was his last, his dearest, - his only. And having once made up her mind to reject the most brilliant prospects for his sake, it would have been a capitulation of conscience had she been persuaded into an act that would probably have shortened the days of one to whom she was so nobly devoted."

"But why should it have shortened his days? Why could not Hugh take care of him?"

"My brother has his own avocations; and what son could replace female nursing and attendance, to one so helpless as my father?"

"But if Wilchester's heart were set upon the match, he would doubtless have spared no expense to have Mr. Pennington properly attended to."

Mrs. Farmer's cheeks flushed crimson.

"I thought you knew my poor father better. Did you ever find him accept obligations from a son-in-law? - When you proposed keeping a close carriage for him after his first paralytic attack

VOL. II.

C

Yes, yes! I remember,”—interrupted Sir John, who had felt deeply aggrieved, at the time, by the independent tone in which his somewhat patronising offer was declined by the Penningtons. "But this is a very different affair."

"So different, that Lord Wilchester would have given up a wing of his house at HaverImead to the exclusive use of the invalid and his attendants, could Bessy have been induced to consent. But knowing my father's habits, she feared the change of residence would be irksome to him."

"What folly, what infatuation,-what selfish disregard to the interests of her family!"

"She was aware that her family wanted nothing from Lord Wilchester," rejoined Mrs. Farmer, proudly. "Nor can I consider her conduct foolish, since the sacrifice has never caused her a moment's repentance."

Sir John Wraysbury checked a remark that was rising to his lips, not altogether complimentary to the understanding of poor Bessy.

"And do you really think," said he, after a
"that Wilchester-that is, that

short pause,
Lord Dinton-might be induced to renew—"

But Mrs. Farmer would not hear him to an end. "He is still as deeply attached to my sister as a man can be," was her earnest reply. "They are not what is called engaged, because Bessy did not choose him to be hampered by ties which, living as he did in the world, and often apart from her for months together, might at times be a constraint."

"Romance !-Quixotism !"

"Good sense and good feeling!" persisted Mrs. Farmer. "But though ignorant of my sister's present views and intentions, I confess I am of opinion that, all times and places having become alike to my poor old father, Bessy would be wrong to wait for his death to reward Lord Dinton's devotion. My father would not be conscious of his removal to the Castle; and she might become the happiest of wives, and perhaps

of mothers, without ceasing to be the best of

daughters."

Sir John could scarcely listen to her with patience. His appreciation of the poor old squire, made after his usually monetary standard, stood at so low a figure, that the idea of his comfort or convenience being placed in the scale against that of the Right Honourable the Earl of Dinton, seemed preposterous. He had thought it absurd that Hugh Pennington, his brother-in-law, had chosen to wait for the old man's death before he took a wife and possession of the estate. But the interpretation of the fifth commandment insisted on by Bessy and acquiesced in by the Farmers and the new Earl, was beyond his comprehension.

Catching a glimpse at that moment of Farmer, digesting his "Times" on the terrace facing the library window, he hurried off in search of him, hoping to extract from the husband some elucidation of the enigma propounded by the

wife.

The door had scarcely closed upon him, and Mrs. Farmer still sat absorbed in the reflections to which his narrow-minded, or rather narrowhearted philosophy gave rise, when she felt her hand, which rested on the shoulder of little Constance as she sat working on a low stool by her side, gently taken, and fondly pressed to the lips of her elder niece.-Unless she was much mistaken, a tear had fallen upon it before it was released.

"Netta!"-she exclaimed with surprise, remembering suddenly that on the entrance of Sir John, Miss Wraysbury had retreated into the embrasure of the Elisabethan window near which she was seated; and that, shaded by the heavy folds of the velvet curtain, she must have been an auditress of their explanations.

"Forgive me!" whispered the young girl, endeavouring to overcome her emotion.

Forgive you for what, my dear child?-For having accidentally learned what I have no objection that you should know ?"—