which wilfully blinds itself to former
obligations, inconsistent with the new."

"But if the penalty of such doings attached
only to oneself——"

"It would be simply what we deserve.''

"Only, it rarely does," said George.

"Rarely,'' said Esther.

"That's the worst of it," said George.

"The worst," assented Esther.

They walked on in silence for a few moments,
following their respective trains of thought.

Esther's: "Poor, rich, unhappy man! A
whole life of regret, remorse, and mortification,
for perhaps one moment's anger! Two happy,
beautiful lives spoiled, a third not benefited,
for what happiness could poor dear old aunt find
in a position so false as this? What a fate for
each! Can nothing be done? Nothing?" And
the girl's heart swelled with genuine compassion
as she glanced at the fortunate descendant of
twenty-five generations walking at her side.

The musing of George: "She would have
me pause. Now, why? From pity? What
interest can she have in my individual self to
outweigh the advantage, to her, of the connexion?
Stay, now; is this possible? Can the old wo——"
(George shuddered, as he checked the epithet in
his mind)—" can she have reflected on the
absurd anomaly of such an union, and, by way of
experiment, cast this fair temptation in my way?
In that case, my vow compels me to accept it.
She is not a Mildred" (he sighed), "but, at all
events, an Esther, fair, sweet, and, if I am not
mistaken, singularly lovable. Not an atom of
vulgarity, no false refinement, no pretence. Ah,
if it be so. The good old creature!" thought,
George, glowing with gratitude for the supposed
reprieve, "the faithful old cook! The sacrifice is
noble. It invests her whole fraternity with a
dignity of which one would not have conceived
it susceptible. Now, the question is——"

"It is time for me to return, Sir George,"
said Esther, at this moment stopping short.

"Our progress shall end among those
myrtles," said George, pointing onward.

"There will be little made of verbs and
pronouns," returned Esther, laughing, "if I am
not at home by school-time, ten o'clock." On
her turning to go back, like one accustomed to
have her own way, Sir George had to yield.

They had scarcely made a step or two, when
Esther, seeming to take a sudden resolution,
abruptly addressed him.

"Sir George, I wish to do you an essential
service. I have heard that you have made an
offer of marriage to my aunt. Do you forget
that she is your cook?"

"I by no means forget that she has been.
If—if she is my intended wife," said George,
"the situations are incompatible."

"You reply so frankly, that I am encouraged
to continue my catechism," said Esther, with
the beaming smile with which she was wont to
reward a promising pupil. "Do you think she
will prove a better wife than cook?''

"Scarcely possible," said George, laughing,

"Do you consider her a fitting wife for yourself?
How will your sister receive this news:"'

"That alone is my especial affair," replied,
the young man, in a low voice.

"You are right, sir," said Esther. "I shall
presently have done with my impertinent
questioning. Will you answer three times more?"

"According to my usual indiscretion—yes,"
said George.

"Had you any thought, before yesterday, of
making my aunt your wife?"

"None in the least," was the prompt reply.

"Was this condescending offer the only
courtship you pursued yesterday?"

"No—I—yes—well, upon the whole, no,"
said the catechised.

"Last question—it will be long and somewhat
circumstantial; but if I am wrong in the
minutest particular, you are at liberty to put
the whole aside unanswered. Were you not
yesterday paying your addresses to a lady of
your own condition, whom you believed not
averse to them? Had you not some difference
with her, ending in grief and anger—at least on
your side? And was not your proposal to my
aunt the offspring of that momentary passion:"

"That may be called a triangular query,"
replied George, smiling. "No matter. All is
true. But the story is not fully told."

"Enough is told," said Esther. "Now,
listen to the lecture that concludes my
catechising. Whatever your motive, self, Sir
George, was at its root. It was the act of a
being naturally reasonable, but who, casting
all moral guidance to the winds, wilfully
commits himself to the current of wrath, not knowing
—nor, for the moment, heeding—what
wrong or peril it may entail. Because you have
become indifferent to the vessel of your own
happiness, are you entitled to run down the
barks of others? Can this folly compensate for
the slight, whatever it be, that you have
suffered at your lady's hand? Is it intended for
revenge? If she does not love you, there is
none. If she does, will nothing less than a lifelong
penitence satisfy your resentment? "What
can she have done to merit that? Nay, what
has my poor aunt herself done, that her thirteen
years' faithful service should be so rewarded ':"

"You speak, my dear young lady, as if it were
a penalty."

"It is," replied his monitress. "To be
dragged up from a station in which she was
contented, useful, and respected, to one in
which she can only be a mark for ridicule and
envy."

"If your aunt partakes these sentiments,"
said the young baronet, with resignation, "far
be it from me to press my claims. Does she?"

"I might reply, ' That alone is her especial
affair,' " said Miss Vann. "It is quite possible
that she may not yet have fully weighed the
incongruities, the endless inconveniences and
absurdities, of such an alliance. See, we are
at the end of our walk. The last, words
you will ever hear from my lips shall be
honest, if not agreeable. You have insulted
— not honoured— your old servant by the
preposterous offer you have made her. If
she does not herself regard it in that light, that