maid whom Lady Seaman wished to set up
in business—"a trifle from Mr. Leader, and
another trifle from me."

This offering was graciously received,
and, indeed, it amounted to twenty pounds.
She had always to pay her way in this
fashion. Then, when the other ladies had
dropped away, Mrs. Leader began
confidentially, and announced the dreadful state
they were in, but that Mr. Leader had
determined to take a prompt and decisive step to
mark his displeasure. The lawyers were
already at work preparing the deed. Mr.
Leader had found out that he had the power
to do what he pleased with the estate, and
he had resolved to make his daughter his
heir, and indeed she would then be one of
the best heiresses now going.

A quick intelligence came into Lady
Seaman's eye. Mrs. Leader had acuteness
enough to see the favourable impression
thus produced, while Lady Seaman grew
softer and more sympathetic, as if under
the influence of an emollient. She smiled
graciously on her, and not taking the
trouble to make parallels or open trenches,
boldly said: "We must see a little of your
daughter. Let me see. Mr. Ontario sent
us a box for to-morrow night. We shall
be very glad to take her."

Profusely grateful, Mrs. Leader anxiously
cast about how she was to show her
sense of obligation. She would have given
the world had some other genteel
subscription been suggested, and she would
have responded handsomely on the spot,
both for herself and for Mr. Leader.
However, everything promised magnificently,
and she took her departure full almost of
exultation.

Indeed, as she drove home, there was
developing slowly in this hard woman's
heart a feeling of hatred against those
whose future fortune she was hoping to
destroy. She had always felt a secret
dislike to "Mr. Leader's family," as she used
to call his two children, though she would
force her plain features to take the shape
of a spurious affection towards the daughter;
and this odious feeling, if duly
analysed, might be traced to the fact that
she felt that the Doctor's rude insinuation
in their last interview might, after all, be
well founded. She might be considered
one of the most selfish persons that ever
existed. She looked on herself in reference
to the family as a lodger might in a
lodging-house. Give her her dresses, her
parties, her strong person of title who was
but indifferently civil, and she was happy.

Meanwhile, father and daughter had gone
off on their little expedition, jogging along
unostentatiously arm-in-arm, delighted that
every yard they walked placed a longer
interval between them and the cramping
and tedious exercises of their household.
Many were the intimate talks father and
daughter thus held together; and by tacit
consent they left Mrs. Leader outside of all
their thoughts—her and her schemes and
fineries. Often they talked together of
poor Cecil and his folly, Mr. Leader
dwelling on the fate in store for his son, as
a sort of necessity, which he himself dare
not oppose or resist. "You know how he
defied us all, Mary dear, in that way, and
me, his father! What can we do? As
the head of the family, I must take some
step."

Mary, it has been mentioned, was a
demure, homely young girl, that might be
taken any day for a poor curate's daughter,
either in dress, in mind, or temper. She
was fond of her German, of reading books
of travels, or working for the poor, and
was delighted most when in company with
some homely Miss Smith of the same
nature as herself, with whom she could
make a day of it, and go to some museum
or favourite shop, or make an expedition
to hear some lecture or sermon. In short,
this pair, who were favoured with such
unexpected good fortune, seemed to make
every exertion to get back into that old
poor struggling life of theirs; to live in it
once more, and, above all, to try and keep
at a distance, for the purposes of holiday,
Mrs. Leader and these uncomfortable
associates of hers.

Thus they went to see their pictures, and
talked again and again over poor Cecil.
And Mr. Leader said again it was hard, and
that the girl was most nice and interesting.
"I declare my heart warmed to her as
she spoke that day," added Mr. Leader,
earnestly.

"But why should it not warm to her,
papa?" said the daughter, quietly. "Would
it not be terribly unjust, and look like
revenge, if you did anything so severe?"

"Oh, I shall be hurried into nothing:
that I am determined on. It would be
vindictive, and look like revenge. After
all, a doctor—he is a doctor; there is
nothing so low in that. And I am sure
we ourselves—only that we got this rise in
life——"

"But mamma is not in earnest, I know.
And if she is—-"

"Yes. What am I to do? She forces