"But you have not always wished to marry a country doctor," said Mrs. Dumbleton.

"He will do quite as well," said Horatia, eagerly. "I shall occupy myself with the poor people, with the schools. I shall escape from the hateful monotonous round of dismal gayety."

One day, not long after the day I have been describing, Mrs. Dumbleton's little carriage was travelling along the road which leads from Dumbleton to Wandsworth; Augusta was driving the ponies, and Horatia was going in state to visit her new dominions. They roll on across the country roads and lanes and commons, through the western sunshine, through the warm sweet air,

"No," said Miss Berners, decisively; "because it is a natural and wholesome existence; the other is unnatural and morbid and exhausting. Augusta, you must help me, and persuade Aunt Car to forgive me. For it is too late to prevent it any more, and and-Henry sent off a note when the groom went to the station."

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Is it all settled?" cried Mrs. Dumbleton, very much relieved. She was always delighted when people decided things without her. Then, of course, mamma must forgive you ;" and the good-natured little woman went off, and knocked at Lady Whiston's door, and there was a great long, long conference, and at last Horatia was summoned. And when she came out she was pale and exhausted, but triumphant. She and Mrs. Dumbleton had talked over the old lady between them. "Of course, you are going to do exactly as you like," says Lady Whiston, "but I suppose you know you have forfeited your place in society. I shall come and see you now and then, when I am not too busy. My consent is all nonsense. I must say I had hoped differently."

ing world all round about them. Horatia leans back, too languid, too happy, too excited to talk. She lazily watches the crisp shadows that advance alongside the nodding heads of the ponies, the trees and houses in the distance, the children and wayfarers who look up to see them pass. It is like a fairy tale, Horatia thinks-a princess driving along the road. And what will be the end of the story? They come to a cross-road at last, and then Augusta turns the ponies' heads, and they trot up a lane full of flickering shadow and sunshine. They stop suddenly at an iron gate in front of a Queen Anne brick house, with all the windows open, and growing ivy wreaths. And Horatia, with a start, says to herself, " So this is my home; while Augusta points and says, "Here we are; doesn't it look nice?"

Behind the iron gate is a little garden, full of red and blue, margarites and geraniums; then three worn steps lead to the door with the old-fashioned cornice, over which a rosetree is nailed. When Betty opened the door, they could see into the passage, and into the garden beyond, green and sunlight there as here in the lane.

Dr. Rich was not at home; Miss Rich was in the garden. Betty proposed to go and tell her; but Horatia quickly said, "No we will go to her."

So the ladies got down. As Horatia crossed the threshold, she suddenly thought, with a thrill, how this was her new life, her future into which she was stepping. It had all lain concealed behind the door but a moment ago, and now it was revealed to her. It had begun from that minute when Betty admitted the strangers. The ladies swept through the little hall in their silk gowns, glanced with interest at the doctor's hats hanging upon their hooks, peeped into the little sitting

"Is that another drawing-room?" Horatia asked.

"It aint used much," says Betty. "It 'ave been Miss Rich's playroom. She does the linen there now, and keeps the preserves and groceries."

Horatia peeped in. There was no carpet; there was a wooden press; there was a glass door leading into the garden. It was not much of a place; but she thought how she would have chintz curtains, tripod tables, gilt gimcracks; and how pretty she could make it! Mrs. Dumbleton was quite enthusiastic.

"These are very nice rooms, Horatia, all except the furniture; with a few alterations, they might be made quite pretty."

But she was so used to her own trim lawns and hothouses that she could find no praise for the garden, not even for the wide expanse beyond it.

"What a view!" said Augusta. "Do you know, Ratia, I think it almost too, too beautiful!"

"I like something smaller-something that it is no trouble to admire," said Horatia, drawing a deep breath.

"It is a pity the garden is so neglected," Augusta went on, looking up and down, and round about. Cabbages and roses were growing in friendly confusion, honeysuckle straggled up the old brick walls; parsley, mint, saffron, herbs of every sort, grew along the beds. Joe, the odd man, kept it in a certain trim; and the doctor sometimes ordered in a barrowful of flowers. It was not much of a place. Three straight walks led up to the low ivy wall at the end, where a little arbor had been put up, and where the ivy, and spiders'-webs, and honeysuckle, and various pretty creeping plants, tangled and sprouted and hung luxuriantly, as you see them at the end of a long summer. The entertainment is nearly over, and they lavishly fling out all their treasures, their garlands, their sweet

ness.

Under this pleasant, triumphal, autumnal

Roberta, who had only scen her once before, and who had thought her very alarming, and said herself that she hated fine ladies, was vanquished utterly for a moment. No wonder James was in love with this gracious creature, who was ready to give up all her state for him. She jumped up to meet her.

"I have come to see my new home," said Horatia, holding out her hand in a royal sort of way.

And Berta, blushing, took it timidly, and said,

"James told me. How I hope you will both be happy! Isn't it a dear old house?"

The old cistern at the back, the familiar chimney-stacks, the odd windows, the waterspout with the bird's nest, the worn steps where she had played when she was a child, the mouldy little arbor, had all dear old charms for Roberta, which naturally enough Horatia could not appreciate.

"I am afraid it is more for the sake of your brother, than for the merits of the house, that I mean to come and live here," said Horatia, smiling. "I want you to show me over the house, and to give us some tea. We came on purpose, when we thought he would be out. I think you know Mrs. Dumbleton."

I

"We peeped into your store-room as we came along," said Mrs. Dumbleton, shaking hands, " and we want to see some more. see you do not care much for your garden.” I am so glad to have found you," continued Horatia; "but we meant to come in anyhow."

Roberta was rather bewildered by all this conversation, but most of all by the demand for tea. Betty was apt to be ill-tempered if anything was expected that did not come naturally in the course of every twenty-four hours. She began to feel as if her future sister-in-law was a fine lady again. Her heart What had James done? sank within her.

tia under his roof; and as he glanced at her beautiful face, as he realized the charm of her refinement, her soft breeding, he asked himself more than once if that was indeed his wife? His welcome was charming, his tender kindness melted and delighted Horatia, who had not experienced overmuch in her life. She was grateful, gentle and happy and cordial. When they drove off, the doctor was standing at the gate, as happy and as certain of coming happiness as she was herself.

I wonder would it have been different if Dr. Rich could have known that evening what was to come as days went by? It was yet time. If he could have been told the story of the next two years, would he have hesitated -have held back? I think not. He was a man so brave and so incautious that I imagine he would not have heeded the warning. I am sure he could have borne to know the end of it all-and could have heard of trouble to come, with that same courage with which he endured it when it fell upon him.

Horatia had determined to marry her husband against all warnings: except Mr. and Mrs. Dumbleton there was no one in favor of the match. But she would not listen to any objections. Her aunt's laments, angry reproaches, exclamations of horror, shakes of head, nods, groans, sighs, grand and agitated relations who drove up from town to put a stop to the match, and to crush the presumptuous doctor under their horses' hoofs, if need be nothing could prevent her from doing as she liked.

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I am beginning to see that this is not at all a good match for you," the doctor said one day. "Horatia, do you understand that you will have to be really a woman of the working classes? You will have to do as Berta does-for instance, sew and stitch, and make a pudding on occasions, and I don't know what else."

"I am older than Berta, and have been brought up differently," said Horatia, smiling. "I assure you it is a popular fallacy to think that households do not go on very well with a little judicious supervision. The mis'tress is not necessarily always in and out of the kitchen. Where are you going to?" she went on, glad to change the subject, which was one she hated.

"I am going to see a very sick man who lives three miles off. Caton is attending him, and he has sent for me."

"I do not much fancy that Mr. Caton," said Horatia. “I wish you would beg your friends not to congratulate me without knowing me."

"Caton is a very good young fellow-he is a rough diamond," said the doctor. "He saved my life once when I had the small-pox, so you must forgive him for that and other reasons, Horatia." And he nodded, and went away more in love than ever.

When Mr. Caton, whom he met presently began talking over the marriage, with as many misgivings as the grandest of Horatia's great aunts, James Rich stopped him almost angrily.

"What do you mean about keeping in one's own class in life? I suppose a gentleman is the equal of any lady; and if she does not object to marry me, I cannot see what concern it is of yours. Men or women are none the worse in any station of life for a good education, and for having some idea of what is happening out of one particular narrow sphere."

"Look at your sister," began Mr. Caton. "My sister will be all the better for learning a little more of the world," said Mr. Rich; "she is too fond of housekeeping." But he knew very well what Dr. Caton thought of Roberta.

Six weeks went by-very happily for James and Horatia, very slowly for poor Berta, who all the while fought a heroic little battle which nobody suspected: she was fighting with herself, poor child! and got all the blows.

Andrew Caton, indeed, may have guessed that she was not happy; and one day he came up to condole with her, but he had put on such a very long sympathetic face for the occasion that Berta burst out laughing, and would not say a word on the subject. Much less would she understand when he tried to speak of what was much nearer his heart. The little maiden gently parried and avoided all sentiment. At the very bottom of her heart I think she liked him, and meant some day to make him happy; but at twenty life is long, the horizon stretches away far, far into the distance. There is plenty of time to love, to live, to hate, to come, to go. Older people are more impatient, and hurry things on. Young folks don't mind waiting; at least, so it has seemed to me. Roberta did not mind much, only sometimes, when a