over the map and arranges their route. She does not in the least misconstrue his alacrity into want of regard for herself—she rather rejoices in the love of home which it evinces. She only wishes that bright expectation were mirrored in the grave face of his companion, in whom she has learned to take a deep interest. It is a natural consequence of her lifelong study of her only son, that she goes deeper than most women into the mainsprings of a young man's character and feelings; and now she has looked into Mordaunt's heart, and learned many of its secrets. The study has in some measure varied her hidden anxiety about Sir Mark, whose letters are as frequent, but hardly as full and unconstrained, as usual. The mother feels that some crisis in his history is at hand.

The benefit to Mordaunt has not been simply in the rest, the change of air and scene, but in the different moral atmosphere pervading that peaceful home. Almost for the first time he has looked upon a lovely and venerable old age, neither querulous nor selfish, sympathizing with the joys and griefs of youth, yet with the chastened, quiet wisdom of experience. In her household he has witnessed love and obedience

without servility-in her management of it, maternal care mingled with dignity. Mrs. Philipson was not only good herself, but she made those around her better. Eve would have fancied that it was easy to be mild and generous, and to win love-because nothing was wanted of this world's power to do good; but Mordaunt was wiser. He saw that Mrs. Philipson's excellence was no heritage bequeathed by the rich uncle, but had been nurtured and perfected from the earliest hours of her bereaved and penury-stricken widowhood.

On the Tuesday morning he had been early abroad, taking his farewell, perhaps for ever, of the beautiful scenery amid which his health had been so rapidly recruited. Those hills, vales, and ravines reminded him not only of pure air and enjoyment, but of deep thoughts and heart-searchings. They were endeared to him by those mental struggles; and he grieved to part from them. He came in, and Mrs. Philipson, with a warm smile, handed to him a letter from her son-brief, but kind, saying how much he rejoiced in his recovery; and adding that the post for which he had striven so hard, of which now he had despaired, had been his for some time.

'You will receive the salary from the commencement of last month. I hope my silence on the subject has caused you no uneasiness. I felt unwilling to tell you of your appointment, lest your anxiety to perform its duties without delay should induce you to shorten your stay with my mother, and thus neglect what all your friends must regard as the highest consideration, the permanent re-establishment of your health.'

It was well that Mrs. Philipson knew the purport of her son's letter, or she might have dreaded evil tidings from the agitated demeanour of the reader. But, for misfortune he was prepared; prosperity came upon him with a greater shock. When he was sufficiently composed to receive her congratulations, they were given frankly, and she listened delightedly to his gratitude, and his plans for the comfort of those dependent upon him. Eve, his little Eve, what joy for her!

And for one other friend, whose name you do not mention often, although surely no one on earth can feel a deeper interest than she does in you,' Mrs. Philipson said, in a low tone. He looked up inquiringly. 'Miss Desborough,' she replied.

His face flushed.

'Yes, she will be very glad;' and he made an effort at frankness, but turned away. Mrs. Philipson saw his confusion, but not its cause. She had, indeed, conveyed by her tone and words as much or more of her convictions than she intended, and Mordaunt understood them; but his only impression was pain that she should be so ignorant of the true secret of Jane's interest in him. He could not bear the sanctity of her constancy to Walter's memory to be profaned and misconceived by others. Mr. Sackville's entrance precluded further comment. He must be told of the good news; and after that there was little more emotion or pathos in the house. He rejoiced, not with tears, but laughter; would permit no more silence or reverie, but fairly overpowered his companions by his mirth and happiness.

'Oh, I wish Eve were not to be at home to-morrow!' he exclaimed, as Mordaunt was leaving the room to write to Sir Mark; 'how I should exult in going to the Heath with you, finding her there, and telling her of your good fortune. It would be worth a king's ransom to see her rapture.'

This Eve must be very charming,' Mrs. Philipson said, when Mordaunt was fairly gone. 'Yes; she is a fairy, a sunbeam—or rather a rainbow, as brilliant-but you smile! The fact is, we have known her from her cradle, and love her dearly. She has been petted and spoiled since she was a foot high; but she has a warm heart, and the prettiest face and voice in England.'

Mrs. Philipson longed to ask more, but refrained. Well did she remember the sunshine falling on the signature of 'Eve Cuthbert,' and her son's singular tenderness for that hurried note. But she would not force herself into his secrets. Freely must his confidence be given, and she never doubted she would soon receive it.

It was such a rapid, enjoyable journey home, to Mordaunt, feeling, as he did, health and energy freshened in every limb, and, in his mind, so many jarring elements soothed into harmony.

'If I were not in such haste to get back to the Heath-on account of Susan's anxiety, you know'-exclaimed Mr. Sackville, ‘I should verily be tempted to go with you, and see Eve's little face, when she hears this news.'