CHAPTER II.

CHARLES BEECHLEY.

"AND then you will have completed your college education, and will come home for good. Isn't that it, Charley? How nice!"

"Not exactly, ma petite; I leave for good, but I do not come for good. That's the difference, Enny."

"What do you mean, Charles? I never understand half you say.

The latter laughed heartily, joyously. "I do not know anything that upsets my gravity equal to that look of yours, child. Those big brown eyes are such an amusingly picturesque illustration of the word 'perplexity' whenever you are puzzled. This is my meaning, however : It is not the fashion, pretty one, for men, when their education is, according to the

world's opinion, completed, to live at home under paternal, maternal, or grandmaternal care until some desirable party puts in an appearance and woos, wins, and carries off the prize to a wigwam of his own. Men's province is

to

go forth in the world, and fit themselves for such like performances-preparing to be the desirable party, as I must; and precious hard work many a fellow finds it, I can tell you.”

"I am not waiting for any one to come and marry me," replied the first speaker, petulantly. "I would not leave dear grandmamma for any party, as you call them, in the world." A perfect roar of laughter followed this

answer.

"You, you chicken! Why you are actually still in the very middle of the doll-and-pinafore You talk of marrying!"

era.

Another burst of merriment stopped further utterance.

"I was not talking of marrying; I was talking of not marrying," retorted the girl, blushing angrily. "And please remember I am not a child; I shall be twelve years old the fifteenth of this month: you don't call that a child, I should think?"

"Oh, of course not," with continued laughter on one side and increasing indignation on the other.

I-Ennis Denzell-was the offended damsel; the time, one month previous to the knowledge of my mother's death; and my companion was Charles Beechley, the rector's only son. In age he was between nineteen and twenty, rather tall, very thin and bony, very pale, and his classically formed head covered with a profusion of very black curly hair. His features were large, but not handsome, though in general opinion the latter was more than atoned for by their bright and powerfully intellectual expression, especially the eyes, which were of a deep-blue grey.

I have read in the life of Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, that when under the influence of feelings of strong excitement his eyes emitted sparks of fire, as if struck from a flint, and this same phenomenon have I seen in Charles Beechley's when conversing with grandmamma or others on some intellectual subject in which he delighted, or talking to grandmamma and me alone about his lovely young sister Edith, his playfellow, companion, and friend from

childhood, whose sad death had occurred a year previous to that of my present writing. Edith was as good and amiable as she was pretty, and I liked her much, better, indeed, than at that time I liked her sister Sariann, who was a year and a half older than Charles, and of a graver and more serious character than was Edith. Not that any great intimacy existed between myself and the latter; a wide difference in age, consequently in pursuits, feelings, and ideas, made such friendship incompatible, Edith Beechley being five years my senior; but her delicate health, extreme loveliness, and sweetness of manner warmly excited my interest and sympathy.

"How long a time is it since you alighted here from India, Enny? I quite forget," resumed my companion.

"Five years," replied I, in a pouting tone, the offensive laugh still ringing loudly in my

ears.

"What a midge it was, to be sure, when first it appeared amongst us!" soliloquized my

tormentor.

An indignant silence on my part.

"Look," he continued, "do you see that

་

poor, tiny white flower? Well, just such a specimen of floral beauty were you."

"Was I? Then I must have been very pretty," I retorted, with angry gravity.

"Do you think so?" gathering the little wretch of a half-withered yellowish-white bud, and, after amusedly flaunting it close before my eyes, flipping me under the nose

with it.

"Don't, Charles," exclaimed I, pettishly, and turning aside my flushed face.

"You

really seem to consider me even less than a child, -a mere baby."

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"Sweet pretty thing!" he murmured, gazing at and apostrophizing the flower in tones of mock fondness and admiration, you are a perfect emblem of her,-he-m! I mean of what she was. Yes; just such another interestingly blanched, scorched-up bit of vegetation as was that atom of humanity. I will keep you, pretty blossom, --he-m! keep you for the rest of my life, a memorial of the babyphantom of bygone days." Saying which, he took out his purse, and tenderly placed the shrivelled bud within one of the enclosures. "You have no brothers or sisters, have you,