A DARK NIGHT'S WORK.

BY THE AUTHORESS OF "MARY BARTON."
CHAPTER VII

Ellinor was awakened by a rapping at her
door; it was her maid.

She was fully aroused in a moment, for she
had fallen asleep with one clearly defined plan
in her mind, only one, for all thoughts and cares
having no relation to the terrible event were as
though they had never been. All her purpose
was to shield her father from suspicion. And to
do this she must control herself — heart, mind,
and body must be ruled to this one end.

So she said to Mason:

"Let me lie half an hour longer; and beg Miss
Monro not to wait breakfast for me; but in half
an hour bring me up a cup of strong tea, for I
have a bad headache."

Mason went away. Ellinor sprang up; rapidly
undressed herself, and got into bed again, so
that when her maid returned with her breakfast,
there was no appearance of the night having
been passed in any unusual manner.

"How ill you do look, miss!" said Mason.
"I am sure you had better not get up yet."

Ellinor longed to ask if her father had yet shown
himself; but this question — so natural at any
other time — seemed to her so suspicious under
the circumstances, that she could not bring her
lips to frame it. At any rate, she must get up
and struggle to make the day like all other days.
So she rose, confessing that she did not feel very
well, but trying to make light of it, and when
she could think of anything but the one awe, to
say a trivial sentence or two. But she could not
recollect how she behaved in general, for her
life hitherto had been simple, and led without
any consciousness of effect.

Before she was dressed, a message came up to
say that Mr. Livingstone was in the drawing-
room.

Mr. Livingstone! He belonged to the old life
of yesterday! The billows of the night had swept
over his mark on the sands of her memory; and
it was only by a strong effort that she could
remember who he was— what he wanted. She
sent Mason down to inquire from the servant
who admitted him whom it was that he had asked
for.

"He asked for master first. But master has
not rung for his water yet, so James told him he
was not up. Then he took thought for a while,
and asked could he speak to you, he would wait
if you were not at liberty; but that he wished
particular to see either master, or you. So James
asked him to sit down in the drawing-room, and
he would let you know."

"I must go," thought Ellinor. "I will send
him away directly; to come, thinking of marriage
to a house like this — to-day, too!"

And she went down hastily, and in a hard
unsparing mood towards a man, whose affection for
her she thought was like a gourd, grown up
in a night, and of no account, but as a piece of
foolish, boyish excitement.

She never thought of her own appearance — she
had dressed without looking in the glass. Her
only object was to dismiss her would-be suitor
as speedily as possible. All feelings of shyness,
awkwardness, or maiden modesty, were quenched
and overcome. In she went.

He was standing by the mantelpiece as she
entered. He made a step or two forward to
meet her; and then stopped, petrified, as it were,
at the sight of her hard white face.

"Miss Wilkins, I am afraid you are ill! I
have come too early. But I have to leave Hamley
in half an hour, and I thought — Oh, Miss
Wilkins! what have I done?"

For she sank into the chair nearest to her, as
if overcome by his words; but, indeed, it was by
the oppression of her own thoughts: she was
hardly conscious of his presence.

He came a step or two nearer, as if he longed
to take her in his arms and comfort and shelter
her; but she stiffened herself and arose, and by
an effort walked towards the fireplace, and there
stood, as if awaiting what he would say next.
But he was overwhelmed by her aspect of illness.
He almost forgot his own wishes, his own suit,
in his desire to relieve her from the pain,
physical as he believed it, under which she was
suffering. It was she who had to begin the
subject.

"I received your letter yesterday, Mr. Livingstone.
I was anxious to see you to-day, in order
that I might prevent you from speaking to my
father. I do not say anything of the kind of affection
you can feel for me — me, whom you have
only seen once. All I shall say is, that the