most unfortunate. Any other name I could have
borne. But, so long as you remain a Gosling,
George, I cannot, will not, be your wife."

"You are aware that a change of name
involves the loss of the estate; but, Mildred,"
added the young lover, "if you are content to
be poor——"

"I am not," said Mildred, frankly.

"Can this be so? Neither share my poverty
nor my name?"

"I have proved to you that I cannot help
myself," said Mildred. "I am a naughty,
foolish girl, and should have no excuse, had I
not, with all my might, combated this strange
feeling. You are very good and generous, and,
if I have pretended to treat the matter lightly,
it was because I dared not approach it in a
serious spirit. George, forgive me"—and the
beautiful head, under the influence of one of
Mildred's rare touches of feeling, stooped
penitently forward—"all that I have said is true.
Granted, I should have known my weakness
sooner; but better late than too late." And
she held out her hand.

"Tor pity's sake, reflect," said George.

"That's nonsense," retorted Mildred,
imperious to the last. "George, I tell you it is all
over; shake hands, and go."

Sir George took the little cold white hand,
adorned with one ring—a beautiful sapphire—
his first gift (she had retained that), and held
it wistfully for a moment. In one month it was
to have been his own. He looked at it, dropped
it as if it had given him a mortal sting, gazed
once in Mildred's face, and left her.

As the young baronet rode down the lime
avenue just beginning to be touched with
the first tints of autumn, he felt as if the summer
of his own life had departed too. He
might live on this many a year, live to pardon
the wrong he had sustained, live to marry some
other than Mildred, perhaps to tell, in after
years—names suppressed—the warning story of
his first youthful passion. But the first, the peerless
flower of love, had been rudely stricken
down ungathered; and there are hearts which,
in such a case, disdain to produce another.

George reviewed the whole history of his
blighted affection. He had known Mildred
nearly twenty years—at all events, at their first
interview, the young lady, clad in a white
spencer, a frill, and a coral necklace, came,
led by her nurse, to pass the day with his
sister Clara. The intimacy increased. There
were adventurous excursions upon a rocking-
horse—an exceedingly restive animal, which
Mildred would only consent to mount on
condition that George restrained him firmly by the
bit. There was a long-remembered gooseberry-
raid, in which blood was shed and a frock
severely compromised; likewise a long and
fond inspection of that inexhaustible phenomenon,
the golden fish; and, finally, a tiptoe visit to
the extraordinary novelty of a chaffinch's nest,
redeemed, at a ransom of twopence, from the
gardener's boy.

Even at this early period, the question of a
matrimonial alliance had been apparently
mooted, since George, rescuing his love from a
gloomy dungeon of three chairs, escaped with
her on the rocking-horse, the lady holding on,
with difficulty, by the untrustworthy tail.
Overtaken,in a distant province of Tartary, by a
pursuing band composed of Clara Gosling, the
fugitives surrendered, but only on condition of
being united on the spot, the ceremony being
obligingly performed by the pursuer herself.

Upon the death of General Mulcaster, his
widow gave up her town-house, and, with her
two children—Mildred being, at that time,
thirteen, and Louisa ten—came to reside at The
Haie, a pretty but not very extensive property,
some five or six miles from Gosling Graize.

There was no talk now of little husbands and
wives. Miss Mulcaster, aged thirteen, understood
no ribald jesting with her dignity. With
this young lady the process of spoiling—
instituted by her father—had been carried out with
such fidelity and success by her mother, that,
but for the child's really generous and loving
nature, she would have been the most
intolerable little tyrant that ever ruled a household.
Few could resist the spell of her marvellous
beauty; fewer still the thousand witcheries the
little despot had at her command. As for the
household themselves, they had long been
willing bond-slaves, the only strife among them
being which should be the readier to obey.

It was, perhaps, sister Louey, bright and
clever as her elder, and so pretty that, but for a
sister so unfairly fair, she might have been the
spoiled one—it was Louey alone who dared,
on very great and critical occasions, to run
counter to the sovereign's will. On some of
these, poor Louey—like other too-forward
revolutionists—had been the victim of a cruel
treachery. Her mother—her very mother—
after instigating her, by every species of argument,
to insurrection, would, if the movement
failed, after a feeble demonstration of support,
desert her ally, and, craven as she was,
purchase immunity by openly denouncing the
mutiny she had fomented!

There had occurred one period of intense
perplexity. It had been hinted by a devoted
band of real well-wishers—nay, was tacitly
admitted at The Haie itself—that a brief interval
of school between Miss Mulcaster's childhood
and womanhood would be decidedly
advantageous to the latter. But how to effect it?
School! School for the indomitable Mildred—
petted, wilful idol, whom one and all had joined
in placing beyond the pale of restraint or reproof
of any kind! But for the heroic devotion of
Louisa, nothing would, perhaps, have been done.
She, who was to have remained at home, undertook
not only to present the project to her sister's
mind, but, in the event of success, to accompany
her, as school-mate and general attendant,
er duties being to dress, soothe, and comfort her,
assist her with her lessons, take her punishments,
if any, and generally abet and promote all such
whims, fancies, and eccentricities as might be
found compatible with scholastic life.