us in all, even our most trivial vexations, she lay down to sleep with the hope that, "though weariness endured for the night, joy would come in the morning."

And Philip, what of him?-what were his feelings? -none of the peace of mind which Millicent felt was his, for anger was turning to gall every gentler and holier thought; and to make the poor woman, who had loved him so faithfully, suffer for this one oversight she had committed, occupied his mind to the exclusion of all besides: but we must not judge him too hardly, bad as this sounds. For many years, for some mysterious reason, which Millicent would not tell him, he had been compelled to wait for the girl he had chosen for his wife, he had waited patiently, uncomplainingly, not given her up as many would perhaps, and now, when all obstacles seemed removed, and he thought that in a few more weeks he could claim his wife and settle down in the happy home he had looked forward to so long, she had voluntarily dashed all those bright hopes to the ground. As men always do, he argued at once that she could not love him; they are so accustomed to the sacrifices which women make for them, that they do not believe in their affection, unless every other feeling gives way for it; and that Millicent should have made this great sacrifice of herself for any one but him, made him at once jump to the conclusion, that he held

but a secondary place in her affections; so that at this moment he was suffering as much from injured selflove as any other feeling, and he lay down that night, not to sleep in peaceful trust of better things to come, but to lie awake torturing himself with thoughts of the indifference of the woman he had loved so long and truly.

CHAPTER VI.

"And is he gone? On sudden solitude

How oft that fearful question will intrude!"

Corsair.

THE next morning Millicent awoke with the painful sense of something being wrong, and very different from the accustomed bright face was the sad and thoughtful one at which her parents anxiously gazed; but Millicent had that good receipt for a heart ill at ease, plenty to do. Idleness is not only the root of all evil, but the encourager of all melancholy, and active employment, business which must be done, the best preservative against indulgence in fruitless sorrow.

In the course of the day Anne Aldham came to see her, to tell her that Mrs. Ponsonby had sent for her, and told her very kindly and gently that she would not suit for the mistress of the school, but that she required so much work done that it was quite worth her while to pay a person regularly to do it.

"She said," Anne continued, " in such a nice kind way, that I was to consider myself an out-door servant of hers, ready to assist her in any way that she would require me, and, therefore, she should hire me at five shillings a-week for as long as I liked; and better than that even, she says that a friend of hers wants a nursery-governess, and she fancies that poor dear Mary will be just the thing for it, and she is going to write about her this very evening. Oh, she is a nice lady, Millicent; she has cheered me up so, for she spoke so nicely and so good; her gentle angelface makes one think of heaven to look at it, and her soft, kind voice-I shall have them always before me, and think of them when I am down-hearted."

"But you won't be down-hearted any more, Anne, now, I hope? How is poor Mary ?"

"A little better; but the funeral's the day after to-morrow, and I dread that. She's never said anything to me about mourning; I don't know how she's to get any, poor girl! for I spent all we could spare on her wedding-clothes that was to be, the half-finished she was so busy at looks so sad."

gown

"Ah, poor girl! but he loved her to the last, Anne."

Anne looked up suddenly at her friend, for the tone of voice was unusually sad in which she uttered these words; but, seeing Anne's hasty glance, she quickly changed the subject and began to speak of the

school and of Mrs. Ponsonby, and how she had pressed her to take it.

"Ah, that is much better, Millicent; you are much fitter for it than I am."

"I don't know that, dear; it's the book-keeping, arithmetic, and writing, that Mrs. Ponsonby is so anxious to have taught, which makes her choose me instead of you; for, I dare say, you said you knew nothing of it. I did not understand at first that was needed."

"No more I do know anything about it, Millicent; and you're quite the best person, and I'm very glad you're going to have it. Will the old folks go with you ?"

"No; they will stay here, Anne."

And Millicent proceeded to tell her what arrangement she had made; and long as they talked about it, Anne left the cottage perfectly unaware of the sacrifice Millicent had wished to make for her, and all the sorrow it had in consequence brought upon her. As soon as Anne was gone Millicent began to prepare for dinner, and had only just got the things ready to make a pudding, when Mrs. Ward came.

"I wanted to speak to you, but I see you're busy, Millicent."

"I can attend to you and make the pudding, too, Mrs. Ward, if you don't mind."

66

"Oh, I don't mind! I wanted just to ask you a