"Well," answered the Baronet, "I see by her face that it's all right again now. Perhaps we were a little too warm, Mademoiselle, and then my Lady does not mean, you know, all she says. Besides, who could have thought that you would have taken it so desperately to heart. Come, give me a kiss, child, and say that it is all over."

“Do no such thing, Cécile," said Constance; "it is a great deal more than he deserves."

This time, however, the wise Conny's advice was not followed, and the foolish Saint had again to dry her tears upon her uncle's shoulder.

That afternoon was a very busy one for Constance. Though she was much accused of being deficient in activity, still, somehow or another, whenever there was any business to be done at Redburn Hall, it went through her hands, and was by no means the worse for it. In this instance, she had first to encounter St. Edmunds, who having seen the article in the "Lincoln Chronicle," and having connected it with what he had beheld elsewhere, showed himself particularly solicitous to know how soon he might offer his congratulations upon the

forthcoming auspicious event.

Who but Conny

was to explain that the whole story was a fabrication; that there were reasons for not alluding to it in the family public; and that the best course for him at all events was to promote general conversation on other matters, as well as to show himself more attentive to Cécile than heretofore? Absolute compliance having been promised to her on this head, Conny adjourned to Lady Helen's room, and there administered, with her own inimitable assurance, a very severe reprimand, which the indulgent parent smilingly bore, but which, we fear, did not avail her much. This duty accomplished, Constance sought out Sir Charles, himself. She very seriously admonished him, too, with respect to his recent language and conduct towards Cécile, and informed him that if a totally new leaf were not turned over, he must expect to see her run away some morning from the house, to enlist for a soldier, or for some other desperate purpose. Finally she went to Edward himself, and very distinctly delivered his cousin's message to him. Here, however, she no longer found the same docile and deferential listener. Her brother treated her interference

in the matter as impertinent and uncalled for in the extreme; but Conny was not to be deterred from carrying out her purpose by any such casual little compliments, until all that she deemed it necessary to impart had been fully and clearly stated. She then betook herself to her own sitting-room, addressed to Dandy her opinion upon his attractions, in terms which must have gratified even his ultra-tropical vanity, and finally conceiving herself to be much exhausted, though certainly none ever looked less so, she sank back into her Sutherland arm-chair, and refreshed herself by an intense study of a very abstruse theological work.

It was not until late in the afternoon, that Edward found an opportunity of exchanging a few words with Cécile, unobserved by any one saving his discreet little sister, who took care to look another way, while she listened with the utmost intensity of her powers.

"Your message has been delivered to me, Cécile," whispered he, rather sternly, "but I am not exactly sure that I should be grateful for it."

"Grateful! no, indeed, Edward," muttered

poor Cécile, in a sad flutter.

tion can call for no gratitude."

"A sister's affec

"Particularly, when the term is used restrictively, as it is, I am assured, in this case, Cécile."

She fixed her earnest gaze upon him, and deliberately replied:

"Edward, you have not been misinformed." "But I suppose the feelings that exist on one side are not absolutely to regulate those that may arise on the other?"

"Yes, Edward, they must, they will, or there is an end to the happiness of this happy home."

"There are other homes in the wide world besides this one, Cécile."

None for you, Edward, and none, I trust, for me either, so long as I may honourably and fearlessly claim a shelter at Redburn."

There was no mistaking the purport of this last appeal, however indirect and guarded in its terms, and it struck very forcibly upon Edward's heart. During the whole evening he remained singularly quiescent and abstracted, and early on the ensuing morning, he took his departure for London, having often experienced that change

of air and scene were excellent remedies for the indisposition under which he laboured, as for many others, when still in their earliest stage.

Perhaps it may appear strange that the Lord Viscount St. Edmunds, Royal Horse Guards, Red, who had now been residing, far beyond the appointed time, at what he had been pleased to designate the slowest house in all England, should not have deemed this a very fair opportunity for likewise accomplishing his retreat. He, however, thought otherwise. Whether the chief attraction was found in the excellent condition of the covers, the amenity of Lady Helen's disposition, the exalted and enlarged views of Sir Charles Basinstoke himself, or the charm of his fair cousin's society, we cannot undertake precisely to determine. Certain it is, at all events, that though his departure seemed indefinitely postponed, he showed himself perfectly resigned to his new style of life.

It chanced that, a very few days after his cousin's departure, our hero entered, in quest of a missing newspaper, the small print-room adjoining the library, where Constance and Cécile were wont to spend a great portion of their time.