Venice Preserved,—she would have flung the faded love-token out of window; and herself, perhaps, on her knees,-to thank Heaven for not having prospered her wish of becoming Lady Mary Woolston Wraysbury of Lynchcombe.—

CHAPTER XIV.

WHILE endeavouring, to the utmost of her power, to deaden and subdue her sense of inward misery, in order to render cheerful the sojourn of strangers within her father's gates, -escaping from them as little as she dared, to commune with her own heart in her own chamber, Janetta could not but remark a change in the deportment of Hilda.

The haughty girl was gradually becoming as bland as Lady Clementina Aberdon Malins; courteous to the strangers, and kind to all.

That this novel graciousness arose spontaneously,

from the happy love concealed in her heart, like the luminous vapours emanating from the gold mines of Crennitz, which are said to have discovered them to the neighbouring peasants, it was easy to guess. No one, however, but poor Netta, seemed to surmise the secret. No one had ever alluded to her mysterious visits to Westcove. Everything and everybody conspired to favour the happy Hilda.—And lo! the daughter of the Frankfort adventurer appeared to do, to her Wormley cousins, the honours of Lynchcombe, rather than its future heiress.

The original invitation given to the strangers had been twice extended; for Sir John experienced the greatest delight, in parading his kinsman the squire over his model farms: ostensibly, to ask his advice, but in reality, to show him what Mammon, per aid of the Birmingham and Leeds. foundries, and the Agricultural Society, could effect in the way of high-farming; dragging up the fruits of the earth out of its bosom, by the aid of Apothecaries' Hall, and pullies and cylin

ders, rather than by the sunshine and the shower.

The very manures were of chemical creation; and Philip Woolston, as full of wonder at these elaborations as the linendraper's apprentice at hearing the tragic prose of Mrs. Siddons applied to the stoutness of Russia sheeting, began to ask himself whether it could have been real clover and genuine turnips he had been growing all these years, without a single patent machine, or morsel of fuss.

At length, however, the last bone-mill had been exhibited; the last sail to Portland accomplished; and the Alga was sentenced to be laid

up for the winter, greatly to the sorrow of Netta, who seemed to think that at Westcove and its fishing cottage there lingered associations like the perfume of incense, impregnating the walls of a catholic church with the odour of sanctity. Philip Woolston and his gratified brood took their departure in the Wraysbury barouche-and-four for the Dorchester rail; and

Janetta said within herself, as hostesses are apt to do after getting rid of a heavy party, "Now, then, let us be once more comfortable."

As a preliminary step, perhaps, she betook herself to Mrs. Wroughton's apartments, to ascertain whether Sir John had any more hospitalities in prospect:-October being a month in which a country gentleman's pheasants entitle him to ensnare his friends, as much as in September his partridges, or, in winter, his battues. Aunt Clara's rooms were situated in the same corridor with those of her niece. But such are the forms kept up in families where genuine love and humanity do not raze all barriers of ceremony, that Janetta seldom intruded.

On the present occasion, the moment seemed to be ill-chosen. On entering the room, she found Mrs. Wroughton, who usually sat established in her arm-chair as fixedly as the Lady in Comus, pacing up and down with hurried footsteps and the effect was as startling as though the statue of George III. had dis