which told against the idea of her attachment to Sir Mark.

But could he judge? He had not been with her when Sir Mark met her so often at the Heath; his illness had prevented his watching over her. Of late she had been more meditative and full of feeling. It might beHeaven grant it might!

CHAPTER VIII.

D'rum prüfe, wer sich ewig bindet,
Ob sich das Herz zum Herzen findet!
Der Wahn ist kurz, die Reu' ist lang.

SCHILLER.

NOTHING could be more different than the

spirit in which the two mothers heard of the projected marriage. After a short interview with Mordaunt, so thoroughly business-like in its details as to allow of no display of emotion, Sir Mark made a hurried journey to Wales, that Mrs. Philipson might hear of his engagement from his own lips. He did not feel assured of his happiness till her tears of joy were on his cheek, and her blessing tenderly breathed into his ear. It was not his habit to speak of his feelings her quick sympathy interpreted all without the need of words; it needed scarcely a glance to tell her of the reality of his love for Eve, and the fond mother could not doubt that he was beloved in return. She was prepos

sessed already in Eve's favour by Mordaunt's praises and Mr. Sackville's encomiums; she knew she was the tenderest of sick-nurses; even Sir Mark's one disparaging comment, 'I like Mrs. Cuthbert least of all-you must be her mother,' did not chill the listener's heart.

She

Strangely enough,' she answered, 'I almost prefer her somewhat isolated position. will seem to belong to us the more entirely.' He returned to town confirmed in his happiIt had been agreed, for many reasons, that the marriage was to take place as soon as possible, and Mrs. Philipson had promised to be present.

ness.

Meantime Mrs. Cuthbert rejoiced with all the utter worldliness of her nature. She had not a doubt or a shadow upon her triumph. She, and she only, had been the witness of Eve's first struggles after that hasty 'Yes' was spoken; and she spared no art, no persuasion, as she would have spared no menace, to prevent her drawing back.

Everything conspired to urge the bewildered girl upon her course. The established habit of viewing acts through a worldly medium, and not by the clear light of principle; her mother's

;

constant sophistry; a long-cherished proneness to discontent and weariness of her mode of life ambition, love of change, and luxury, were amongst the unacknowledged motives which strengthened those other pleas to which alone she professed to her conscience to listen-a resolution to sacrifice herself for Mordaunt's advancement, and a grateful wish to make Sir Mark happy. reflection.

Little time was left to her for

We wise people do our best to stifle thought at every great crisis of life: we hide the mysteries of death beneath a grim panoply of costly palls and waving plumes; and at that scarcely less awful moment when a woman's existence is to be merged into that of another — when the solemn step is to be taken which will for ever unite in joy or misery two human destinies— then comes the eager form of custom pressing to the marriage altar with veils, and gloves, and gifts, and favours; with cakes, and wine, and frippery inconceivable to the uninitiated, monopolizing every moment, and bewildering every idea.

In Eve's case there were peculiar claims of this kind. The change was with her, not only from the single to the married state, but from

poverty to wealth. Little which she had hitherto possessed would be suitable for the wife of Sir Mark. Inexperienced in such preparations, unassisted by skilful servants, and studiously consulted and harassed about every detail by her mother, Eve's days passed in a whirl of exertion, and in the discussion of important trifles. Night found her worn out, and fit only for sleep. Often, as she laid her head upon her pillow, Thought looked upon her for an instant with wistful eyes, pleading for a parley; but the wearied girl turned away shuddering, and murmuring, 'No, no-I will not think!' and the heavy stupor of exhaustion drove away the phantom. She had scarcely shaken off the fatigue and excitement consequent on Mordaunt's illness, when these fresh causes of agitation arose, and her strength was unequal to it. The false energy of excitement took its place.

There were pleasant moments too. She saw her mother looking proud and happy; she no longer heard her voice in upbraiding accents. Laura was loving and subservient; many, who had slighted, smiled benignantly upon her now. Sir Mark's face encouraged her. 'I make him happy,' she repeated often. She saw him