enough for one small dwelling; and they rejoiced when the long spring days grew warmer, and they could escape in the evenings and enjoy a walk into the country, leaving her and her troubles far behind them.

One afternoon in particular had worn Eve out of her somewhat scanty stock of patience, and she longed and looked eagerly for her cousin's return. Proportionably great therefore was her disappointment when he arrived and told her he was going instantly to the Heath. 'My dear Mordaunt, at this hour! How

can you come back to-night?'

'I don't mean to try, unless Mrs. Sackville turns me out. You know I have long promised to run down to them, and this is a very convenient evening, so tempting for an excursion, and I hope to combine a little business with it. Sir Mark has not been into the city to-day, and I want to see him either to-night or in the morning, for he goes to-morrow to Wales.'

'And why to Wales?' asked Eve, less from interest than from a disposition to question and quarrel with everything which at this instant made her condemn even Sir Mark's proposed journey.

'Because he has just bought a little estate

VOL. II.

there for his mother, and goes himself to give directions and prepare it for her reception. She is to visit it in June. I believe he fancies the change of air will benefit her.'

Eve thought the old lady must be fanciful, and considered Sir Mark absurd to travel so far merely to see a house put in order. But she compressed her lips, and had wisdom enough to say nothing.

'I am rather sorry to go, too,' observed Mordaunt, thoughtfully, for I might have helped you to plant those geraniums out. What a quantity of things she has sent us! It is quite time they were put in.'

And so he went away, and Eve, resolved not to await her mother's reappearance, strolled out into her garden, and began to mark out the places where she intended to sink the geraniums. Yes, it was likely to be a very pretty little garden; it was gay enough even now, and Jane had sent her a new store of plants; as it was, looking around, almost every flower was already due to Jane. The air was fragrant of Carisbroke. It was a sweet air, nevertheless ; and as it cooled her brow and gently stirred her hair, felt as if it wafted such a balmy, healing influence, that in spite of herself she was

soothed and pleased. The setting sun lighted up the green nooks of the garden, and smiled lovingly on the opening buds. She stooped and gathered some; looking up again, her eyes wandered through an opening in the evergreens, and rested on the blue, dreamy distance, that well-known outline of the Carisbroke district, so rich, so undulating, with here and there a remarkable clump of tall trees standing out against the horizon. What a beautiful picture it was! And yet not more lovely than she was herself to other eyes, as she stood with one hand shading her own from the sunlight, and the other full of flowers; her hair shaken back from the brilliantly white temples, displaying the cheek and throat so delicately moulded, so round, so soft, so fair, as only can be seen in the springtime of youth. Deep was her reverie-heart, ear, eye, all engrossed by the contemplation; she never knew for how long, neither did he who watched her; but his horse thought it long, and struck the ground so fretfully, that even on that moist lane the sound startled her, and she turned suddenly and saw both horse and rider at the gate. did not need a second glance to tell her it was Sir Mark Philipson. Her first impulse was to

She

rush into the house; her next, more true to her innate good breeding, was to go forward quietly, though with crimsoned cheeks and lips that half smiled, half trembled. Sir Mark had alighted before she reached the gate, and greeted her as Miss Cuthbert, with an inquiry for her cousin.

'He has gone to Mr. Sackville's,' she answered; he does not return to-night; I believe he intended to call at Whitefield as he went.'

Sir Mark paused a moment, asked how long it was since he started, thanked her, mounted and rode away, yet not so quickly but what he turned round again, and saw her disappear into the house. He had recognised the face which had peered so unceremoniously through the library window; and though unapt to dwell much upon such passing trifles, or bestow great attention even upon beautiful objects, he was not sorry that he had been prevented going to the city, or tempted to the unusual step of calling on Mordaunt as he passed homeward.

'I never saw a lovelier evening,' he said to himself, as he rode on, a prettier cottage, or a prettier girl.'

Poor Eve was by no means so satisfied with the encounter.

CHAPTER III.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that Love's world compriseth;
Do but look on her hair, it is bright
As Love's star when it riseth.

BEN JONSON.

it generally supposed, Susan, that you were delighted when you first heard that you were rich? asked Mr. Sackville, after a long meditation upon a recent dialogue with his wife.

'I don't know what people think, but most sure am I that I was much more alarmed than pleased. I cried for a whole day, and was a long time before I became accustomed to it. A hundred a year would have made me perfectly happy-more only oppressed me.'

'I believe you have never yet become accustomed to it. Do you know I wish you would decide yourself upon this question?'

'I do assure you, my dear, that I could not do it, if I were to reflect from now till