It was very natural that the contemplation of the painful duty which lay before him should not only cast a shadow over the countenance of Robert Clifton, but should affect his voice, his manner, his very movements, with a kind of constraint. Quick in all her womanly instincts, Grace Linden saw this, and seemed determined, by kind and gentle ways, to set her visitor more at ease, to make him more at home in her father's house, and, in short, more impressed with the fact that she was his sister in heart and feeling, though but a stranger in the literal acceptation of that word.

Robert felt all this, keenly. The gentlest look of kindness, the most delicate expression of good will, all thrilled to the very centre of his soul; but yet he was firm and true to the purpose for which he had come. He only waited to begin until the servants should have left the room. In the mean time he sipped his coffee, and spoke in a vague and most uninteresting manner on the commonplace topics of the day.

Grace thought her lover's brother was a VOL. X.-NO. CXVII.

have thought so, only that now and then he had turned to her with that most genial and captivating smile of his; and once, on looking suddenly up, she had found his deep dark eyes fixed full upon her face, with such a look of tenderness and sorrow, that she could almost have burst into tears, she knew not why. This look, and that peculiar smile, seemed to hold her entranced as if by a kind of fascination. She saw her visitor again the cold, stern man, which it seemed to her must be his accustomed character; but then, why had he looked at her with that strange expression? The stern look was like a wall built up betwixt them. She longed to break it down. She longed to make a friend of Philip's brother. She longed to ask for tidings of her lover. Indeed, she had not heard from him very recently: there had been a longer interval than usual without a letter; but it had never entered into her clear contented mind to apprehend that there could be any cause for this beyond some trifling accident, or possibly she thought an increased application to study. She had no suspicions-no fears. Life looked to her like a safe and pleasant

journey, which she was about to take with one loved companion. There might be weariness sometimes by the way-there might be storms above, and roughness underneath her feet, but she herself would be both sheltered and supported-of this she never entertained a doubt. She had only to lean upon the strong arm, and all would be safe with her-safe, and so happy!

Robert Clifton marked this expression in the gentle face. "So happy," he said mentally," and I must dash that happiness away." He watched the servant removing the last traces of their somewhat unsocial meal. He knew that his hour was come; there could now be no delay.

"My father will not be long now," said Grace, as if she herself had nothing whatever to do with the business of her visitor.

"I shall, of course, be happy to see Mr. Linden," Robert said, "but I am less anxious for his return, because the purpose of my unceremonious visit rests entirely with yourself."

"With myself?" said Grace, slightly starting, and yet smiling with an expression of irrepressible pleasure; "I am not very much accustomed to business, but if you have anything pleasant to tell me, as I dare say you have, you will find me a very grateful listener."

With these words Grace arched her delicate eyebrows, and looked half-laughing in the speaker's face.

Robert rose suddenly from his seat. He could not bear this look. He could not utter what he had to say with this look fixed upon him. At another time he would have walked to the window, and looked out; that was impossible now. He had done some difficult things in his life, but never anything like this.

wish it was my happiness, for indeed it would be great, to bring you glad tidings. Unfortunately

He

Grace looked up full into his face, with a piercing brightness in her eyes. must go on, now. "Unfortunately," he began again, "the hard duty has fallen upon me to come and talk to you very seriously about my brother Philip.”

A slender figure was at his side, a long white finger was laid upon his arm, before he was aware of any movement. A voice was close to his ear, and these words were whispered, or rather hissed breathless haste-" Is he dead?" "Oh! no;" said Robert. "Well?"

out with

Robert sup

"Quite well, in health." "Thank God! But what- "9 She could say no more. ported her to a couch, for her own strength would scarcely have sustained her.

"Sit down," he said, "my dear Miss Linden. If you will permit me, I will take this seat at your side. Endeavour, I beseech you, to be composed. There is no illness in the case, no accident, nothing but what his friends must have already feared for Philip."

"I never feared anything," said Grace, with such an appealing look, that Robert thought he never should get through with his task.

"Did you never fear anything?" he said, "from Philip's rash, impetuous temperament? "

"Never. He did not seem rash to me." "Did you never suspect that his habits of life were not quite what they ought to be?"

"Never. He was always good to me."

"Did you never fear that, as he was circumstanced, he might fall into the society of unprincipled young men, and so be led away?"

"Never. I did not know that he cared for any society but mine."

"But you see, my dear Miss Linden, you were far away, others were near at hand."

good advice."

"May I ask if you have heard from him very lately?"

"I have not."

"Did you not suspect there might be some particular cause for his silence?" "I suspected nothing. Mr. Clifton, what do you mean? Have you come here to poison my mind with suspicions against your brother?"

Grace turned upon the speaker a glance of such intense repulsion, it looked almost like hatred. A moment before he would not have believed her capable of such a look. "Philip Clifton," she said, haughtily, "I know well. I do not know you. Judge then which of the two I am likely to believe?"

Robert spoke calmly when he answered, "My brother Philip would confirm all that I have to say about him. He knows of my coming here, why I have come, and what I shall tell you, and he knows it is the truth."

"It is easy for you to say so," said Grace, still in the same indignant tone; "but why should I believe you? I tell you once for all, Mr. Clifton, that if you dare to utter a single syllable against your brother, I will not believe you. I can believe that you are a false man. I could believe that the sun had ceased to shine, and that the whole order of Nature was reversed; but anything against Philip Clifton, I am incapable of believing."

"Nevertheless, " said Robert, with a voice still calm, though expressive of intense suffering," nevertheless, you must believe it."

"I tell you I will not," said Grace.

"He has no others, I tell you; and it is a wicked, cruel libel to say that he has."

"Very well, then, Miss Linden. My duty to you is done. I will await the return of your father, but do not let me trespass upon your private hours. Perhaps you will allow your servant to conduct me to another apartment."

Grace had expended all her anger, all her indignation. Weak as a crushed flower, she had fallen back upon the couch from which, in the fervour of her emotion, she had risen. Both her hands were now pressed violently upon her eyes, but she could not force back her tears. They would gush out, and thick and fast they now came pouring over her cheeks. It was well they did. Nature,-her nature at least, was not capable of bearing such a struggle without the natural relief of

tears.

Robert could not leave this delicate creature weeping and sobbing as she was now. In spite of her strong assurances to the contrary, he had believed all the while that some sad misgiving was striking deep at the root of her confidence; and he believed, too, that her anger would give way. For himself, she might still hate and loathe him, as who would not under such circumstances?-but he thought she would listen at last; and he was right. Waving her hand to indicate a wish that he should again sit down on the couch beside her, Grace covered her face with her handkerchief, leaned forward so as to support herself on the table which stood by, and then said, "Go on. Spare nothing,-tell me all; but tell it only to me."

"My brother," Robert said, "we all know has a warm heart, and an excellent disposition."

Poor Grace put out her soft white hand and clasped Robert's with a pressure so intense, that he knew and felt its meaning. The only consolation she had now was to hear him speak kind words of his brother. "Go on," she said again.

"There are facts," he said, "that you ought to have been acquainted with before this time."

"What are they?"

with Robert, he had placed himself with a clergyman for the purpose of pursuing his studies more diligently than before. For a while all went well. His companions were absent, and he was situated almost beyond the reach of temptation. But no sooner did the same parties meet again in the same scenes, than Philip's better resolutions melted away almost as rapidly as if he had no claim upon him for the future, no compunction for the past, and no strong motive for controlling his passions during the present hour.

How Philip might have resisted these temptations, had he been always what his companions would have called "himself," it is impossible to say; but one part of the madness of such a character invariably consists in having habitual recourse to stimulants, which inflame the lower passions, while they weaken the power of reason and the sense of right. Thus Philip seldom was, in this sense of the word, himself; nor in all probability did he ever, from the same cause, arrive at a clear conviction of what was the real nature of his own conduct. His own character he had never studied-indeed it was not his habit to reflect upon anything. He loved or hated-wished and pursued, or opposed and subdued, just as inclination prompted. These were the ruling faculties which governed him. He felt that his heart was kind, at the moment when impulse made it so, and thus he concluded it must be good. He had no ill-will-no wish to injure those who never opposed or thwarted him; and thus he came to imagine himself, upon the whole, a good-natured, easy-going fellow. He only wanted to enjoy himself why should he not? If anything stood in his way it must be overcome; and if any one prevented his enjoying himself, woe betide them!

As regarded principle, we are not prepared to say that Philip Clifton stood at a disadvantage with many of his fellow men. Hundreds and thousands we believe, even in this day, and amidst the scenes of our boasted enlightenment, go forth into the world with no better preparation of principle to keep them right. Experience teaches many by lessons of worldly wisdom. God in his mercy teaches others by his word, by afflictions, by means sometimes the least probable to us, he teaches many

that there is "a more excellent way," and he also makes them willing and able to walk in it; but for the rest, they take the path which inclination points to at the moment, and bear the blame, and suffer the consequences of what, with God's help, might possibly have been prevented in early youth.

Robert did not charge his brother with want of principle, he only stated facts; from these he did not flinch, nor did he try to palliate them. It was the truth which he had come to tell, and he told it clearly, and as much as could be at once. No eye could see, not even his, quicksighted as it was, how that truth fell, nor what agonies it inflicted, where it touched and rankled like a poisoned arrow. The face of the sufferer was still covered, and only a slight rocking motion of the whole figure, and a quivering of the white fingers which held the handkerchief so closely pressed, told how the poison worked, even at the very spring of life. Such is the consequence of vice; such, at one time or another, with some sufferer, and not unfrequently with many, are the results of that career which men call pleasure.

The

It was only pleasing himself, Philip Clifton might have said, which had brought down this terrible, this irremediable misery upon the unoffending head of one who loved him as her life. He had never intended to injure any one. last thing he would have wished, would have been to wring a tear from her bright eyes. No, he had only pleased himself at the moment, without thinking of the consequences. May God forgive us the wrongs we commit against others, but especially against his holy law, when we are only pleasing ourselves.

Had

The wrong was here most manifest. Robert wished that his brother could have seen such a picture as he was now contemplating, and have seen it in time. He now thought it was mistaken kindness, and misplaced delicacy which had induced him to be silent until now. he spoken out at once, perhaps Philip might have been checked in time. Now, his circumstances looked altogether hopeless; for if even in future he should resume his studies, what was he to do in the mean time? No doubt the poor weeping sufferer thought of that, for when