A DARK NIGHT'S WORK.

BY THE AUTHORESS OF "MARY BARTON."

CHAPTER IV.

THE summer afterwards Mr. Corbet came again
to read with Mr. Ness. He did not perceive any
alteration in himself, and indeed his early-
matured character had hardly made progress
during the last twelve months, whatever
intellectual acquirements he might have made.
Therefore it was astonishing to him to see the
alteration in Ellinor Wilkins. She had shot up
from a rather puny girl to a tall, slight young
lady, with promise of great beauty in the face,
which a year ago had only been remarkable for
the fineness of the eyes. Her complexion was
clear now, although colourless—twelve months
ago he would have called it sallow—her delicate
cheek was smooth as marble, her teeth were
even and white, and her rare smiles called out a
lovely dimple.

She met her former friend and lecturer with a
grave shyness, for she remembered well how they
had parted, and thought he could hardly have
forgiven, much less forgotten, her passionate
flinging away from him. But the truth was,
after the first few hours of offended displeasure,
he had ceased to think of it at all. She, poor
child, by way of proving her repentance, had
tried hard to reform her boisterous tom-boy manners,
in order to show him that although she
would not give up her dear old friend Dixon at
his or any one's bidding, she would strive to profit
by his lectures in all things reasonable. The
consequence was, that she suddenly appeared to
him as an elegant dignified young lady, instead
of the rough little girl he remembered. Still,
below her somewhat formal manners there lurked
the old wild spirit, as he could plainly see, after
a little more watching; and he began to wish to
call this out, and to strive, by reminding her of
old days, and all her childish frolics, to flavour
her subdued manners and speech with a little of
the former originality.

In this he succeeded. No one, neither Mr.
Wilkins, nor Miss Monro, nor Mr. Ness, saw
what this young couple were about—they did
not know it themselves; but before the summer
was over they were desperately in love with each
other, or perhaps I should rather say, Ellinor
was desperately in love with him—he, as passionately
as he could be with any one; but in him
the intellect was superior in strength to either
affections or passions.

The causes of the blindness of those around
them were these. Mr. Wilkins still considered
Ellinor as a little girl, as his own pet, his darling,
but nothing more. Miss Monro was anxious
about her own improvement. Mr. Ness was
deep in a new edition of Horace, which he was
going to bring out with notes. I believe Dixon
would have been keener-sighted, but Ellinor
kept Mr. Corbet and Dixon apart for obvious
reasons—they were each her dear friends, but
she knew that Mr. Corbet did not like Dixon,
and suspected that the feeling was mutual.

The only change of circumstances between this
year and the previous one consisted in this
development of attachment between the young
people. Otherwise, everything went on apparently
as usual. With Ellinor the course of the day was
something like this. Up early and into the garden
until breakfast-time, when she made tea for her
father and Miss Monro in the dining-room, always
taking care to lay a little nosegay of freshly-
gathered  flowers by her father's plate. After
breakfast, when the conversation had been on
general and indifferent subjects, Mr. Wilkins
withdrew into the little study, so often mentioned.
It opened out of a passage that ran between
the dining-room and the kitchen, on the
left hand of the hall. Corresponding to the
dining-room on the other side of the hall was the
drawing-room, with its side-window serving as
a door into a conservatory, and this again opened
into the library. Old Mr. Wilkins had added a
semicircular projection to the library, which was
lighted by a dome above, and showed off his son's
Italian purchases of sculpture. The library was
by far the most striking and agreeable room in
the house; and the consequence was that the
drawing-room was seldom used, and had the
aspect of cold discomfort common to apartments
rarely occupied. Mr. Wilkins's study, on the
other side of the house, was also an after-thought,
built only a few years ago, and projecting from
the regularity of the outside wall: a little stone
passage led to it from the hall, small, narrow,
and dark, and out of which no other door opened.

The study itself was a hexagon, one side-
window, one fireplace, and the remaining four