the last year or two she has studied the language, she says, for her boy's sake, and he lisps very prettily in his father's tongue, though of course he speaks more readily in Italian.

"And now I have told you all that I have to tell at present. There will be no trial we may confidently hope, as Giacinta refuses to take the necessary steps; and though she is very gentle, I can see that she has plenty of firmness, and will neither be scolded nor coaxed into submission to her mother's schemes. Papa is, of course, very much relieved; he is marvellously taken with Giacinta."

It was an infinite comfort to Lady Braden to be delivered from the dread which had so suddenly encompassed her; for she, it must be remembered, had known nothing of Giuditta's appearance till after her revelation in the library; and the idea of the publicity which would be given to painful family events, in case of the affair proceeding to a lawsuit, was distressing to her to the last degree. Nor was her grief less than her husband's at this fresh discovery of their unhappy son's unworthiness, and she shrank from seeing either the child or Giacinta, all innocent as they were.

"I am placed in a grievous dilemma," she said to her old and tried friend, Mrs. Arnison; "the time fixed for

Emily's marriage is fast approaching, and there is no reason why it should be postponed. I cannot bear the idea of having the wedding here, after all that has occurred, nor can I make up my mind to go to town, where Sir Paul now proposes the ceremony should take place. I wish you would advise me, Rose."

"Nay, Letitia dear," was the reply; "in such a matter you must be by far the best judge. What does Christina say ? and what are Emily's own wishes ? "

"They both incline to London. We have had no festivities here since Mary's marriage, and the disclosures of these Italian women have revived past sorrows with a bitterness it is hardly possible for you to conceive. And it is due both to Emily and to Philip that no shade should be cast over their union, of which we all so thoroughly approve. Rose, I am afraid your old friend is very selfish."

"Selfishness used not to be any sin of yours, Letty; what makes you bring accusations against yourself just now ?"

"Because I am shrinking from the effort which is necessary to appear at all at this wedding; I have been thinking whether I might not plead my delicate health as an excuse for absenting myself from the entire ceremony. Christina must, of course, go up to town, and that speedily, in order to assist Emily in her preparations; Hilda naturally appears as a bridesmaid, with your Flossie; now if you would let me have Irene, while all my own people are away, I should be so very thankful.”

66

My dear friend, Irene is so unwell that I am deeply anxious on her account; and-may I speak faithfully to you, Letty? may I say to you exactly what is in my mind?"

66

Surely you may, Rose! When have we two ever hidden our hearts from each other?"

6

"But I am going to find a little fault with you!" "I guessed that. Speaking faithfully' generally does include a little blame, does it not, Rose dear? Say on."

"I should not say it, Letty, if you had not already laid some small blame upon yourself. I do think you would be acting selfishly if you carried out this idea of staying

away from your daughter's wedding. You would grieve both her and Mr. Harwood, and-may I say it ?—I think Sir Paul would feel it excessively. In fact, it would throw a damp over the whole affair; and you really are not ill enough to make a journey to London at all hazardous. Won't you try to rouse yourself, Letty dear?"

"I suppose I ought; I know I ought," said Lady Braden, the tears starting in her mild eyes; "but oh, Rose, if you knew what it sometimes costs me to appear at all cheerful and composed! This nursing of grief is morbid, you will say; yet can I help the feeling that things can never, never again be as they were? It was an awful dispensation. I wonder every now and then how I bore it, why I did not die when my poor boy was buried; and I knew that he had himself taken the life that God had given him! And he was such a dear lad when he was a little one, so bright and loving, so full of drollery, so ready to bring all his childish troubles to his mother! Letty, I believe I loved him more than all or any of my other children."

We

"You loved him differently, not more, dear. mothers have always a peculiar passion for our firstborn, I think; yet we do not love the younger ones less. Butis it well to dwell upon the past, seeing that things are as they are, and cannot now be altered? Can you not, for the sake of the dear children who are left to you, live again in the present, though perhaps not fully?

66 I sometimes fear I cannot. And yet my husband has made the sacrifice; not less than I he felt the bitter blow; see how his hairs are whitened and his figure bowed! But he has long ago roused himself to take his place in the household, and to some extent in the county; he was always the stronger."

"As the husband, I think, should be. We women, who have vowed to obey,' like to feel that there is something_morally to compel obedience in our lords and masters. Letty, I do think you might be the better in yourself if you left Bradenshope for a little while; you have had no change since you settled down here last spring."

"I wished for none; and we had such a calm and

happy summer-comparatively happy, that is. Hilda was the sunshine of our house; to Sir Paul and to myself, . as well as to Christina, she has been an incalculable source of brightness and comfort. And Walter is most blessed in securing such a wife. She is the dearest girl."

"I am so glad you appreciate Hilda. I sometimes wonder, though, that she should be what she is, taking into account her disadvantages of education. A more worldly-minded, selfish woman than Mrs. Mowbray it is impossible to imagine."

"How abominably she treated that poor child, shaking her off, and deliberately washing her hands of her, after having profited so largely from her office as protectress and chaperon. Such a mere child as she was, too, in her knowledge of the world, and without any experience of life! What would have become of her if Mrs. Dorothy had not determined to receive her?"

"In that case we should have added her to our own family, adopted her as a tenth daughter, as indeed she became to us during her long illness last winter. It was a real trouble to us when we found that the Blue House could not comfortably remain the home of both Hilda and Louis Michaud."

"Your trouble turned out to be our consolation, for we should never really have known dear Hilda had she not become our inmate, and lived among us day after day during Mrs. Dorothy's absence. How completely it seems to have been ordered! Had not the lady of High Endlestone taken that journey-and who would have predicted such a freak of her a year ago ?-Hilda's visit here would have terminated at the end of a fortnight or three weeks; and if Louis Michaud had not so unexpectedly fallen in love with Hilda, her natural home, while her elder aunt was away, would have been with you at the Blue House. Surely Providence sent her to us, for our son's happiness and our family comfort!"

"I do not doubt it; all these things are ordered,' though too often we fail to acknowledge the guiding Hand that led us by devious and unlikely paths to the very thing that was best for us. I must confess, though, that I cannot to this moment understand Louis' brief

passion for Hilda. His first affections were certainly given to Flossie, he says so now; then suddenly he was seized with a fancy for Hilda, and without much reflection he declared himself. Rejected by her, he turned again to Flossie-for consolation and sympathy, he says-and very soon he began to feel that, after all, it was Flossie herself and not Hilda who alone could make him happy."

"But are you not rather afraid for Flossie? It seems to me that M. Louis must be of a fickle disposition-just a little imbued with the spirit of my poor Paul. He appears not quite to have known his own mind.”

His

"He certainly did not, and many a young man, however well-principled and steady, is in the same predicament. Some natures are very easily impressed, some hearts very quickly touched; Louis is essentially practical and far-sighted in business-matters, but apart from business he is not so dependable. He is a Christian man, or I should have feared lest, in some unguarded hour, he might make shipwreck of his life, or, at least, miss that which would have ensured its fulness and success. fancy for Hilda was but a fancy! I was convinced of that at the time, and I was glad of it, both for Flossie's sake and for Hilda's. There had been something—not an understanding-between Louis and Flossie, but a sort of sentiment between them, which had really gone deeper than either of them imagined. They suit each other admirably; they will be devoted to each other after a fashion! Each will give his and her utmost; and if that utmost be of a different complexion from that which some of us have regarded as 'true love,' it concerns only those who are to spend their lives together. Flossie is perfectly satisfied, and so is Louis; she will be to him an affectionate, faithful wife, gay and radiant, and perhaps a little careless. He will be to her a thoroughly good, kind husband, and as the years go on-if God spares themthey will grow into each other's thoughts and feelings more and more, and grow elderly in regular Darby and Joan fashion. But they will never be to each other what Ralph and I are-nor what Aunt Dorothy and Harry Rivers would have been, had no cruel relatives come