morrow. Give my kind regards to the Amershams, and tell them that if they will come, too, I shall be glad to see them.-I do not wait for your answer before I send for you, because the only answer I expect is your personal appearance.

"Your affectionate,
"ALEX. BRUFF."

"Now what can this mean?" said Jane to herself, when she had read this brief "order" for change of quarters. "Is it possible that what I have more than once seriously apprehended, is really going to take place, and that my father has been deluded or betrayed into the rashness and cruelty of exalting his servant into the character of mother-in-law to his daughter? It must be something deciding and important that can have induced such a peremptory command.

"Dear Emma," exclaimed the agitated girl, as Mrs. Amersham entered the room," read that, and tell me what you think it means."

Mrs. Amersham did as she was asked to do, and having concluded the perusal of the despatch, declared her incapability of comprehending its object, and contented herself by proclaiming the utter impossibility of obedience to its commands.

"Oh! yes, yes," said Jane, "I must go-"

"Go!" said Mrs. Amersham." What, when the gayest ball of our county and season is fixed for Monday-when I have your father's written promise that we are to have you here till September? No, no, I shall settle that, my dear love-I will write to him and tell him-"

"No, no," said Jane, "it is my duty to go, and go I must. Besides, the carriage will be down this evening to carry me off in the morning."

"But it can be driven back without you," said Mrs. Amersham.

"No!" said Jane, "that must not be. Besides, even if I could make up my mind to consent to your kind proceeding, I should be wretched: first, in the fear of my father's anger, and you, who have sometimes seen him angry, can pretty well judge how it must affect me,then, in the thought that I was opposing his will, which ought to be law to his daughter; and, moreover, in the suspense in which I should exist as to the true and real cause and object of my sudden recal from the only place in the world where I am truly happy."

Strange to say, the same thought flashed into Mrs. Amersham's mind, as had just before startled and alarmed Jane. She thought it savoured of a marriage between the gallant and disagreeable officer, and the sly, mischievous, and influential woman, whose ulterior object nobody, aware of the state of the case, could doubt; and whose artfulness and insidiousness seemed exceedingly well calculated for its attainment.

Little did the ladies anticipate the real motives of the colonel-little did Jane think that within an hour of her fervent hope, that let what might happen, as to her father's refusal of his consent to a lover favoured by her, he would never force her to accept a lover whose affections she could not reciprocate-a mandate so ominous and so awful as this brief letter would arrive.

"Jane," said the matron, after a few moments' consideration, "it strikes me that whether that odious woman, Smylar, is connected with this summons or not, there must be a lover in the question-and I am not sorry for it."

"Not sorry to lose me?" said Jane; "not sorry to have me tormented ?"

"No, not a bit sorry, Jane," said Emma; "you ought to be tormented a little, because, to return to the old subject, you delight in tormenting others; and, moreover, you dear conceited little thing, it will drive you into a determination about Miles Blackmore."

"Miles Blackmore !" said Jane. "What Miles Blackmore again? Indeed, indeed I shall be angry-yes, you need not look so much surprised, Emma, I shall be really, truly, and seriously angry if you ever make another allusion to the subject.'

"Ha! ha!" said Mrs. Amersham, "then is it indeed more serious than I thought it. Angry are you? Come, come, Jane, I own I am interested in his fate-perhaps he has made me a confidante-don't break his heart-don't go before our ball."

"Emma," said Jane, looking infinitely more serious than she usually did, “do consider the reflection you cast upon my conduct, and even my character, by not only implying, but by charging me with deliberate coquetry and missishness in my conduct towards this man. Surely, surely, unless the world is much more wicked than I have yet learned to think it, a young woman admiring genius when she finds it, and appreciating talent where it exists, may so far gratify an innocent, and not even questionable taste, by enjoying the conversation of the man whose intellectual qualities she respects and esteems. I do deny, Emma, solemenly deny, the existence of any feeling of regard towards Mr. Blackmore, which might not exist between us were he my brother. I plead guilty-positively guilty to liking him exceedingly, and being very happy in his society, and even admiring him, if you will; but as to love, if love be what the poets tell us of it, and about which, my dear friend, you must of course know a great deal more than I do, I, with equal sincerity, truth, and firmness, plead not guilty."

"Well," said Mrs. Amersham, "I shall press you to no further confession; but I must, if you please, refer the history of your departure to my excellent husband, who, I think, will agree with me, that an embargo must be laid upon you."

"That is out of the question," said Jane. "Profiting by your good advice, and by that which probably is more effective, your good example, I have learned obedience, and go I must; but if you love me, do what my father asks you to do, go up to town with me; then I shall have your society, your advice, your sympathy."

"That, dear child," said Mrs. Amersham, "is wholly out of the question; our house is already half full, and we expect the Durntons and the Slaters, and half the county to come to us to-morrow, for the ball."

"Then must I wend my weary way alone," said Jane.

"Well," said Mrs. Amersham," as you are resolved, I cannot deny that you are right-whatever freak or fancy your father may have taken into his head, it is, as you so properly say, your duty to obey; therefore I must be silent; but when my dear George comes to know it, I am certain he will be furious; and as for poor Miles Blackmore-" "Emma," interrupted Jane, colouring deeply, whether with consciousness, anger, or any other feeling or passion, it is not for me to determine-" pray, pray do not."

The appeal so genuine, so earnest, and coming from a pair of lips,

to which the most eloquent heroine-describers would be puzzled to do justice, accompanied by a playful gesture of intimidation, silenced her companion, more especially as "dear George" and Mr. Miles Blackmore at that precise moment made their appearance.

The moment the beaux were informed of the gallant colonel's mandate with the "nil rescribas; attamen ipsa veni” clause in the despatch, they both, as must naturally be expected, burst into the loudest denunciation of the paternal tyranny. Mr. Amersham vowed that he would himself go up to town with Jane, and force her imperious parent to permit her to return-a proposition which seemed by no means agreeable to his lady-wife, and infinitely less palatable to Mr. Miles Black

more.

No, no," said Jane, "rely upon it I am the best judge of what I ought to do. My father is, as you know, cross, petulant, and angry, and snubs me, and scolds me; thinks me a foolish girl, and calls me so; charges me with being ill-tempered, and with all sorts of enormities; but I am bound by the most sacred ties to filial obedience-don't think I am preaching-I speak exactly what I feel-so go I must, dearest friends, and go I will!"

"And when to return, Miss Bruff?" said Mr. Miles Blackmore, in a tone of greater earnestness than he was accustomed to assume.

Most

"Oh," said Jane, her heart full of anxiety and wretchedness as to the real object of her summons, "I suppose in a day or two. probably I shall be back for the ball, because papa can't want me to stay long in town."

And then again her thoughts reverted to the hateful, dreaded degradation which she fancied her father must be involved in as she seriously dreaded his surrender to the fascinations of the well-painted, black ringleted siren of his household.

A girl like Jane Bruff, in a country-house, is like a bright star in the firmament. A well-educated accomplished creature of her age, sufficiently of the world to understand its usages, and so thoroughly well-bred as to be perfectly unaffected-showing by every word and action a disposition the most amiable, a general desire to please without the slightest effort or strain after popularity-kind and goodnatured to all, without difference or distinction-wholly divested of the absurd squeamishness which under-bred misses think fine-ready at all times, and on all occasions, to join, frankly and freely, in whatever is going on, conscious of the purity of her own heart and mind, and equally confident in the genuine feelings of friendship and affection of those with whom she is associated-becomes essential and indispensable to the happiness and pleasure of such a circle.

Where is there upon the face of the earth to be found a being so charming, so winning, so influential, as a young Englishwoman of this class and character?

The moment it was known that the carriage had actually arrived, and that Jane Bruff was positively to leave the Amershams in the morning, a gloom fell over the evening circle-her gayest song sounded like a dirge-her sweetest smile, subdued by the thought of the morrow, was watched with painful interest by those who had scarcely approached her, till they were on the eve of losing her. Nor, amongst those who gazed upon her sweet countenance (perhaps for the last time), was Miles Blackmore the least affected.

To hearts that keenly feel, the most trifling incidents are sometimes the most deeply affecting; and when the gentle, genuine Jane, care. fully covered up the harp

"She used to touch,"

there was something in the doing it, that involved a leave-taking which brought tears into more eyes than those of one of the party.

If Jane Bruff had not been by a thousand degrees as charming as she was, her very position in the world could not have failed to make her an object of deep and thrilling interest. It was once well said to me, by a most accomplished nobleman, whose personal and mental qualities could not fail to command the regard and esteem of men, and the admiration and affection of women, that, placed as he was in an enviable position in life, with high rank and large fortune, he felt diffident of himself, and doubtful whether the favourable reception he every where met with, from the belles of the season, arose from their appreciation of his personal qualifications, or the Earldom and his fortune which he possessed.

Certain it is, that Jane Bruff's father, and Jane Bruff's fortune, damped the ardour of several admirers, who, long before the period of which we are now treating, would, as the dowagers say, "have come forward." But Love is careless of gold; and he that had nothing himself to offer, did not venture to aspire to the wealth of the heiress, assured of a rejection from the gallant dragon (not dragoon) who watched the golden apples he had gathered during his profitable campaigns with the most assiduous care and vigilance.

How much happiness in this world is marred by some slight obstacle, which after all might, perhaps, by a little explanation, have been easily overcome; but as Love is not mercenary, so is it timid; and the feeling which induced the noble earl just mentioned to doubt whether he was loved for himself alone, had sealed the lips of many a man who, poor himself, feared that our gentle Jane would think him an interested wooer.

As we

Of this class Mr. Miles Blackmore certainly was not one. have already heard, he was a gentleman and a man of fortune-he certainly neither had a title nor the remotest expectation of one-and as rank was a great point with Sandy Bruff, he might have met with a repulse. Stop, why not try? If he loved Jane, we know she liked him. Why not, while yet her foot was on the threshold, prefer his suit? Why not avow himself?

Jane was sufficiently aware of the "temper of his mind" to expect, and even to dread the event-his manner was distrait. He was evidently agitated-excited.-He begged her to sing once again the song he loved so much. She unhesitatingly complied-it was her nature to oblige. The words were of parting-of a desponding lover. Still she repeated it firmly and steadily, although Mrs. Amersham's look was fixed upon her countenance.

When it was ended the party, except Miles Blackmore, were loud in their applauses. He rose from his chair and walked to the windows which opened into the conservatory. He did not return for some time, and when he did, he looked pale and disturbed-the very reverse of the picture of healthful gaiety, which till this evening his countenance had exhibited.

A slight repast brought the evening's recreations to a close. Nobody tasted any of the accustomed supper which, till to-night, had served to collect the guests about the sociable round table, and gave, as it were, the tone to playful conversation, and that agreeable sort of foolery which wisdom frowns at, as being very frivolous," and vulgarity con

66

demns as being "exceedingly low."

When Mrs. Amersham and Jane retired, a host of enquiries assailed the ears of the latter, as to when she was to go,-that is to say, if she must go; and then came a discussion, somewhat energetic, as to the positive humanity of letting the paternal horses rest at least till after luncheon -if she got to town by dinner-time she would do quite well-the colonel could not expect her earlier; and then what was the use of going sooner? and so on. During all of which discussions and exclamations Miles Blackmore stood in a dark recess of the hall, watching the charming girl, who (why, after her ingenuous declaration of perfect indifference about him to Mrs. Amersham, we could not, if we did not know something about what girls are made of, guess) was excessively surprised to miss the said Miles Blackmore from the little circle of petitioners who were so earnest in praying her not to go away immediately after breakfast.

Miles Blackmore waited till she had given her consent to stay; and, after all the rest of the party had shaken hands with her, he came forth and took his leave, shaking hands with her too. He might have pressed the hand he took. If he did, the pressure certainly was not returned-but mark !—she is not to go till after luncheon.