of all that now with bitterness. The contrast
between her father's character, life,
and fate, and the character, life, and fate of
Tom Creswell, was a problem difficult to
solve, hard to endure. Why had the measure
been so differently—she would, she
must say, so unjustly—meted to these two
men? Her fancy dwelt on every point in
that terrible difference, lingered around
the two death-beds, pictured the happy,
sheltered, luxurious, unearned security of
those whom the spendthrift had left uncared
for, and the harsh, gloomy future before
her mother and herself, in which only
two things, hard work and scanty means,
were certain, which had been the vision her
father must have seen of the fate of those
he loved, when he, so fitted to adorn an
honoured and conspicuous position, had
died, worn out in the long vain strife with
poverty. Here were the children of the
man who had lived utterly for self, and the
widow and child of the "righteous," who
had done his duty manfully from first to
last. Hard and bitter were Marian's
reflections on this contrast, and earnestly did
she wish that some speedy means of
accelerating by efforts of her own the fulfilment
of those promises of Providence, in
which she felt sometimes tempted to put
little faith, might arise.

"I suppose he was not exactly forsaken,"
said the girl, in her mind, as she approached
the grand gates of Woolgreaves, whose
ironmongery displayed itself in the utmost
profusion, allied with artistic designs more
sumptuous than elegant, "and that no one
will see us 'begging our bread;' but there
is only meagre consolation to me in this,
since he had not what might—or all their
service is a pretence, all their 'opinions'
are lies—have saved him, and I see little to
rejoice in, in being just above the begging
of bread."

"They have done a great deal to the
place since we were here, Marian," said Mrs.
Ashurst, looking round admiringly upon
the skilful gardening, and rich display of
shrubs, and flowers, and outdoor decorations
of all kinds. "It must take a great many
hands to keep this in order. Not so much
as a leaf or a pebble out of its place."

"They say there are four gardeners
always employed," said Marian. "I wish
we had the money it costs; we needn't wish
Midsummer-day further off then. But here
is Mr. Creswell, coming to meet us."

Marian Ashurst was much more attractive
in her early womanhood than she had
promised to be as a very young girl, and
the style of her face and figure was of the
kind which is assisted in its effect by a
somewhat severe order of costume. She
was not beautiful, not even positively
handsome, and it is possible she might have
looked commonplace in the ordinary dress
of young women of limited means, where
cheap material and coarse colouring must
necessarily be used. In her plain attire of
deep mourning, with no ornament save one
or two trinkets of jet, which had been her
mother's, Marian Ashurst looked far from
commonplace, and remarkably ladylike.
The strongly defined character in her face,
the composure of her manner, the quietness
of her movements, were not the charms
which are usually associated with youth,
but they were charms, and her host was a
person to whom they were calculated to
prove especially charming. Except in his
generally benevolent way of entertaining a
kindly regard for his friend's daughter, Mr.
Creswell had never noted nor taken any
particular notice of Marian Ashurst; but
she had not been an hour in his house before
she impressed herself upon him as being
very different from all the other girls of his
acquaintance, and much more interesting
than his nieces.

Mr. Creswell felt rather annoyed with his
nieces. They were civil, certainly; but they
did not seem to understand the art of making
the young lady, who was visiting them,
happy and "at home." There was none of the
freemasonry of "the young person" about
them. After a while, Mr. Creswell found that
the order of things he had been prepared
for—what he certainly would have taken to
be the natural order of things—was altered,
set aside, he did not know how, and that
he was walking along the trim garden paths,
after luncheon, with Miss Ashurst, while
Maud and Gertrude took charge of the
visitor to whom he had meant to devote
himself, and were making themselves as
amiable and pleasant to her as they had
failed to make themselves to Marian. Perhaps
the fault or the reason was as much
on Miss Ashurst's side as on theirs. Before
he had conducted his visitor over all the
"show" portions of the grounds and
gardens, Mr. Creswell had arrived at the
conclusion that Marian was a remarkable
young woman, with strong powers of
observation, and a decided aptitude for solid
and sensible conversation, which probably
explained the coldness towards her of Maud
and Gertrude, who were not remarkable,
except for fine complexions, and hair to
correspond, and whose talk was of the most