glimpse of happiness that might still be mine bewilders and unsettles me. I must know the ground I stand upon: the hardest reality is better than the loveliest dream."

"So, my dear, put on your considering cap, and do not drive a worthy man to despair, unless you feel it a very imperative duty."

Mr. Harrop did not fail to arrive. Absence had made him more in love than ever. It had given a touch of imagination to his sentiment, which had beautified even Miss Wilmot. At the end of three days he had another private conversation with her, which came about by the merest accident. She and Constance were in the garden; and when Mr. Harrop joined them, Constance left them to give her aunt some melted jelly, which she always took at that hour, and Mr. Harrop so far profited by the opportunity to plead in his own behalf,

that when, an hour afterwards, she entered Margaret's room, she burst into tears, and told her she had accepted him!

But she seemed very happy, notwithstanding. Constance was delighted: and as to Mr. Harrop, everybody wondered how they could have fancied him a grave, elderly gentleman! Miss Wilmot said he looked like what she recollected him fiveand-twenty years ago!

CHAPTER IV.

It was settled that the wedding should take place in June, at the residence of Miss Wilmot's uncle. Mr. Edward Harrop pleaded hard to be married during this visit, and to take his wife home with him; but to this neither Miss Wilmot nor Margaret nor Constance would listen for a moment, and he considered himself an ill-used man; but as all men are unreasonable, it is their normal state, a man in love cannot be expected to be otherwise.

It is an old story that "much would

have more," and the Ginn in the "Arabian Nights," who, on being let out of the small bottle in which he had been imprisoned, spread himself out over unlimited space, must have been the Genius of human wishes. But as it is far too late in the

day to hope to make any observations which shall be original on such a subject, we will merely relate that Mr. Harrop at length took his departure, with the consoling reflection that the fourth of June must arrive at its usual time.

At the beginning of April there was a week of charming spring weather, and our three friends commenced their journey to London by easy stages. Margaret was very anxious to be near her own physician; she had fears, which she kept to herself, lest she might not live until the marriage took place. However, the journey seemed to agree with her, and she appeared to rally

when they were settled once more in London. Constance felt the breaking-up of the constant companionship there had been with Miss Wilmot, who returned to her uncle's residence, and the shadow of her own sorrow again fell upon her; but she struggled bravely not to seem sad, and the weight that was in her heart lay out of sight. No tidings had reached her of Phillip, except that once her father, in one of his letters, mentioned that Mr. Marchmont was still in Paris, and that his son was travelling.

Charles Herbert's letters were few and far between, and their details of his proceedings were always of the vaguest kind. His last letter had been dated from Vienna; he spoke of having been. ill, and of his intention to try the baths of Marienbad. This now was eight months ago, and both Margaret and Constance had