new station. Her reason and foresight, however,
which put his entirely to shame, had suggested
a course of greater wisdom, and more likely to
conduce to the happiness of both, thus leaving
him, the speaker, free to— to——-"

"To——-?"

"To make a fitter choice."

Miss Vann must be forgiven for observing
that there did not appear to be any choice in
the matter.

Sir George Gosling had indulged the hope that
the course of his remarks would have indicated
his having arrived at sounder views; aware of
the selfishness which lay at the root of his
intemperate vow, he cast it to the winds.

Miss Vann was aware that those atmospheric
agents possessed a very extensive treasury of
the kind, but, nevertheless, entertained doubts
as to the legal transfer. That, however, was
beyond her province. She would wish Sir
George good morning.

Sir George considered that it could scarcely
prove such to him, unless his hearer vouchsafed
her attention a little longer.

But there was nothing more to say.

Her pardon. There was. Everything.

How?

Thus. He had frankly described his
engagement with Miss Mulcaster, how their
intimacy, began in childhood, had ripened into
what he had been accustomed to regard
as a mutual attachment, and how, on the
very threshold of their union, one of the
parties had recoiled from the bargain. The
blow, thus rudely dealt, had awakened in his
heart a serious doubt whether Miss Mulcaster
had ever felt towards him as she permitted
him to believe; while the speaker, on his part,
was disposed to question whether, in his
estimate of her character, he had attached
sufficient importance to a certain weakness and
frivolity which underlay her more attractive
qualities. In one word, George must acknowledge
he no longer adored the idol of his boyhood.
He had tested her, and found her mortal.
Dreams were over for him. Henceforth, he
stooped to truth, to reason, to reality. These
—and how much more he would not add — he
believed he had discovered in — in her who had
so patiently listened to his discourse.

It was well that George's speech came to a
conclusion. Esther had turned very white, and
looked so likely to faint, that he had to place
her in a chair. She rallied, however, with an
effort, and George, encouraged by the returning
colour, and a faint smile that straggled about
her lips, ventured to return to the charge.

During those appeals and explanations, to
which George's historian has done but
indifferent justice, the mind of his hearer had
fluctuated not a little. Touched at length to the
heart by his frank and earnest manner, she
ended by believing every syllable. Strange and
sudden as was the attachment he had formed
for her, something seemed to whisper her that it
was of more genuine and natural growth than
that from whose ashes it had sprung; and if the
exciting circumstances of the hour had led to a
somewhat premature declaration, had she a right
to dispute it on that ground alone? After a
moment's hesitation, breaking into a bright smile,
she gave him her hand. It was the left,

George happened to be superstitious on this
subject. He hesitated:

"A half forgiveness?" he asked, smiling.
She held out the other.

"Good Heavens, what is this?" exclaimed
the young man, thinking only of the dog.

"Nothing. The rose," said Esther.

George was much relieved. He took the
little hand tenderly, and kissed it.

There followed a little further conversation,
with which we have no other concern than to
know that it resulted in an understanding that
the engagement (for such it must now be
considered) should be kept secret for a period of
twelve calendar months, subsequently reduced
to six, and ultimately, on petition, to three,
during which no communication whatever was
to take place between the contracting parties.
To this last condition Miss Vann held firm.
Sir George was to enjoy a period of three
months for undisturbed self-examination. If,
then, the impression that he now knew his
own mind was sufficiently confirmed, he would
use his discretion as to announcing the
engagement; but any word of marriage, or
allusion to that event, within one twelvemonth,
was to nullify the whole transaction.

Article the last. Sir George was to order
the carriage forthwith.

He did so, and led the young lady to the door,
still looking wistfully at the bandaged hand.

"I fear you are suffering more than you will
confess?" he said.

"I do not feel it at all," replied Esther, with
her radiant smile.

"I shall send to inquire the progress of the
cure."

"It will be your last communication, then,"
said Esther. "Remember our conditions."

"Nay, but I am really anxious——-"

"Nonsense," said Esther, laughing, "a mere
scratch!"

                CHAPTER VII.

IT was some weeks after the momentous
occurrences above related, that Mrs. Mulcaster and
her fair daughters found themselves together in
their pretty drawing-room, following, or attempting
to follow, their accustomed avocations.

Miss Mulcaster, pale and sweet as a lily that
has peeped out in the confidence of May, and
been nipped by that inclement season, seemed, of
the three, to have made the greatest efforts to
be industrious, and to have succeeded least.

Her harp, with one string snapped (a catastrophe
that brought the day's practice to a
conclusion), stood on one side; some work lay on
the other. Before her was an unfinished
landscape, with something terrible in the sky, and,
in the foreground, an incomplete traveller, who
had reined up his steed in very natural
consternation at the weird aspect of things. A
perfect parapet of books, blue, red, mauve,
yellow, evinced that the young lady had tried,