thorough-bass, whatever that may be, or any useless nonsense of that sort; and she ought to sketch a little, I suppose; and you may teach her a little botany, if you like, and just as much astronomy as will enable her to know Ursa Major from the Pleiades. I am not sure that I know them myself, and I have done very well without knowing; but such things are talked about now more than they were in my young days, and it is not desirable to appear more ignorant than others, or to be unable to mix in general conversation. In short, fit her to appear gracefully and effectively in society, when the time comes, and I shall be contented. I need not suggest that her morals should be carefully attended to, and that she should be properly grounded in the principles of the Protestant religion. Lady John Maltravers assures me, that though convent-bred, you are not a Papist."

"Oh! no, indeed, madame; I am Protestant, I do assure you," replied the obsequious governess, who held no creed at all, and would unhesitatingly have conformed to Buddhism, had it seemed expedient. "I exactly comprehend what it is you require, and I undertake that ma chère et belle élève shall be all that you desire. As for me, I detest a bas-bleu; as you say, it is only we poor governesses who are compelled to toil at real learning; young ladies of rank and fashion, especially those who are handsome and rich, are better without too much education. A little of everything is my maxim; and plenty of style. Ah! madame, style and grace are everything to a young lady. I give you my word that Mademoiselle Capel shall perfectly acquire the one and the other."

And Mrs. Mowbray retired, well satisfied; and Mademoiselle La Violette reigned in the schoolroom, and did her best to mould the thirteen-years-old Hilda into a fashionable young lady. For three years she held sway, and then, some misunderstanding taking place between herself and her patroness, she resigned her post, and Hilda was sent to a Paris pension, and afterwards to an expensive school in Germany.

And now she was altogether free of masters and governesses; she had been presented, and her first season was a decided success. She had been admired, courted, envied,

and the Honourable Horace Trelawny, second son of the Earl of Camelford-with every prospect of succeeding to the title, his eldest brother being a life-long invalid, and almost certain not to marry-had formally proposed, and had been unhesitatingly accepted,-not merely as a bonparti, as we have seen; not at all, indeed, on account of any temporal advantages, either present or to come; but simply because the girl loved him with all the warm and pure affection of her girlish heart. Hilda's education had made her externally a fine lady, but it had not really spoiled her, and there were in her nature a depth and sincerity, an unalloyed simplicity, of which her aunt and her closest friends never dreamed, and of which she was herself scarcely cognisant.

Mrs. Mowbray breakfasted always, when they were alone, in her own room, and thither Hilda, as soon as she had taken her coffee, repaired. Attired in a richly embroidered white muslin, relieved by one or two knots of pale rose ribbon, and all the soft bloom of youth and health and happiness on her cheeks, she looked her very best.

"Well, Hilda!" said her aunt, when the usual morning salutations had passed between them, "I must say dissipation seems to agree with you. It is just the end of the season, and your roses are as fresh, and your eyes as bright, as on the day you left the schoolroom. Who would think you had danced till four o'clock this morning?"

"I have had a good sleep since then, and I am quite rested."

"What is the matter, Hilda? I read something more than ordinary in your face. How you blush, child! It is becoming, however; but don't get into a habit of blushing-it proves too much self-consciousness, which is not well-bred; besides, it is altogether like a milk-maid." "The matter is only that I am so very happy, auntie." "Has all been settled between you and Horace Trelawny, then?"

"Yes; that is to say, I have told him he may write to papa-and he is coming here presently, to see you, auntie. I knew that you approved." If I did not, I should have inter

"I quite approve.

fered ere this, my dear; for, of course, I perceived some weeks since how it was likely to be! Yes! you have done well, though with your face and fortune you might have done better. I shall tell your father that it is really a good match. Though, understand, Hilda, I should have discouraged Mr. Trelawny at once, I should never have allowed the intimacy, had his position with regard to the title been other than it is."

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"I do not understand, I think."

"I mean as regards his brother, who will certainly die young and unmarried, leaving the way clear for your Horace. Were he simply a younger brother I should have kept you apart; you will grace a coronet, and I intend that you shall wear one."

"Aunt! that sounds horrid! It is so calculating, so hard! Besides, I tell you plainly, I thought nothing about Horace's possible prospects when I accepted him. I am going to marry him because I love him; because he is the one man in all the world for me; because, without him, all my life to come would be a blank-a void."

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Hilda, I am astonished! I am pained! It humbles me to hear you talk in such a strain; you are scarcely modest."

"Oh, aunt!" cried Hilda, deeply pained, the pink roses of her cheeks flushing to crimson, and spreading over neck and brow, "I should not think of saying so much to any one else, and I would not have said it to you yesterday; I would scarcely have allowed it to myself. But now -now that Horace has told me how much he loves me, now that we are actually engaged, and that it is settled that I am to be his wife, I may surely admit to you that I do honestly care for my future husband. I do not think, though, I should have said so much, had you not half implied that I had taken into account the infirmities and declining health of poor Lord Polperro. I would not for the world be mercenary; I don't care a jot for money."

"That is because you have never wanted it, my dear; you would tell a different tale if you had ever known the misery of debt and empty pockets.'

"I cannot imagine it. One must manage very badly to get into debt, I should think."

"You have never had to manage at all, therefore you are not a judge; if you were poor now

"Oh, poor! I should be miserable! I have always had everything I wanted, and I always shall, I hope. That is not being mercenary, I suppose?

"It inclines that way, Hilda; and I think, in spite of your romantic affirmations, that Mr. Trelawny, as a poor curate, a briefless barrister, or an impecunious younger son without prospects, would have had little chance with you.'

"Rich or poor, Mr. Trelawny would always have been Mr. Trelawny."

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Well, my dear, I will not argue with you. Your choice is an excellent one, or I should scold you, and perhaps shut you up till you came to your senses. As it is, you can afford to indulge in a little sentimentality; but don't look so radiantly happy, child, or you will make your lover conceited."

"I will try to be demure; but really, I do feel so very happy-about as happy as I can ever be, I do believe.”

"It is not well to feel in that way," said Mrs. Mowbray, gravely. "It makes me shiver to hear you talk, and to see you look so wonderfully elate. Extremes of feeling, like extremes of opinion and extremes of action, are always dangerous. I forget whether it is in the Bible, or in Shakespeare-but one or the other says, 'Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth.' A very wise and useful caution, who

ever said it."

"Oh! to-morrow will be all right as well as to-day," replied Hilda lightly, re-arranging the ribbons in her hair. Little she dreamed of all that day would bring forth. Little thought either elder or younger woman how that day, so brightly begun, would close in tears and pain.

CHAPTER II.

MORNING AND EVENING.

"Never morning wore

To evening, but some heart did break."

HILDA spent a very pleasant morning with her lover-a morning that, in after days, seemed bright and unreal as a fairy tale. Just as luncheon was over, Hilda was called away to speak with her dressmaker, and Mr. Trelawny and Mrs. Mowbray were left alone; they seized the opportunity and entered at once into confidential communication. It appeared by their conversation that they were kindred spirits, and quite understood each other. "Let me thank you, Mrs. Mowbray, for having so favourably received my proposals for your niece's hand," commenced Horace, with a certain formality, of which the lady highly approved.

"I am very glad that I was able so to receive them," replied Mrs. Mowbray, graciously. "I should have been sincerely pained had it been my duty to interfere between you; as it doubtless would have been, had Hilda shown an unwise partiality. As it is, I congratulate her on her choice-I congratulate you both; you seem made for each other."

"You know I am not rich. My father is generous; still, I have but a younger son's portion, and the estates are strictly entailed."

"That is as it should be. I can scarcely look upon you, Mr. Trelawny, as an ordinary younger son, for the succession is as plainly yours as if you had been your parents' first-born. Your poor brother will scarcely survive your father-a sad trial to you all, of course, but, nevertheless, a fact."

"I grieve to say that my poor brother's days are, to all appearance, and in the opinion of the best medical authorities, drawing to a close. He may linger a year or