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married anyone, that one, if he had his own way, should be Lilly Babbington, who, being pretty, lively, well-educated, and possessed of a nice little fortune of her own, was quite equal to the position he imagined his wife must hold. He had never actually made love to Lilly, much less hinted at what he was planning for her in the future; the fact of their having been playmates from childhood was quite sufficient ground for that easy affectionate intimacy which if it is often a step to a warmer feeling, is just as often an effectual barrier to anything like a mutual understanding. He had never thought of wondering whether Lilly's affection grew warmer; he heard of her flirtations and refusals, and the wonder the world expressed why she refused this or the other good match, and he heard too, the conclusion arrived at by the world, that Lilly had formed an unfortunate attachment, and after the nature of her race, was determined to be true to her death; to all this Roger put his own interpretation, and complacently settled the matter in his private opinion, making up his mind that he had only to ask the important question, and Lilly would astonish the busy world by discovering she had a heart. Roger's passion for Rhoda had been no obstacle. It is often the case that when the heart is smarting under some real or fancied trial, let it be repulse, neglect, or simply our own untold disappointment, that the love which is preying upon itself is suddenly bestowed upon the speaker of the first word that seems to touch the strained string; and when Roger came to Wellingford, and saw Lilly's face light up, with that blithe kind smile of hers, and when he felt the warm clasp of the strong little hand that met his with such an honest grip, his heart at once expanded, he saw himself a martyr to love, he saw how madly he had been suffering, and what a wild, tormenting, very furnace of passion he had been going through-and for what? He could never marry Rhoda; and the fiery love he had lavished upon her -had it not returned into his own bosom, bringing with it only regret and anguish Now, with Lilly sitting there, in a low chair, half-buried in cushions, and half hid behind a quaint Indian fan, with which she was pretending to ward the fire heat from her fair face, but in reality only using as an adjunct and accessory in her conversation with Roger; with Lilly talking-talking, too, in a low soft voice, meant only for his particular edification—and looking into her eyes whenever (and that was pretty often) the screen permitted the same, he felt how different such love as hers would be; nay was, for he more than half persuaded himself that evening that he was safe. Lilly, consummate flirt as she was, had no intention of misleading Roger, she had her own reasons in speaking to him so much and so warmly that night, reasons he little calculated upon, and which induced her to take up the cudgels in his defence whenever Clara Dinsdale attempted one of her attacks. So there was some excuse for him, when giving way to that delicious feeling of happiness and

confidence that steals over a man when he has been basking in such influences; he bade Lilly a tender good night, registering a secret vow that he would propose next day, and it was with all this in his heart that the conversation in the smoking-room came like a bomb-shell, scattering all gentler feelings far and wide, and waking up again a perfect whirlwind of passion and jealousy-excitement which the night watches only served to strengthen-and he had come down at least half an hour earlier than any one else, glad to get away from the solitude of his bedroom, and was standing in the breakfast-room window when Lilly entered. She saw there was something the matter, and with true woman's instinct, lowered her voice, and changed the chaffing greeting about early rising which had been on her lips, to something she considered more sympathetic; and Roger, taking in the tone, and seeing only as much as his love would let him, began talking confidentially of himself, and told her, he scarcely knew why, of his journey to Paris, and of its curious termination.

When he uttered Rhoda's name, Lilly's colour came brighter, and an angry curve curled her lips; she knew the name, it appeared, and had no very pleasant thoughts of it either, and this, too, Roger read; and accounting for it in his own way, very nearly gave way, and constituted Lilly his confessor. But at that moment there appeared upon the scene Mrs. Babbington and an old aunt, who showed an especial contempt for anything like lovers' weaknesses, and was wont to boast that no man ever ventured a proposal to her; such a very uncongenial ingredient of course put a stop to the possibility of the termination Roger had so nearly approached.

Lilly sat herself down at the table to administer coffee, and finally put an end to any hopes Roger might have entertained about finding an opportunity to say more during the day, by stating it to be her intention to spend the day with the rector's wife, cutting out Christmas clothing for the old women. Clara volunteered, but was told rather curtly (for Miss Lilly and she were apt to spar now and then) that there were plenty of hands engaged, and was finally appointed to accompany Mrs. Babbington to make a distant and long-neglected call.

Now although all this is rather digressing from the immediate subject, and seems rather at variance with the country lane, and the couple we left standing in the twilight there, it is very necessary that we may arrive at a definite understanding, and sympathise with Roger when he was so unexpectedly taken into Lilly's confidence.

Here was a death-blow to his hopes, with a vengeance! Hopes which had taken a firmer root than he had ever found out, or would perhaps have suspected, had this not been so roughly dragged up; and which, as is the natural fate of such experiences, left a lacerating wound behind. Hopes which told their story, too, so plainly, in the agitated face into

which Lilly looked, that the tears came up into her eyes, and laying both hands upon his arm, she said—

"You won't betray me, Roger, and you shall hear it all soon."

And Roger, looking down at the little ungloved hands, and remembering how he had seen them clasped a few seconds before, grew savage and pitiless, crying bitterly —

"Betray you! Why have you made me think you loved me, why have you helped to blind my eyes, when you knew all the time that you were laughing at me in your heart, and with this lover of yours, who dare not honestly come forward and claim you? Who is it, Lilly,

who dare tempt you to meet him in secret?"

Lilly drew back as if he had struck her, her eyes flashing, and her hands clenched together.

"How dare you-you, of all men-say such things? You who know how I loved your brother-you whom I have trusted and clung to for his sake, making sure you, at least, could never mistake me! And now-now, because you see I have a secret, you turn upon me. I have told you I loved Harry. How dare you suspect me of any love I

could be ashamed of?"

"I never thought of Harry, Lilly-I swear I never did!"

And Roger spoke truly. If he had ever for an instant remembered the old girlish affection for Harry, he never thought it so sacred a thing, much less any reason why he should keep his heart whole. Lilly had given him credit for more delicacy than he deserved, you see ; and Roger, perceiving his fault in the light she had put it, was by no means made happier with himself, or more reconciled to his fate. So, when he told the truth, ugly as it was, and owned he never thought of his brother's love, he betrayed both to himself and Lilly how selfish his own love had made him. And Lilly, who really loved him after her own fashion, was as ashamed and sorrowful at the discovery as he was himself; and when that first little outburst of indignation was spent, and she had seen the shame and contrition flushing Roger's face, she grew kind and gentle again, and, putting her hand under his arm, said-

"Take me home, Roger. We'll talk by the way; for after what you've seen, and I have told you, there is a great deal to explain."

Roger turned with her, suffering her to guide him along the same way as that by which he had come. For some time not a word was spoken; then Lilly said, speaking low and tremulously

"You have a right to ask me who I was speaking to, and you have not said a word."

Roger shook his head sadly; he did not understand that she meant his right was by reason of the love she had owned for his brother. He thought she alluded to his own right only, and Roger, who was still smarting from the discovery he had made so lately, was just then in an

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unusually modest mood; so he shook his head, without venturing to speak. Indeed, he felt a thoking sensation about the throat, which would have rendered speaking intelligibly rather a difficult matter just then, and Lilly, looking up, understood something of it, and she went on speaking of their friendship and old days-days in which Harry held his part-so gently and tenderly, that Roger was more perplexed than ever.

"I wish I could speak quite openly to you," she said; "but I cannot yet; in the meantime, do not think unkindly of me. I am very, very sorry you have misunderstood me. You must henceforth be my brother in every way."

And then they were silent again. It was dark now, and the trees stood thickly round them, while the narrow path, closely beset by brambles and underwood, required some steering, which Lilly, being well acquainted with the road, managed well enough to rouse a last pang of jealous suspicion in Roger's mind, and cause him to say bitterly, and with unmistakable meaning

"You seem to know your way here blindfold.” "Yes, I often come."

Then there was no more said

walk skirting the rose garden.

until they turned into a broad gravel

Here Lilly paused, and, taking her

hand off Roger's arm, held it out, saying

"You will not suspect me of anything you are ashamed of, you will not distrust me, and-and I promise you you shall hear it all in a few hours--perhaps to-morrow," she added, in an excited manner.

"I'll try, Lilly; but it's a harder task than you think, or I did either until I came upon you there to-night. I wish you would trust me altogether, I am afraid things cannot be right for you; why cannot he come boldly forward-or if there is anything you and he fear, may I not help you? I would, Lilly—” he went on earnestly, pressing her hand hard in his "I would, dear Lilly; do not think of my folly, in loving you, or hoping anything so good as to win your love. Better think of me as a friend, as Harry's brother if you will, and as one always ready to. do anything you ask or desire."

“I will—I will—thank you a thousand times. He will thank you too, better, oh far better than I can!" and Lilly began to cry. "God bless you, dear Roger! have a little patience."

Then she went into the house, and Roger, by no means prepared to face the men and their chaff in the morning room, or the ladies he knew would be gathered round the drawing room fire, walked down the garden again, and lighting a consolatory cigar, paced up and down until the first dressing bell rang.

And tolerably composed by his preparations for dinner, Roger got down to the drawing room, just in time to take a newly arrived young lady

into the dining-room, a ceremony which was, to the best of his knowledge, when trying to recal it afterwards, one very long and strong current of talk carried on unremittingly by the new comer, who never seemed to require an answer, but talked complacently on upon every subject, from the last new style of hair-dressing to the chances of the next Derby.

Roger heard afterwards that he had been flirting, and that the young lady, who thought herself a connoisseur in mankind as well as everything else, had pronounced him the most sensible and agreeable man she had met for months-the greater compliment when it was added, that she had been paying visits for nearly two months, and had done the London and Brighton seasons indefatigably.

Charley Elmes was on thorns; he had expected that Roger was to drive him off before dinner, and when he found his mistake, got out of temper, and repented more bitterly than ever coming away from Thornhill, imagining all manner of scenes in which Captain Guest played the chief part, and making himself completely unhappy and uncomfortable, as is the habit of some people under similar circumstances.

"I suppose you mean to go home to-morrow?" he growled to Roger, sotto voce, after the ladies had rustled out of the dining-room, and the men were drawing up nearer the fire.

"I am going home to-night, if you've nothing special to say against it," was the reply, and Charley's face brightened as he gave in his acquiescence to the arrangement.

"I've ordered the cart at nine," added Roger, pulling out his watch; "and it's a quarter past eight now, so if you've anything to put up, or say to the family, you'd better look sharp about it; the mare won't care to stand star-gazing to-night; if she goes steady we'll be home in a couple of hours, and I daresay find some one up to give us a warm."

Poor Charley! he had much better have been content to stay at Wellingford that night, and so he thought to himself afterwards.

The mare went splendidly-the roads were in good order-and they did the distance ten minutes within the second hour, driving up to the door just as Morgan had interrupted a rather prolonged tête-à-tête between Silvia and Gerald Guest, and who, while lighting his young lady's candle, was informed that Captain Guest had been telling her such wonderful things about the war, to which the old servant replied— "Have he, miss? It do seem like old times to have the Capting back with us."

And then, upon the top of certain visions of favours and marriagebells rising in the worthy butler's brain, there came the rattle of Roger's cart-wheels and Roger's voice, hailing for a light and a groom.

Silvia, of course, paused, just to see and say good night to her brother; she forgot Charley altogether; and Captain Guest, coming VOL. VI.

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