held empire over her in that hour; and when she was gone, and Jane recalled her image anxiously, she said to herself, 'I never saw her

look prettier, or gayer. She seemed taller, brighter, firmer, but scarcely our own Eve.'

Did Jane think of the wealth, the power, the luxury? Not once; only of Sir Mark and his probable happiness-of his kind mother, sheltering and guiding her new charge tenderly; and more, still more, of Mordaunt-released, but alone.

Mr. Carisbroke lay still in a most precarious condition. For months that constant watching and patience had chained her to his side, and still she was unwearied and unrepining. She sometimes wished she could have spared an hour or two to go and see Eve again before her marriage, but it appeared scarcely practicable. She tried in other ways to show her interest. Mrs. Sackville and she had an earnest desire that their pet should not enter her new sphere in any way unprovided with the appliances suitable to her father's position; and so once more Eve was obliged to stoop her proud spirit to accept magnificent gifts. These came early, for they were intended to prevent any unnecessary outlay on her part.

It wanted but four days to the marriage. Mordaunt, returning in the evening, brought a small parcel in his hand.

'Are you there, Eve? a servant from Carisbroke has just arrived with this.'

He came in, and found Eve alone, sitting in the twilight by the fire. She had fallen asleep, and her mother and Laura had stolen away with unwonted consideration, that she might rest. She started up now.

Stop, Eve, you cannot see what it is without a candle,' and he held a taper to her that she might light it. He glanced upon her flushed face as he did so.

Hurriedly she unfolded the packet; only a plain, dark-covered book, and a note.

Hitherto,' it said, 'I have ministered merely to the adorning of the body, but I would not have all your remembrances of me connected with that which perishes and passes away.' And then in few simple words Jane spoke to her of the future-of the need, even amid the warmest atmosphere of love and happiness, of a still truer Friend and Comforter; Jane spoke to her of Truth, and Faith, and Prayer. Twice Eve's quick eye ran over the lines a convulsive movement of her lips, a

rapid seizure of the book—it was a Bibleand with a short gasp she turned away. But Mordaunt caught her hand.

'Eve, tell me the truth-are you not happy?' Happy!'

For one second the veil was lifted from her heart she saw her real position, could have flung herself at his feet and implored him to save her; the next, a tide of varying feelings and mixed motives swept over the dark gulf, and she shuddered at the risk she had run of confiding in him. To be truthful now was beyond her power-it involved an ordeal through which she had not strength to pass. Better to be for ever wretched herself than to let Mordaunt learn all her weakness and wickedness, and sink under the shame of his reproof, and Sir Mark's contempt for if she did not love her future husband, she honoured him. She knew she could not endure the evils of the one position; the ills of the other, to which she was so rapidly advancing, were at least undefined, unknown, and, as she fancied, involved only personal suffering. She imagined she could more easily undergo suffering confined to her own bosom than see the disgrace and misery of others.

That wild reiteration of the word 'happy' had burst involuntarily from her lips, but scarcely was it uttered when she controlled herself, and repeated

'Happy! when I am leaving you!'

Truth, yet false; she knew, she felt it was so; and again the deep flush of shame crimsoned the brow she sought to hide.

Mordaunt paused-ah! yes, full well he realized then the desolation of his lot. She, for whom he had toiled, was to be taken from him. No object for exertion would be left; no one would cheer him by her love, smiles, and sympathy. All his late resolutions in her favour, his determination to bear everything manfully, all the schemes for the future, were scattered to the wind. He had prepared for toil and penury borne cheerfully with Eve, but not to live without her.

Again for a moment he could not but compare his fate with that of Sir Mark. Only in one thing had he been more fortunate, and now even that treasure was passing into the possession of the rich man. His 'one ewe lamb,' which he had cherished in his bosom, was to be taken from him. 'I did not know my blessings,' he said to himself, pressing his hand to his throbbing

heart; and there arose before him the memory of a distant day, when his first great loss had crushed him. Even then a little hand had been placed in his, a little face had shone upon him full of childish love and fidelity.

You will never leave me, Eve?' he had said, in his agony; and the sweet, fresh voice had passionately answered, ‘Never.'

But was this to sway him? if it were indeed, as she asserted, only pity for him which saddened her, was her despondency to be encouraged? Surely not; he had scarcely thought of himself till that instant, and the selfish impulse was conquered immediately.

'My dear Eve, you must not think of me. You have been a great joy to me always. I thank you again and again for the happiness of many years, tasted chiefly through you. But I could not expect or wish you to devote your young life to me. If that be all your trouble, don't let a shade of it fall upon you again. I love you too well not to find happiness in yours. Heaven leaves me many interests and hopes yet-chiefly centered in you; only do not let me see a blight on you.'

Her mother came in hastily; and Eve made no answer, only took up Jane's note and gift