had just had a small living given to him in his
own county, and he felt as if this was a great
step in his life. He was good, innocent, and
rather boyish in appearance. Ellinor was happy
and at her ease, and chatted away to this Mr.
Livingstone on many little points of interest
which they found they had in common; church
music, and the difficulty they had of getting
people to sing in parts; Salisbury Cathedral,
which they had both seen; styles of church
architecture, Ruskin's works, and parish schools,
in which Mr. Livingstone was somewhat shocked
to find that Ellinor took no great interest. When
the gentlemen came in from the dining-room, it
struck Ellinor, for the first time in her life, that
her father had taken more wine than was good
for him. Indeed, this had rather become a habit
with him of late; but as he always tried to go
quietly off to his own room when such had been
the case, his daughter had never been made aware
of it before, and the perception of it now made her
cheeks hot with shame. She thought that every
one must be as conscious of his altered manner
and way of speaking as she was, and after a
pause of sick silence, during which she could
not say a word, she set to and talked to Mr.
Livingstone about parish schools, anything, with
redoubled vigour and apparent interest, in order
to keep one or two of the company, at least,
from noticing what was to her so painfully obvious.

The effect of her behaviour was far more
than she had intended. She kept Mr. Livingstone,
it is true, from observing her father; but she also
riveted his attention on herself. He had thought
her very pretty and agreeable during dinner;
but after dinner he considered her bewitching,
irresistible. He dreamed of her all night, and
wakened up the next morning to a calculation of
how far his income would allow him to furnish
his pretty new parsonage with that crowning
blessing, a wife. For a day or two he did up
little sums, and sighed, and thought of Ellinor,
her face listening with admiring interest to his
sermons, her arm passed into his as they went
together round the parish; her sweet voice
instructing classes in his schools— turn where he
would, in his imagination Ellinor's presence rose
up before him.

The consequence was, that he wrote an offer,
which he found a far more perplexing piece of
composition than a sermon; a real hearty
expression of love, going on, over all obstacles, to a
straightforward explanation of his present
prospects and future hopes, and winding up with the
information that on the succeeding morning he
would call to know whether he might speak to
Mr. Wilkins on the subject of this letter. It
was given to Ellinor in the evening, as she was
sitting with Miss Monro in the library. Mr.
Wilkins was dining out, she hardly knew where,
as it was a sudden engagement, of which he had
sent word from the office— a gentleman's dinner-
party, she supposed, as he had dressed in Hamley
without coming home. Ellinor turned over the
letter when it was brought to her, as some people
do when they cannot recognise the handwriting,
as if to discover from paper or seal, what two
moments would assure them of, if they opened
the letter and looked at the signature. Ellinor
could not guess who had written it by any
outward sign; but the moment she saw the name
"Herbert Livingstone," the meaning of the letter
flashed upon her, and she coloured all over. She
put the letter away, unread, for a few minutes,
and then made some excuse for leaving the room
and going up-stairs. When safe in her
bedchamber, she read the young man's eager words
with a sense of self-reproach. How must she,
engaged to one man, have been behaving to
another, if this was the result of one evening's
interview? The self-reproach was unjustly
bestowed; but with that we have nothing to do.
She made herself very miserable; and at last,
went down with a heavy heart to go on with
Dante, and rummage up words in the dictionary.
All the time she seemed to Miss Monro to be
plodding on with her Italian more diligently and
sedately than usual, she was planning in her own
mind to go to her father as soon as he returned
(and he had said that he should not be late), and
beg him to undo the mischief she had done by
seeing Mr. Livingstone the next morning, and
frankly explaining the real state of affairs to him.
But she wanted to read her letter again, and
think it all over in peace; and so, at an early
hour, she wished Miss Monro good night, and
went up into her own room above the drawing-
room, and overlooking the flower-garden and
shrubbery-path to the stable-yard, by which her
father was sure to return. She went up-stairs
and studied her letter well, and tried to recal all
her speeches and conduct on that miserable
evening— as she thought it then— not knowing
what true misery was. Her head ached, and she
put out the candle, and went and sat on the
window-seat, looking out into the moonlit garden,
watching for her father. She opened the window;
partly to cool her forehead, partly to enable her
to call down softly when she should see him
coming along. By-and-by the door from the
stable-yard into the shrubbery clicked and opened,
and in a moment she saw Mr. Wilkins moving
through the bushes; but not alone, Mr. Dunster
was with him, and the two were talking together
in rather excited tones, immediately lost to
hearing, however, as they entered Mr. Wilkins's
study by the outer door.

"They have been dining together somewhere.
Probably at Mr.Hanbury's" (the Hamley brewer),
thought Ellinor. "But how provoking that he
should have come home with papa this night of
all nights!"

Two or three times before, Mr. Dunster had
called on Mr. Wilkins in the evening, as Ellinor
knew: but she was not quite aware of the reason
for such late visits, and had never put together
the two facts— (as cause and consequence) — that
on such occasions her father had been absent
from the office all day, and that there might be