advise? There is nothing that you could know,
or could say, unless——"

"It may be no remedy after all," he went on,
quickly, "but it might. You have been kind to
me, oh, so kind! I have felt that you
sympathised with me. More I could not hope for.
But perhaps in time—perhaps compassion for one
who has been so miserable and hopeless——"

She looked at him. "Oh, Mr. Tillotson," she
said, in alarm, "what do you wish me to say?"

"If I were any one else," he went on, sadly,
"or belonged more to the ways of the world, I
might hide what I am going to say behind all
manner of delicate hints. But it is better to
speak plainly, is it not?"

"No, no, no," she said, hastily. "Dear Mr.
Tillotson, I implore you—no. Don't speak
about that. Oh, why did you? This so grieves
me!"

He started, almost rose, with a kind of half
groan. "Have I made one more mistake?" he
said, sadly. "Ah, I can see I have. I was
going to ask you to leave this place for good—
to come and begin a new, and what I believe
would be a happier, life. I have money and
influence; these, too, would help to make you
happy; and, as far as the completest
devotion——" he looked in her face, and paused.
"Ah, but I see—one more mistake."

"Dear Mr. Tillotson," she said, almost
passionately, "how can I thank you. But it is
impossible. There are reasons! Oh, never, never,
never!"

"Well, I might have guessed this," he said,
sadly. "It is the old fortune. It was the only
chance left to me. It may go with the rest.
Ah! there is the music beginning again."

It was the grinders at work once more.
Doctor Fugle and his oarsmen labouring through
another glee—to oblige the company.

"Oh, what will you think of me?" she said,
eagerly. "I don't know what to say. You will
despise me because I know you will think I led
you on to this. But I did not mean it to do so.
Indeed no! Tell me that you do not think so."

"To be sure! I thought," said he hopelessly,
"that from the beginning you seemed to treat me
with interest and kindness, and I stupidly
mistook that kindness. I have made a hundred such
blunders in my life. No, it was all my fault."

"Yes, I did feel an interest," she said, with
some hesitation, "and I admired and pitied. I
saw that you were alone, and——"

"To be sure," he said. "I understand. But
I thought, as there was no one else you cared for
—and though for a moment I thought that that
rude rough man who has left us had some
influence, still, what you had told me settled that
—and——"

"Yes, yes," she said, hastily. "It was not
that. No, no. There are far different reasons."

Mr. Tilney here came up with an air of mystery.
"Tillotson," he said, "a word. What fine
music that is. Fugle is next door but one to
divine, ain't he? Whenever I hear that man he
quite lifts me up. Oh, I say! A letter to-night
from that scapegrace."

"From Mr. Ross?" said the other.

"Not at all so bad a creature as you would
fancy. Good at bottom. I tell Mrs. Tilney this
will all wear off in time. My dear sir, Bushell,
the best counsel in England, tells us that the
decision is all wrong in law—must go overboard,
sir—he is sure of reversing it, and, not only that,
but certain of winning in the end. With all his
faults, he has a pure game spirit. I like him for
it—I do! Not only that, but he has wormed out
an old lady who is to furnish him with the pieces
to carry on the war. Wonderful his tact. I wish
I had had his spirit when I was his age!"

"So, then," said Mr. Tillotson, calmly, "we
may consider his prospects restored?"

"As good as restored. Even if he loses, he
don't know what the old lady may do for him.
Wonderful, wonderful," he added, devoutly, "are
the ways of the Providence overhead!"

"Yes," said Mr. Tillotson, absently, and looking
over at the golden-haired Miss Millwood.

In another half-hour the Tilney party were
walking home. As they were getting their
"things," Mr. Tillotson heard some one whisper
him, "Oh, once more forgive me!"

He almost smiled. "You might have told
me everything," he said; "but no matter now."

"I had nothing to tell," she said; "but I am
going to ask you for something more. You will
not mention to Mr. Tilney what you have said to-
night. I have a reason."

"That also I can understand perfectly," he
said, bitterly.

"But I fear you do not understand me," she
said, passionately and loudly, so that the maid,
who was getting her cloak, stared.

They walked home slowly. "So sorry that
you are going," Mrs. Tilney said, with what
anybody, who did not know her well, would have
supposed a smile of delight. "Shall quite miss
you, Mr. Tillotson. Now you must promise us
to come very soon again. Augusta here says she
feels improved by knowing you. Good-bye, then.
Good-bye, Mr. Tillotson."

They were at the gate of their house, among
the luxuriant hedges and flowers which almost
hid it. Augusta, who knew the keys of the
human voice far better than she did those of
regular music, threw some pathos into her voice.
At this moment she felt some penitence for
opportunities neglected, and wished that she had
renounced the military works and pomps for the
more substantial blessings whose superior
advantages she now saw.

The third girl stood behind them all, half up
the walk leading to the house. Where the sisters
were prominent, it was understood and expected
that she should keep retired. The moon was
out. As a background there was the old house,
overgrown with great cushions of leaves, with
lights in its small windows, and looking like a
scene. The moonlight, too, fell upon her pale
face, and lit her up like a tinted statue.