'A Missionary! Abroad! to the Heathen,

Basil ?"

"Yes."

"And where?"

"In India. I owe the idea to Walter Greville; he often spoke to me of the state of the Heathen, though he only knew it by report. He was then looking forward to a military life there, and I was aspiring to one more glorious at home. He often said if I were not a sor and heir he would urge me to go with him. Now one of these titles no longer belongs to me: and I feel, Magda, that if, while it did belong to me I had devoted myself, like the great men we read of in the old time, to some great and good work that demanded self-sacrifice, I might have had some merit; but now "

That now was uttered with a despondency of tone that entered my very heart.

"And is not all that ambition, brother? It appears very beautiful to go and do all that Xavier and such men have done, and yet who can tell if greater sacrifices of self may not be made at home."

"You sigh now, Magdalene."

"I often do so without thinking: but Basil, remember if you are no longer an heir you are still a son."

"And a brother, dearest."

"O! Basil, Basil, do not be a Missionary!" My brother looked down at the face that was bent over his arm; and then he said decisively,

"No, sister from this moment I resign the thought. You know how long I have looked forward to a clerical life as that of my choice, even when it was by no means expected that I should enter on any profession. I believe I only thought of the missionary life as a substitute for the other at home."

"You shall still enter on the other, Basil." "How is it possible, Magdalene?"

"I do not know; but wait."

"For what?"

"I cannot tell. I feel, I know, that some

thing will occur to help you, if will only

wait."

you

Why, as my twin-brother asked, did I say that word "wait ?" I did not know; I could

not tell him what he was to wait for, because I had no idea myself.

Walter Greville once told a young careless girl to follow the inspirations of her own heart. Basil asked me, smiling, if these words were an inspiration and perhaps they were. A still wiser man than Walter desired me to do the same thing-our tutor.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE links of our human life-chain are not put together at random; the art that unites them so imperceptibly, is best seen at a distance.

To what a very trifling accident do I owe the circumstance that determined the whole character of my life! Yet it was by no means perceived at first that anything grew out of that accident: one link was to be joined on to another as it were at random; but looking back when the chain is nearly complete, one can see how each was fitted to meet its successor.

One day, heart-sick, indignant, and burning with shame and anger, I was looking round for any place into which I might turn for refuge from

that gross impertinence which under pretence of admiration so often assailed me.

There was a small arched door-way picturesquely covered up in ivy, out of which that buzz of children's voices which indicates a school was clearly, but not loudly heard.

I hastily turned within it; and now, after long years have passed, I see the scene more plainly that I then beheld than I did when, with tingling cheeks and flashing eyes, I first sprang hastily in at that ivy-arched door.

A woman, middle aged, short and slight, with a great pair of silver spectacles on her nose, a pair of what we called Wellington boots on her feet, and a white handkerchief put cravat-wise round her neck, a book in one hand, and a long supple rod in the other, stood at the side of the room before a semi-circle of great boys-wild Irish boys, with their hands behind their backs, and their eyes brimful of repressed fun and mischief. Something had occurred that was evidently under trial, for a delinquent was placed in the centre of the half circle, and, after examination, this great sturdy lad was found guilty of wilful falsehood.