link her life with his, knowing what it has been-what, in all probability, it still is."

“But, Melly, you surely will not tell Clara Gilbert that shocking story?" Prissy remonstrated.

"I intend to tell her the truth, my dear," Melly replied, deliberately: "better that she should know it from one who can vouch for it, and if need be can prove it, than from any other lips." Why not speak to her parents ?”

66

'Why speak to them? Do you suppose that Roger Gilbert, a worldly, scheming man, a man who makes an idol of his gold, and calls upon all the world to fall down and worship it, Prissydo you suppose, sister, that he does not know what manner of man he has chosen for his daughter's husband, and delights to honour? Did not Harry tell him what he knew of Jason Brooke? and what mattered it to him?"

"Harry did not know what we now know, my dear: But you are right it would be worse than useless to go to Mr. Gilbert, I do believe; but Clara's mother, my dear? To be sure we know nothing of her; but her age and experience.

"Mrs. Gilbert's age and experience, Prissy, may be useful to her in advising her daughter; but I am not disposed to trust in them. Age and experience with some persons, my dear, are synonymous with hardness and worldliness. Their hearts get crusted over with age and experience. At any rate, Clara Gilbert shall not have it in her power hereafter to say, 'If I had but been told what my mother was told, I should have escaped from my misery."

66

Prissy acquiesced: "It will be best, no doubt; but, my dear, how can you obtain an interview with her?"

"I intend to walk over to Fairbourne Court to-morrow, Prissy." And so, as we have seen, the gentle lady made her way through the snow to Clara's bower. In Clara's bower she remained a full half-hour by the great clock in the hall of Fairbourne Court; and

then, without further ceremony, she retraced her steps to thu Priory.

"And so you have had a lost journey, my dear?” Prissy said this as she sat with her sister, after a later dinner than usual, in their dull old parlour.

"I do not say it has been altogether a lost journey: I have seen something, Prissy."

"Yes, sister."

They had not spoken much since Melly's return. If Prissy had any curiosity in her composition, she kept it within bounds; and her “Yes, sister," might have passed equally well as a satisfied affirmative or as a gentle interrogative. The elder sister understood it in the latter form.

"I have seen a pretty face, my dear, and a genteel form: this is something, is it not, sister?" she asked.

"Is Clara Gilbert so very lovely, then ?"

"I did not say lovely, sister. The young lady has great brown eyes, round cheeks, a dimpled chin, very white teeth, a fair complexion, and so forth."

"Yes, sister," repeated Prissy, patiently. She had suspected that Melly was vexed with the result of her visit; she knew it now. Miss Fleming was never satirical save when she was disturbed in mind. 66 'Yes, sister; but it was scarcely worth so long a walk and so much fatigue to see only that.”

66

But, my dear, I have seen more than that. I have seen one of the ugliest pug-dogs nature ever formed, I think."

"Yes, sister," said Prissy, meekly, with tiresome iteration: so at least it seemed to Melly's unstrung nerves.

"Why do you say 'Yes, sister,' so often ?" she asked, pettishly. "My dear, what should I say? I have no new story to tell, Melly," said Prissy, submissively.

"And you think that I have. My dear, I have, not. It is a story as old as the hills."

"You did your errand, however, Melly?"

"Yes, my dear, I did my errand. I did not know at first whether I should gain admittance into the fair lady's presence, though; for I promise you she is strictly guarded. I had to pass through a double file of interrogatories, and hollow compliments, and cautions. But I kept my own counsel, my dear. I said I had walked three miles through the snow-I made a great point of that to have a few quiet words with Miss Clara; and it would be a great disappointment if I were denied the privilege. But poor Clara had been ill, and was still delicate, and was scarcely presentable. Yes, I was aware of that. Could I intrust Clara's dear mamma with any message? No, I couldn't, I said, bluntly. My visit had not reference to Mr. Henry Rivers? It was not about him, I pledged my word. Because, I was requested to see, that chapter was entirely closed, by mutual consent. I perfectly understood that; and if it had not been, it was no business of mine. And so at last I was permitted to walk up the great staircase to Clara's room; that is to say, after Mr. Gilbert had paved the way for my reception. She received me with almost ludicrous formality of manner."

"And then you did your errand, Melly?”

"Not immediately, Prissy. Oh no. I had to listen to the young lady's profuse compliments on my bravery in venturing out in such wintry weather. And, did I really walk all that long, dreary, tiresome way from the Priory? And was it not a most extraordinary season? And had I seen papa's great oak-tree that he called 'Old Grandeur,' how it was broken down with the snow? And wasn't it unaccountable that such a light thing as snow should do so much mischief? She couldn't understand it; could I? And wasn't the Priory a dear old place? She had heard her papa say so; and she doted on old ruins. But wasn't it dull always living in the country? For her part, if she could have her choice, she would live in town six months of the year. She