CARRINGTON.

It was a cold, gloomy, blustering evening, in the beginning of September, when the increase of houses, and appearance of hissing and tranquil engines along the line of rail-road, announced to Kate that she was approaching the termination of her journey; she wondered she did not feel more of that sinking of heart, and thrilling of nerves, with which she used to regard any important crisis or event. She felt so terribly depressed, that anything like the hope, implied by fear or anxiety, was quite out of the question; yet there occasionally glanced across her mind the thought, "have I not come to the worst; perhaps the next change may be for the better."

"Half-past six—nearly an hour behind time," said a fat, rosy old gentleman, who sat opposite to Miss Vernon, "and another quarter of an hour will be lost taking the tickets—very bad, very bad," and he looked at Kate for sympathy; but to her it was a matter of indifference: the train was rather too fast for her wishes.

"They will be fancying all sorts of accidents and concussions at home," resumed the old gentleman, with a smile of such security in the affection and sympathy to which he was hastening, that the tears sprang to Kate's eyes, even while she smiled upon him, and said—

"Then I do wish they would go faster—suspense is such a terrible thing."

The old gentleman seemed struck by the sudden warmth evinced by his hitherto taciturn companion.

"I suppose you have friends to meet you?" he said; "but if I can be of any use in getting your luggage, &c., I shall be very happy."

"I suppose they will send some one to meet me," said Kate, carelessly; "but," she added, a doubt on the point glancing across her mind for the first time, "if not, I will gladly avail myself of your kind offer."

"What part of the town, may I ask, are you going to?"

"Carleton Terrace, New Park."

"Oh, indeed. I live near that myself."

A little more desultory talk brought them to the platform; and stepping from the carriage, Miss Vernon looked round in hopes of discovering the promised person to meet her; but none appeared; therefore, accepting the old gentleman's proffered aid, she proceeded to disentangle her luggage from the miscellaneous and momentarily encreasing pile, which the porters were pitching, with their usual dexterity and disregard of consequences, out of the van.

Kate had but few packages; some undefined feeling had induced her to leave much of her belongings under Mrs. Storey's care—she could not bear to think of Carrington as anything but a temporary abode.

"Another small black box—the same name—Miss Vernon," she said to the porter who was collecting her luggage; her words attracted the notice of an awkward boy of about fifteen, who had been examining the second-class passengers, as if in search of some one; he was heavy-looking, without being large, his movements slow and uncouth, and his face of a leaden bilious complexion, wore an expression of stupid surprise.

"Are you Miss Vernon?" he asked, in an abrupt, harsh voice, which was at its harshest epoch.

"Yes," said Kate, looking at him doubtfully, uncertain what rank in society to assign him; his face would not have been misplaced under a basket of oranges, nor his clothes on the heir apparent of an earldom.

"All right," said the interesting youth. "gran'ma sent me to meet you. I'm Pembridge Wilson; shall I call a cab? Busses don't go near the Park."

"If you please, a cab," said Kate; and, turning to her friendly companion de voyage, thanked him for his kind attention.

"Holloa, Pem., is that you?" he cried, as his eyes fell on Kate's new acquaintance. "I did not know I was travelling with a friend of yours. I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again," he said to Kate, "as you are going to the Wilsons'."

"I shall be very happy," she returned, bowing, and walked towards the cab.

"Stop," whispered Master Pembridge, "make a bargain with the man before they put up the luggage; you, go—I'll stay here.""No," said Kate, "I am afraid he would not mind me much. I dare say, he will not charge more than he ought."

Master Pem's usual state of amazement seemed to receive a slight addition at these words, and as he followed Miss Vernon into the vehicle, a keen ear might have overheard a muttered "my eye!"

The noise of the streets was a good excuse for silence. Kate gazed through the windows, recognising the various localities which she faintly remembered from her short visit there, partly from Egerton's anathematising descriptions, while Pem. gazed, with unremitting assiduity and still surprised, at her.

"Well, here we are, and I expect I am ready for my tea. You were so late, I'm regularly cold waiting for you," and he blew his nose audibly—a perpetual cold in the head characterised this specimen of young Carrington.

The door was opened by a melancholy-looking woman, who made no offer to assist the cabman in removing the trunks, &c., from the vehicle.

"There—I told you," said Pem., in triumph, as Jehu demanded four and sixpence, and sixpence for the luggage; but Miss Vernon hastily paid him, and entered the house, anxious to see the kind, gentle old lady who wanted a daughter's companionship.

"Come in, do, and shut that door," cried a hard, shrill voice from some inner sanctum. "The wind is going right through my head."

"This way, mem," said the melancholy female, and Kate entered a small and very hot front parlor. A tall, large, slightly-bent old woman, with a face as hard as her voice, was standing, her hands crossed behind her back, on the hearth-rug. The broad expanse of her countenance was spanned by a pair of capacious spectacles, depressed towards the left eye, as if to give her spying propensities all the advantages of double and single vision.

"Miss Vernon. How do you do? how late you be," said she, giving Kate a cold, stiff hand, guiltless of closing on the fair soft fingers which took it.

"Yes; the train was very often delayed," replied Kate, letting go, with a sensation of repugnance, the unrelaxed collection of bone and sinews proffered to her, and gazing with surprise at the huge cap, which looked large enough for the mother of Anak's sons, though not at all disproportioned to the head it covered; the old lady was richly and substantially dressed, and had the unmistakeable air of well-lined pockets.

"Go, Pembridge, and look for your mama; you must be nigh starved, and Miss Vernon too, I dare say; get the keys, will you, we are all ready for tea. Will you come near the fire?"

With these mingled directions and remarks, Mrs. Jorrocks, sen., subsided into an arm chair of considerable dimensions, and stared at Kate, who puzzled and confused by so terrible an awaking from her dream of an interesting old lady, sat for a few minutes in unbroken silence.

"How did you leave Mrs. Tom," was at length asked by Miss Vernon's new acquaintance.

"Quite well. I saw her the day before yesterday; she desired many kind messages to you."

"They have been very gay up in London; time she settled at home."

"Mrs. Jorrocks seems anxious to do so," replied Kate.

"So she tells you; she be sharp enough; you were coming to me. Had you a quiet journey?"

"Very, thank you. I met a most polite old gentleman—a neighbour of yours, at least, he knew your grandson."

"Who can that be? what was he like?"

Kate described him.

"That will be Mr. Davis. I wonder what took him to London? we—"

She was interrupted by the entrance of her daughter.

Mrs. Wilson was a much more prepossessing person; she was rather an exaggerated edition of Mrs. Storey—fatter, louder, more gossipping, and less kind-hearted. She was older too; but still, rather pretty and very well dressed. She welcomed Kate cordially enough, and proposed shewing her her room before tea. It was a tiny chamber, but all her own, and Kate was glad of its solitude for a few moments before joining the party below.

When she descended to the dining-room, she found an addition to the circle in the person of the eldest son—a lad about a year older than Pem., thin and fair; his countenance shewed a much higher degree of intelligence than his brother's. He was reading when Kate came in, and looked up to bow, (not to rise) for exactly the space of time necessary for that operation. Pem. was also reading—a newspaper was his study—he seemed to get on with difficulty, constantly snuffling, and elevating his eye-brows, as if vainly attempting to open his small eyes wider than nature intended.

"Now then, Miss Vernon, I am sure you are ready for tea," said Mrs. Wilson. "I ordered you a couple of eggs; you will want something more substantial than a bit of toast after your journey."

Kate silently agreed, longing for a glass of wine after her fatigue of body and mind. However, she took a cup of tea very readily, albeit washy enough.

"Who do you think Miss Vernon travelled down with?"

"Why how should I know, mother?"

"Mr. Davis!"

"Nev-er! I did not know he was up in town."

"It's very strange," said Mrs. Jorrocks with a significant nod of the head, "That patent he have paid so much money on, is not going straight I dare say."

"Mr. Davis, if he is the gentleman, did not get in till we reached Wolverton," said Kate.

"Wolverton," repeated Mrs. Wilson, "Whatever was he doing at Wolverton?" Mrs. Jorrocks incapable of solving this problem shook her head with awful significance, as she munched her buttered toast. The young gentlemen read sociably all through the meal. "Here James," said Mrs. Wilson to her eldest son, "Put this sugar basin away do, I am so hot and tired pouring out tea; I dare say" (pronounced "dessay,") "Miss Vernon will make tea for us now."

The evening appeared very interminable to Kate; the boys were set to their lessons immediately after tea, with an injunction from their mother not to leave any for the morning, it made them so late at their "breakfastses," and then mother and daughter in a species of duet expatiated on the wonderful talents and acquirements of the eldest son, until having exhausted their subject they commenced a severe cross examination of herself, when a loud ring disturbed the enquiry, and Mrs. Wilson started from her seat exclaiming "Law! how Wilson do ring." Mr. Wilson was a short, thick man of even a more dingy, leaden-yellow hue than his son; small piggish eyes, thick hearth-brush looking hair, and a voice of unredeemed harshness, such as one might expect from a slave driver, were his most striking characteristics. He was however civil enough, made due enquiries after his brother-in-law, asked if town was full, and the opera well attended, (oblivious in his anxiety to put these fashionable queries, that it was September), and finally betook himself to devour some chops, the bones of which he polished with surprising dexterity, first however sending the boys to bed with a sudden imperious sternness that absolutely startled Kate; she soon pleaded fatigue and bid them good night. "We have prayers at half-past eight, Miss Vernon," said Mrs. Wilson.

"Indeed, well I shall be ready."

The dreariness of those hours when Kate had extinguished her candle, and in the darkness of night gave herself up to grief, we will not attempt to describe—the exaggeration of distance between her and all she had ever known—the agonised longing for some escape,—the sense of utter estrangement from every familiar style of thought and feeling—the inexpressible loathing of all around her; are not these things written in the chronicles of many a memory? "Oh for a sound of nurse's voice! she is so true, so loving, and Georgy, why are you so far away. Will Mr. Winter never, never return! Is my life to pass away thus with these terrible people. Oh grandpapa! I am so alone." And ever with the thought of him Egerton's image rose before her; she was too miserable to curb her thoughts as she was wont, and from the silent depths of her heart, her spirit called to him agonisingly; with unutterable longing, thirsting for a sound of his voice, as though it were a spell to conjure away the gloom and the difficulties round her, striving, panting in a death struggle fer happiness. Who dare limit the power lent to the divine essence by the force of a mighty wish, when we feel the intense longings of the imprisoned spirit darting in electric streams towards the object so ardently desired. There are momentary glimpses granted to the imagination, when purified by the agony of suffering, of grandeur, power and liberty, so far beyond our mortal state, that the first return to a commoner and calmer frame of mind, is usually indicated by a shudder or a smile at our own "strange fancies."

Yet what may not the spirit anticipate in its future? and what power may not be momentarily lent it? even here a foretaste of that future. The very depth of her emotion soothed Kate; she felt a gradual calm stealing over her—was it that her wild yearning had accomplished its end?

About the same time, it might be the same night, far away, a deep blue, star-lit eastern sky was shining in still beauty over the cantonments of an English regiment, and Colonel Egerton was sleeping the restless disturbed sleep of a low fever. He wakes suddenly—fully roused—with a sense that he was wanted—that he was called. Yet he had not dreamt, at least, distinctly; nor was it till after some moments' thought, he connected that sudden impression with Miss Vernon—for Egerton was too full of rational energy to have his mind perpetually filled with one image. He had loved Kate, and still, at times, thought of her with deep tenderness; but a life of activity pleased and occupied him. Parting with her had swept away the light-hearted, buoyant gaiety of his early days; but left enough of cheerfulness to make life still very enjoyable. Time, absence, silence, above all, Burton's report, not long received, were gradually doing their work—ere long, his heart would have been free to cherish another, well and truly; yet never, oh, never, with the same exquisitely tender, pure unselfish love which she had breathed over the chaotic surface of his life; he still might taste the sweetness of the grape; but the unspeakable loveliness of its first fresh bloom was breathed upon—and vanished.

Colonel Egerton was worse the next morning; the regimental surgeon shook his head, and, at length, obtained a hearing, when, for the fourth time, he suggested native air.

Life at Carrington, with its innumerable small trials, is too monotonous to be carefully recorded.

Kate had much to suffer; yet it was not all suffering. She soon perceived the various rÔles enacted by the family. Mr. Wilson was a thorough domestic tyrant, intense selfishness pervaded the whole party, except, perhaps, Mrs. Wilson. The eldest son was a pedant, a dry, cold calculating machine, who seemed chiefly to value his own unblemished character, because it gave him a right to be implacable to the failings of others. It is strange to write thus of the character of a boy not seventeen; but none could connect him with the faintest outline of that lovely, erring thing called "youth."

He was, however, an unceasing source of pride to his family; and even Pem., if he had an idea beyond his dinner, looked upon his brother as something quite extraordinary.

The day began with a severe trial, at least to Kate, in the shape of morning prayers. She shrank from Mr. Wilson's harsh tones, doling forth the gracious words of the gospel; and her rebellious thoughts refused to follow the long discursive address they all knelt down to hear read aloud, in accents of self-satisfied conscientiousness. Mr. Wilson dwelt, with unction, on the petition for the health and safety of his sovereign lady the Queen, and at the proper place even mentioned the servants, who, with demure and downcast looks occupied three chairs at the furthest possible distance permissible by the limits of the room. Then followed breakfast, at which he generally took the worth of his prayers out of them, in short, savage fault finding.

The morning meal over, Mrs. Jorrocks took her knitting, and Kate's duty was to read aloud, to her, till dinner time—one o'clock. But the books in which Mrs. Jorrock's soul delighted, were, unfortunately, of a class by no means suited to Miss Vernon. They were chiefly remarkable for the distinguished rank and general hard-heartedness of their characters, excepting only the heroine and her lover, whose sufferings, mental and physical, were rather supernatural; and usually drew tears from Kate's listener, who would have turned unmoved from the most affecting case of real distress; to be sure the novel only asked her tears, reality might have had some pretensions to touch her pocket.

Kate, however, read on perseveringly, she had made some attempts to recommend the style of book more suited to her own taste, and the age of her new protectress; but they were not well received, and she was compelled to return to the "dungeon and subterranean passage," revengeful, mysterious-stranger class of literature; still this was nothing to the task of reading aloud the newspapers. The police reports formed Mrs. Jorrocks' chief delight, and she expected Kate to read aloud, unhesitatingly the awful and revolting disclosures which the liberty of the press demands should disgrace its columns. This duty Kate gently and firmly refused, and she received unexpected support from Mrs. Wilson, who offered to read them herself. Nothing surprised Miss Vernon more than the untiring assiduity with which Mrs. Jorrocks devoted herself to the elucidation of her neighbours' affairs; none were too humble, none too exalted for her universal curiosity. The house-maid's lover, and the mayor's wife, the charwoman, and the duchess—she had scandalous stories of them all! Kate sometimes wondered if she thought well of her own children; she was never actively cross, nor could you ever discern that she was pleased, save on those rare occasions when a couple of aggravated failures amongst her acquaintances—a murder, a suicide, and the elopement of somebody's husband or wife, by their united excitement enabled her to pass a cheerful and satisfactory morning. Kate was almost surprised to perceive she was actually gaining favour in the eyes of this uncongenial old woman. She did not know the effect which her own grace and refinement produced upon the stiff, rugged, clayey nature she was thus brought in contact with. Each member of the family felt instinctively her superiority to themselves, while her unassuming gentleness prevented any of that soreness of feeling with which superiority is usually acknowledged; and although at first Kate was often disagreeably surprised to find that her presence was unnoticed when visitors came in, and no conversation was addressed to her who had been ever accustomed to find herself an object in society; yet all this wore off soon, and both Mrs. Jorrocks and her daughter learned to be proud of their elegant-looking inmate.

The greatest relief Miss Vernon experienced during this triste sejour was from the kind attentions of Mr. Davis's family, who were their near neighbours, and presented Kate with what she considered a beau ideal of an English merchant's family—hospitable, intellectual, well educated; respecting their own middle-class position, without a trace of that envious malignity towards rank which so often distinguishes les nouveaux riches. They might, perhaps, lack that extreme outward grace of manner and bearing, which nothing but an infancy and childhood passed among the refining influences of aristocratic accessories can bestow; but in every essential point they were ladies and gentlemen. A few hours passed with them was an inexpressible refreshment to Kate's spirit, and warmly was she received: they delighted in her music, and she willingly sang, even her most sacred songs, for them. Another—the only other comfort in Kate's life, was that Mrs. Jorrocks always retired early, and then she used to lock her door, and, if she felt her heart strong enough, indulge herself in a long study of the sketches Egerton had given her of Dungar and of the Priory.

Meantime Lady Desmond's letters were pretty constant, she repeatedly pressed Kate to return, sometimes with an earnestness that bespoke truth—sometimes with a certain coldness; but Miss Vernon's invariable reply was—that she would not join her, at all events, until after Christmas.

Nurse's letters always filled Kate's heart with a curious mixture of pleasure and pain—she forced herself to write to that faithful friend, with unreal cheerfulness; and nurse, who was totally ignorant of Carrington, and its inhabitants, was happy in believing "Miss Kate was stoppin' in some grand place, away from thim shop-keeping Storeys." She had persisted in her intention of leaving Lady Desmond; and the following is the account she gave of herself, in a letter received by Kate, about a fortnight after she had reached Carrington:—

This long letter was written from Fermoy, and passionately did Kate weep over the picture it drew of her deserted home.

Time rolled on rapidly, for little occurred to mark it, and Kate had almost ceased to battle with the dull despondency that was creeping over her. The perpetual reading aloud of insipid romances, which alone found favour in the eyes of Mrs. Jorrocks; the efforts to keep awake in the close atmosphere of the stifling parlour, the occasional outburst of tyrannic rage from Mr. Wilson, savage as they were in all the rude reality of a rugged nature, excited into forgetfulness of its efforts to be "genteel;" and, which though never addressed to Kate, seemed to insult her by their unrestrained violence; these various petty annoyances, daily, hourly, repeated, made up a terrible sum—occasionally the wild wish to escape to nurse, even if it were to join her in plain work, and clear-starching—would swell her heart to bursting, and then would come the reaction! Where in truth could she go? Her cousin's alternations of coldness and affection, she could not brave—no; it was due to herself to keep aloof, until some more cordial acknowledgment of her error and injustice was made by Lady Desmond.

Mrs. Storey wrote seldom, and did not make any renewal of her invitation—of other friends or relatives, she had none, at least, in the true meaning of these words. So the passionate yearning with which her thoughts ever sprang to seek the means of escape, after treading the same circle over and over, returned like a bird, weary of beating the wires of its cage, to their last hope—a letter from Winter, on his return.

But it is weary work to dwell upon the sameness of such suffering; none can fully appreciate it, save those enlightened by experience—though many might have found companionship to Mrs. Jorrocks a severer probation. The world must become older, and purer, and more christianised, before the exercise of power can be resisted, or the charm of torturing those who are weak, foregone.

Sunday was a day of great eating at Carleton-terrace—in short, Mrs. Wilson, on that day, indulged the household in a dinner, the usual week-day meals not deserving the name. On these occasions Master Pem. eat till he could eat no more, and paused in silent regret, that nature had provided such insufficient stowage. The scholar, James, was less eager, but more select, and ever sent up his plate, accompanied with some especial direction, as to the particular dainties he desired. Mr. Wilson's efforts did not fall far short of those of his offspring; and if vexed by any errors in elegance, on the part of his wife, regaled the party over a bottle of port, with some choice anecdotes of various celebrities, fashionable and political, which smacked strongly of the commercial-room—frequent repetition might have robbed them of their first freshness, but his family were well trained, and always laughed at the right place.

Sunday morning, at church, was perhaps the proudest moment of Mr. Wilson's life, when he stood erect and spruce in his pew; and, condescendingly, classed himself in audible tones with the other "miserable sinners" of the congregation. No part of the service did he neglect—he even joined in the singing, with a voice so utterly discordant, that Kate absolutely started, and turned to look from whence the horrid sounds proceeded, the first time she heard them. Church was the grand theatre of display to Mesdames Jorrocks and Wilson and the great proportion of their acquaintances; and a lively topic of conversation on their return home.

"Did you see what a velvet mantle Mrs. B——, have on? asks the mother."

"Yes; it cost ten guineas, if it cost a penny," returns the daughter.

"And her husband be deep in the "great Midland;" maybe, next year she'll have to wear Linsey-woolsey."

"You never see such lace as Miss F. had, trimming her bonnet—that depth," cried Mrs. Wilson, with eager rapidity, and holding out a finger, &c.

Then came a few words on the sermon, which was quickly despatched; and thus was the interval between church and dinner whiled away; and though it may place Miss Vernon very far back on the list of any sanctified reader, it must be confessed she never looked forward with much pleasure to the day of rest. Mr. Wilson's anecdotical powers were rather too much to endure for an entire sabbath day.

The third month of Kate's purgatorial sojourn, was opening gloomily enough, when one Sunday morning, as they were assembled at breakfast, in more than usually gorgeous array—as a popular preacher was expected to draw "a full house—" a loud ring announced the post.

"I'll engage it's for Miss Vernon," said Mrs. Jorrocks, "I never see such a many letters as you do get."

But Kate did not heed her, her eyes were fastened on the letter handed across the table by Master Pem. who detained it to read the direction, observing—"It's a gentleman's hand," and eliciting a stern—"Hold your tongue, sir," from his father. A mist swam before Kate's eyes, and a spasm of hope and fear shook her heart as she recognised Langley's hand, "it must be a letter from Mr. Winter," she murmured, "will you allow me?" and with trembling fingers broke the seal—but no, it was from Langley himself. Oh, Heavens! had any thing happened.

The first movement of her mind was disappointment, that Winter had not written to herself.

"I thought I told him to direct as usual, to Mr. Langley; there must have been some mistake; I forget what I wrote, but he may be back very soon, perhaps next week—and then—"

What a bright indistinct feeling of hope and freedom expanded her heart—yet she felt strangely nervous and trembling, as if the shadow of some coming crisis had fallen upon her, and she hastily swallowed a glass of cold water to refresh her parched mouth, before performing the inevitable journey to church.

Mr. Wilson's pew was irreproachable in point of size and position, it was not however faultless, for a large pillar, supporting the gallery, reduced one corner to an invisible nook, where the most splendid bonnet, and richest brocade might be for ever hidden from the eyes of an admiring congregation. Here Kate had established her position, and was permitted to retain it unmolested, and in most profound and grateful thanksgiving she knelt that morning.

The church was crowded to excess—strangers stood in the aisle—under the pulpit—in the door-ways—pew-openers waxed curt and imperious in the exercise of unusual powers. Several well-dressed individuals had been accommodated with seats in Mr. Wilson's pew, when Kate's eye was involuntarily attracted by the distinguished air of a gentleman, who had been shown into a seat, two or three rows in front of her, during the second lesson; his back was towards her, of course, and she felt vexed with herself for the pertinacity with which her eyes and thoughts returned to him; his tall figure seemed familiar to her, as she contrasted its easy grace with the forms around; so did the wavy dark brown hair, the proud turn of the head, and as she gazed, her heart throbbed, and the colour mounted to her cheeks. Surely it was a waking dream, yet she could not be mistaken. No! it must be him—that bow, as he returned a book, she had dropped, to the lady next him, none but Egerton could have made it. Oh, that he would turn his face; but he still stood or sat in the same position, and Kate, every pulse beating, now pale, now flushing, striving vainly to think of the service—her thoughts, now darting away into the past, now crying from the depths of her soul to God for strength for the future, tried to still the wild glowing anticipations which swept in sudden rapture over her spirit, as the aurora borealis streams across the northern gloom. It was too bold, too far-fetched a thought that he still remembered her, why should she expect it.

At last, Doctor M—— mounted the pulpit, the hymn was finished, and with a rustle of expectation the audience settled themselves in their seats then—then the individual who engrossed Kate's every thought, turned to face the preacher, and leaning his arm on the back of the pew, revealed his well-known profile, and ended her uncertainty.

Doctor M—— preached well, and Egerton listened attentively, but the sound of his voice scarce reached Kate's ears. In her quiet nook, she gazed uninterruptedly on the face so often seen in her sleeping and waking visions, at last, after so much of trial and suffering, restored to her—the vague unacknowledged hope that had woven one golden thread through her dreams of the future, where they, in sober earnest, about to be accomplished? How she longed to hear his voice, as if at its first sound the past would return to her, as it was when they had parted. It was strange how he had twined himself round her heart—he from whom she had parted without much of pain; but now indissolubly linked with all that was brightest and best in her life, all that she had loved and lost. Sorrow had revealed his heart to hers, and the light of memory had shown her the true meaning of those silent indications of bitter regret with which he had left her. And now he looked older, darker, graver—calm thought had deepened the expression of his eyes, and imparted a certain dignity to his brow, and Kate felt he was no longer the gay, careless soldier she had dared to lecture. There was a repose that bespoke strength even in his attitude, and she longed to meet his eye, yet shrank from it with fevered anticipation. Still he listened with grave, quiet, attention to the eloquent reasoning of the preacher—and Kate grew restless, and fearful that he would not see her; she calculated the chances of their meeting, when the congregation was dispersing, and thought it could not possibly fail to occur; but the very doubt filled her with terror; if they did not meet now, months, years might pass over before their dissimilar roads in life would again cross! and even if he should remember, or enquire for her, who was there who could give him a clue to her whereabouts; but the congregation was bending to receive the benediction, and the decisive moment arrived. Colonel Egerton, with a bow of acknowledgment to the owner of the seat, in which he had been placed, rose, and gazing abstractedly over the crowd, above which his tall figure rose proudly—moved down the aisle; the pressure compelled him to stop a moment by the door of Mr. Wilson's pew, but the large pillar interposed itself between Kate and the recognising glance, for which she so yearned. Mrs. Jorrocks never was so slow in her movements—she never leant so heavily before on Kate's slight arm, all quivering with the wild beating of her heart; still they were but a few steps behind him—if he would only turn his head! but no; he dreamt not of the imprisoned spirit, so passionately yearning to catch one glance from eyes, through which he gazed so listlessly! They were in the door-way, and freed from the crowd, Colonel Egerton paused a moment, as if to decide on his movements—put on his hat, and turning to the right, walked away with a quick, firm, soldierly step—away—out of sight—gone!

There was talk of Doctor M——'s wonderful sermon, as they wended their way home—of how he had finally and utterly annihilated the Pope; but Kate heard no sound, save a sad echo in her heart repeating—"gone—gone."

Vain would it be to describe the anguish with which she threw herself on her bed, when free and alone, and gave herself up to an agony of hysteric sobs. Was it a dark fate hanging over her, ever to catch glimpses of happiness, and there to lose them? Why need she hope or struggle any more—all she longed for, was darkness and silence—never, never again might she be as she was; when such a trifle had debarred her from so bright a meeting, dare she hope the insuperable barrier of distance would ever be removed? She could not rouse herself from this paroxysm—the buoyancy of her spirit seemed, at last, worn out; and head and heart alike aching, she lay in the stillness of exhaustion, across her bed, when the servant came to summon her to dinner.

"I think Mrs. Tom have sent me a bad bargain after all," was Mrs. Jorrocks's observation, on receiving an account of Miss Vernon's indisposition. "I see I'll have to pay my forty pounds a year for the nursetending of her—she looked like a ghost this week, and didn't mind a word she was reading of—but it's always the way—new brooms."

"Well I'm sure, mother, it's only the heat at church—she will be better to-morrow."

"She need'nt go to church, if she don't like to."

Kate only asked for quiet, and her own room, unmolested, for a few days—this was permitted her; and there she lay, through the long, weary, dark hours, brooding over the past, sometimes struggling with nature's repugnance to depression; but for awhile careless and indifferent to all without; then she strove to rally her scattered forces, to remember that Winter was soon to return.

"And until that hope too is gone, I will not despair—God is so good, and wise—He sees I have had so much sorrow—He will send me joy, sooner or later—yes; I will hope still."