Mildred started, and became composed.

A few moments, and Colonel Lugard was
announced. He had been taking his evening
ride, and, as was his frequent wont, dropped
in for a chat with his fair neighbours.

ln the course of conversation, the colonel
observed:

"By-the-by, I have had what I might almost
call an adventure! I was cantering up to the
Graize, to have a word with Gosling. Good
fellow, George. Rides capitally to hounds. I
wish he'd take them himself, out of the hands
of that mere horse-jockey, Screwtop! As I was
saying, I was riding up the park, when my
horse made a furious swerve. It needed the
old dragoon grip, to avoid measuring my length
on George's turf, so startled was my usually
steady old hunter at what he had seen. And
what do you think it was? A young lady,
Miss Mulcaster. Yes, Miss Louisa—a beautiful
young lady! We had come suddenly upon
her, seated between two trees, and either her
surprising beauty, or else a scarlet thing that
covered her head and shoulders, had thrown my
horse into the consternation I have described.
I had managed to drop my whip in the
manœuvre; but even before my groom, Will
Crooke, could ride up, the young lady had
stepped gracefully forward, and placed it in my
hand. Her hood fell back as she did so—and,
by Jove!" The colonel stopped, as if quite
overcome by the remembrance.

"Who upon earth could she be?" said Mrs.
Mulcaster, looking at her daughters.

"Who indeed?" resumed the colonel. "She
was plainly, nay, humbly dressed. I should
call her of the cottage class, for I noticed that
her hand, though well-shapen, and critically
clean, was not especially white, as if it had not
disdained rough work. Her manner, however,
was perfect. A precious old churl she must have
thought me; for, so much was I taken aback
by her singular beauty, that I merely clutched
my whip, grunted, and jogged on. I wish I had
stopped. I wish I'd gone back. If Will Crooke
hadn't been behind me, I think I should."

"Very well, colonel," said Mrs. Mulcaster.
"I am coming to call upon Mrs. Lugard
tomorrow, and it will be my painful but imperative
duty to place her on her guard."

"It will be a most neighbourly precaution,"
replied the gay veteran; "and, in order to
assist your admirable scheme for the promotion
of domestic harmony at Brambridge, I give you
authority to add, that it is my fixed resolve
to find out, by hook or—more probably—by
Crooke, who this damsel is."

"Did you see Geo—Sir George Gosling?"
asked the lady of the house.

"I did not see Sir George Gosling, my dear
lady. They told me he had ridden over hither,
and would possibly not return to dinner. I
thought it quite possible," added the colonel,
with a sly glance at Mildred.

Shortly thereafter the visitor took his leave.

Mrs. Mulcaster, who had been watching her
eldest born with stealthy solicitude, now sat
down beside her on the sofa, and took her
passive hand.

"How pale you look, my own darling!" she
began. "That wicked George! I declare I
cannot forgive him. Vexing my pretty rose."

"I am going to bed," responded the flower
addressed. "Come up to me, some of you, in
two hours, and see if I require anything. Knock
softly, and, if I don't answer, go away."

And her majesty withdrew.

But she did not go to bed. Mildred sat
looking in her glass for half an hour. It was a
habit she had, holding these tête-à-têtes with
herself. Howsoever, on this occasion, the
parties did not agree. She rose pettishly, went
to the window, and leaned forth. Restless and
out of sorts as she was, the calm face of nature,
preparing for repose, seemed to rebuke with
its serenity the selfish passions that seethed
within her perplexed bosom. Conscience,
suddenly awaking, began, in accents stern and
inexorable—more distinct, as it seemed, in the
vesper-hush—to accuse her in such wise, that
her wilful heart gave way. She began, culprit-
like, to palliate her doings.

"I was mad," she found herself murmuring,
as in miserable extenuation. "I was not
mistress of myself. The resolution came"—(from
the days of Eve temptation has always "come")
—"on the sudden. If I had reflected—
reasoned. But I never can reflect. Besides,"
she continued, gaining courage in her self-
vindication, "I am not sure that, after all, I was
so very wrong. Gosling! Lady Gosling! Too
absurd! Perhaps I expected that he would have
reasoned with me. I think I remember being
angry that he didn't. Then, to be threatened!
Stay, though, did he threaten? Good Heaven!
if he should do it! Who can this girl be, cast
in his way at this unhappy moment? What
shall I do? What can be done? Fool that I
have been! false to my word, to my peace; for
now I know that I loved him, and, in refusing
him for his detestable name, I have but proved
myself a truer Gosling than he!"

With something between a giggle and a sob,
the beautiful head sank down, and the voice lost
itself in genuine tears.

When the obedient Louisa, followed by a
maid bearing tea and other restoratives, came
as commanded to her sister's chamber, a startling
change had come over the spoiled one. She was
affable, not to say humble, thanked and
caressed her sister, as she had not done since
their school-days—sent her love and duty to
dearest mamma (who received the latter
consignment, at all events, with profound astonishment),
declared she was well, better, in fact,
than usual—and begged to be left quite alone.

CHAPTER II.

GOSLING GRAIZE had been all that day, since
the meridian, in a considerable stir. Mrs.
Turnover, the cook, had received an unexpected
visit from her niece, Esther Vann, a young lady
holding the lucrative post of unremunerated