The ceremony being over, and the names duly signed in the vestry, the bridegroom, with the greatest politeness, offered his arm, not to the bride, but to the bridesmaid, and conducted her out of church. Of course he preferred his wife, who came meekly at the couple's heels, but then she was his wife, and the other was a strange young lady, and as such entitled to the benefit of his company manners. Matthew Warburton was guided by the same feeling, though it was hardly probable and dowagers. But after a time, the demand for tea and cake and thin bread-andbutter having subsided, he sat down by Milly and began to talk. he would follow it out so logically. Milly supposed it was natural to all men, and that Dr. Ford's prim little pink-faced assistant was free and easy with the young lady at Birmingham. The last Tuesday in that September Bella Mannering made her appearance in Mrs. Rivers's drawing-room. And following Bella Mannering come a young man. A grave, quiet young man, who had a pale face and a thoughtful manner, and who stood silently by Miss Mannering while she explained that they had met Mr. Eversley at Brighton, and he was staying with them for a few days, and they were sure Mrs. Rivers wouldn't mind. And Mrs. Rivers bastened to assure her that not only did she not mind, but that she was charmed to make Mr. Eversley's acquaintance, and the pair shook hands. A general introduction followed, and everybody looked curiously at Mr. Eversley, and Mr. Eversley looked at every one a little absently. He was not shy, only very quiet. He talked readily enough, in a voice which, though very pleasant, was extremely low. After a while he found himself near Milly as she sat at the tea-table. Mr. Warburton had not yet arrived, and the little tea-maker was rather solitary. Perhaps even dull Drayford folks had discovered that young ladies who are waiting for their lovers are not the liveliest of company. It would have been unreasonable to expect a sparkling flow of small talk from Hero, for instance, when with straining eyes she looked out across the waves. But Mr. Eversley was not aware of any tie between Milly and Mr. Warburton, nor indeed of that gentleman's existence; so, bravely approaching her where she sat in trenched behind the big tray, he offered his services if he could be of any use. Six months earlier Milly would have been confused and bewildered, but the engaged young lady was rather more self-possessed. "Oh, thank you," she said, 'you might give me those cups." He did. Then he filled up the teapot for her. "Aunt Rivers will not have the tea brought into the room and handed round; she likes to see it made," said Milly. "Don't you?" said Mr. Eversley, as he tried to see through the steam whether the teapot was full. I think it is much nicer." Only no one does it now," said Milly. "Which makes us appreciate your kindness the more. Why are you so anxious to be exactly like everybody else?" Under her directions he fetched and carried several cups for the assembled spinsters Seeing him more closely, she presently made the discovery that Mr. Eversley was by no means so young as she had imagined from her first glance at his beardless face. | Probably the candle-light had helped the brief illusion. Now that he was so near her, Milly saw that he was somewhat worn that there were faint suggestions of hollows in cheek and temple, and “a lot of tiny little wrinkles," as she said to herself, at the corners of the bright gentle eyes. But he had a quantity of soft brown hair, which he wore rather too long to be fashionable, and the smooth silken waves looked very youthful indeed. Mr. John Eversley had a pleasant though rather a melancholy face. He seemed marked out by nature as a sort of amateur father confessor. You felt a curious impulse to tell him all your secrets when you looked at the soft inquiring eyes, the mouth formed for gentlest speech if speech were needed, if not, for kindly silence, and whose lips seemed incapable of laugh or sneer. He was the son of a clergyman named Lisle. He had gone out to India as a young man, and had come back after two years, so ill he was hardly expected to live. Wandering to and fro in his aimless, gentle way on the parade at Ventnor, the young fellow had attracted the attention of a solitary old officer who was also wintering there. Colonel Eversley made inquires about John Lisle; found he had known his uncle in old times; introduced himself to the young man; was fascinated by him, as every one was who knew him; made John move from his lodgings to the house where he had established himself; planned tours in which his new friend was to be his companion; and finally, when the spring-time came, Lisle began to talk about going away, and, since his health was a little re-established, seeking something to do, it appeared that Colonel Evers ey could not part with him. 64 I'm all alone in the world," he said. “I buried my boy seventeen years ago, and he was the last of all. You had better stay with me, John, and take his place. No one has any claim on me. What do you say? Can you put up with a fretful, fidgety old fellow, eh?" John thought he could. Mr. Lisle, who was anything but a rich man, and who had mourned over his boy's dark prospects, looked upon the wealthy Colonel Eversley as a messenger sent by Providence to rescue John from his perplexities. It was not like waiting for dead men's shoes, either. | ple's minds - we are not a bit alike," - his Young Lisle stepped at once into the pleas- thoughts flashed from his melancholy reant position of the Colonel's son. The old flection in the mirror to a bright fair florid man took every opportunity of making it clearly understood among his acquaintance that his young friend would inherit every shilling he had to leave — no inconsiderable fortune. So the two had roamed about in France and Italy. John almost worshipped the grand old Colonel, and felt a son's sorrow when he laid his adopted father in the grave. Perhaps no clause in the will gave him more pleasure than that which bound him to assume the name of Eversley. face; "and as to names, no one will have the least reason for supposing Mr. John Eversley to be related to Mr. George Lisle. I'll go." And thus it came to pass that he found himself by Milly's tea-table that Seotember evening. He talked softly and fluently about books and music, and after a time slid into a description of some of his travels; but it was curious to note, whatever the subject, how rarely he said "I," it was always "a friend of mine," or "the people at such a He had met the Mannerings at Brighton, place." Milly listened, well pleased, but as and had made friends with the Rector. she listened she looked from time to time at When they asked him down to Drayford, the door. It opened at last and her lover being an idle man, he came. But he hesitated appeared. John stopped in the middle of a little before he accepted the invitation. He wished to please Mr. Mannering, who was evidently anxious he should come. He had never been at Drayford, but he had an unpleasant remembrance of its name. Before he went to India a situation had been found for his only brother in the Drayford Bank. Owing to some negligence on the part of one of his superiors, the young man, who was terribly in debt, had been sorely tempted and had fallen. Of course he intended to make all right. Equally of course, he could not. His ruin was imminent, nay, inevitable. But a friend to whom he confessed his madness contrived to save him from its darkest consequences. His generous help and strenuous exertions were in a great measure successful. The matter was hushed up, and young Lisle went away. People knew there was something mysterious about his sudden departure; but though there were many rumours there was no certainty, and the talk died out in time. It was all over when John came home ill. George had gone to Canada, the generous friend had been repaid only Mr. Lisle knew at what cost, for he buried the secret of his younger son's misdeeds in even more than his accustomed silence. John knew that something had gone very wrong during George's stay at Drayford, but had never chosen to ask for particulars which must be as painful for him to hear as for his father to relate. It was the remembrance of this old trouble which had made John hesitate about accepting Mr. Mannering's urgent invitation. But he did not hesitate long. "I can do no harm," he reflected; "the whole thing is gone by-was gone by before ever the Mannerings went there. Nothing about me can in any way recall my brother to peo a sentence to follow the direction of her eager eyes. His own rested on the big handsome man who was replying in a great jovial voice to a buzz of greetings. They lingered on Mr. Warburton's face for a moment, and then were turned away full of a faint but decided antipathy. Mrs. Rivers, probably doubting whether her niece would ever make her old and new friends properly known to each other, came to the tea-table with the banker, and a formal introduction ensued - Mr. Eversley Mr. Waxburton. The two men bowed and exchanged greetings and glances. Mr. Warburton was loftily indifferent, Mr. Eversley was reserved and chilling. Milly looked radiantly up into Matthew's face, "You are very late.' He smiled and whispered something John did not hear. "Sit down," Miss Hope continued, "and let me pour you out some nice weak tepid tea." . Thanks," said Mr. Warburton; "I think I won't have any if it's cold.” "Oh, but it isn't really at least I hope not. I shall give you a cup-you needn't drink it if you don't like it." 66 - Trust me for that," said he. So it was duly poured out, and Mr. Warburton, who was leaning lazily back in his chair by Milly's side, had it handed to him, and was particular about the amount of cream, and fanciful as to the exact strength of the tea. Then there arose a discussion on the subject of sugar. Mr. Warburton averred that he had watched the proceedings from the beginning, and she hadn't given him a morsel. The little tea-maker as stanchly asserted, with an astonished "Oh, Matthew!" that she had. won't like it if you get too much," she said. Taste it and see." "You "Not a bit," said Mr. Warburton con |