-how they have been prospered in their work, till they find out how bright with gems is the crown of glory bestowed upon them by the chief Shepherd and Bishop of souls. Many, perhaps, who mourn lest they should haply wear a starless crown will find that theirs is a diadem resplendent with sparkling jewels, that the Lord Himself will own in the great day of His appearing."

"And the same thing may be said of the author; it is impossible to calculate the full extent of the good which any one faithful pen has wrought, and is working in the world. And it is best so; poor human nature, at its wisest, is so weak, so vain, that it might, if it knew all the result of its efforts, be tempted to ascribe to itself somewhat of that glory which belongs to God alone. For full satisfaction in every way, we must be willing to wait till we know even as we are known." "Yes! waiting and working seems to be all that the Christian has to do!"

"Precisely; he need trouble himself about nothing else; to work in Christ's name and to wait God's holy will is the chief concern, nay, the only concern of his life; for such work, and for such waiting, is really the kingdom of heaven and its righteousness; and all things else shall be added, if indeed they are not included. But I must not keep you from your study; I know these morning hours are invaluable to you. I wanted just to see you, that you might not think me really neglectful."

"I shall never think that; we are pledged friends, and true friend ship cannot be distrustful."

Thank you! and you know, and therefore I need not again tell you, how deeply I value your friendship, not only on my account, but on Helena's; she will be here the day after to-morrow, if that will suit you and the Miss Capels."

"It will suit us very well; her room has been ready ever since the first of the month. Tell her how pleased I-all of us--will be to welcome here at the time you mention."

"She is more willing to come. I believe, than you can possibly be to receive her, for she has conceived a perfect enthusiasm for you. And you will be so very good as to influence her, as far as possible. She is nearly all I could wish, and yet not quite all: it remains for you to put the finishing touches to a character already most purely and most graciously moulded."

"But should not that be your task? Ought she not to owe to you those finishing touches of which you speak ?"

"I cannot give them; I tried, but did not succeed. The truth is, Helena always seems-of course, it is only seems-a little afraid of me, whenever I begin to talk seriously. If I talk to her, as I have often talked to you, about life and its earnestness, and the joy of patience, and the dignity of earnest labour, she always becomes grave, and in a little

ן

while dejected. No! you can do what I cannot; you are a woman, and know all the depths, and needs, and trials of womanly life; you can advise her as an elder sister; you have the advantage of several years seniority, and three or four years now are more than they will ever be again; and you have the still greater advantage of experience of life, of the world's ways, and of the true value of all the pains and pleasures we encounter by the way. I leave her in your hands with the most undoubting confidence; already you have done something; I claim it from your friendship to do much more, to bring your work to a full and fair completeness."

"I will do what I can; I have promised, you know, only-only I am afraid you will be disappointed; I am afraid you give me credit for much I do not possess, to which I cannot even pretend."

"I am quite satisfied with your promise, only accept the labour of love I have somewhat presumptuously imposed upon you, and all will

be well."

"I do accept it. I will do all that I can."

"God bless you! And now before I go promise me not to work quite so hard; you are doing too much; you are both paler and thinner than when we parted three weeks ago. For my sake and Helena's, promise me to take care of yourself; we could not do without our friend. I think I shall put you under Helena's charge, as I have put her under your's. She is to receive from you spiritual and mental advantages, but she shall have the care of your physical health, while she is here, and see if she cannot win you away from your studies when you are inclined to apply too closely and too long. I shall make it a compact. Now I must go into the breakfast-room, and make my respects to the ladies of the house. Are you coming also?"

"No! I will say good-bye now. I shall take a solitary turn in the garden, and then go to my writing. I must work hard to-day aud to-morrow, and then I promise to remit somewhat of my industry while

Helena is here."

"I hope so! I shall charge Miss Joanna to look after you. Goodbye!"

CHAPTER III.

UNDER THE APPLE-TREES.

It was a beautiful May afternoon; earth, and sea, and sky were glorious in the clear light of the bright day, whose loveliness was Blended of all that is sweetest in latest spring, and all that is fairest of early summer. I stood at the window of the room which was to be Helena's, for I had been pleasing myself with setting out some pretty things of my own on her dressing-table and on the chimney-piece; and

lastly, I had arranged several charming little bouquets, which I was sure would please her exceedingly.

I glanced round, well satisfied with the result of my labour, and then I looked from the open window on the sunny world outside. How fair it was, that flowery garden, with its green lawns, and its scented lilies and budding hawthorn blooms, and its opening Gueldres roses, and its wealth of rosy apple-blossoms in all their early pinky glow, blushing among the pale eineral-leaves, scarcely yet expanded or wearing their richest hue. How fair the blue river, with its proud vessels and its white-sailed boats, and its restless waves; how fair and soft the cerulean arch above, with only here and there little dapples of fleecy clouds, edged with ripples of light. How fair the opposite shores of Easthambury, with dome, and steeple, and tower rising from the water's edge to the summit of the broad hill on which the city stands! And close by, the limes and sycamores opposite the abbey ruins; and afar off the rocky promontory of Castle Rock, and the estuary widening into the great sea itself, deepening to a purple hue under the intense azure of that lovely sky!

So fair, so beautiful! and I thought how one, so happily placed as Helena Bertram, must enjoy the brilliance and loveliness of the "green month of the year." She, so richly endowed with all the elements of earthly bliss-she, so fair, and young, and intellectual, so sheltered by parental care, so favoured by outward circumstances, and so blessed in being the chosen wife of John Vere-surely her heart must expand in fond happiness as she felt the warm breeze on her brow, and saw the golden sunlight on rock, and tree, and river, and heard the sweet song of the birds making melody among the branches. Happy Helena! so blessed, so crowned with purest joys!

Another half-hour, and I heard her voice, and I hurried to meet her. She threw herself into my arms with the enthusiasm of a child, showering on me all sorts of loving epithets and tender embraces. I felt glad and proud to think that John Vere's Helena loved me so well.

She looked more beautiful than ever; her sweet face all radiant with innocent, youthful, happiness; her lovely roses deepened through the excitement of our meeting; her pretty dimpled mouth wreathed with its sunniest smiles! She accorded well with that fair May eveningour radiant Helena, our charming, irresistible Queen of the May!

And

"And so I am come," she said, when we were shut up in the room prepared for her, "I am come to teaze you, Evelyn, to give you ever so much trouble, and to be made into a good wise woman by you! that is not all; I am to take care of you, and be a very syren to lure you away from that eternal writing portfolio of yours! John said you were not looking well, and he is right; you are not half so blooming and prosperous as you were at Beechwood. We must have you back there again."

"Knew what?" I asked.

LABOUR AND WAIT ;

'Now, do not look so provokingly innocent! Of course I refer to John Vere's engagement. He told us while you and Helena were looking at the stars, or the moon, or something or other celestial; and he also informed us that you were already in his confidence."

"I have known it rather more than three weeks; Mr. Vere told me on the afternoon of my return to Abbeylands."

"Ah!" and Miss Joanna cast upon me so sharp a glance that I instantly regretted the admission I had so incautiously made. Joanna Capel was sadly in the habit of putting this and that together, and forming her own conclusions, which were seldom very wide of the truth, of keen perceptions, amounting almost to "Ah! that was what you were talking about then on the pier, when you caught that chill, and so narrowly escaped influenza or bronchitis, or both combined?"

for she was a woman

intuitions.

"Yes; you must forgive me for keeping the secret, because you see it was not my own."

"Of course! of course! But seriously, Evelyn, what do you think of this engagement ?"

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It seems a very suitable one, and both families are thoroughly satisfied. Helena will have an excellent, devoted, husband; John Vere will have a good, affectionate, and beautiful wife."

"Well, I suppose so; Helena really is a charming child-charming girl, I suppose I ought to say. But, somehow, I am surprised; I never imagined she would be John Vere's choice, though I rather wished it. I thought her quite too young."

"She is eighteen!"

"To be sure! how time flies!

was the prettiest child in the world, in white frocks, toddling about the It seems but the other day since she Beechwood gardens, or else being carried by John Vere, who was then a pale, lank boy in jacket and lie-down collars. strikingly fond of Helena; she was good with him when she was But he was always naughty with everyone else. Still, eighteen is very young; few girls know their own mind at that age; I did not know mine I know. When I was eighteen I wanted to marry an Antinous-looking youth, who played the flute, and talked sentiment, and scribbled execrable sonnets, and seemed far gone in consumption. I met him the other day, my dear, on board the South Hill ferry-boat, and he was red-faced, fat, and forty!-dreadfully fat, a sort of Daniel Lambert, you know; and he had his eldest daughter with him, a stupid, awkward, pudding-faced girl of fourteen, with an inveterate habit of staring open-mouthed; and there were ten more olive-branches at home, he told me, all equally promising. How thankful I felt that I was not their mamma! So much for the sweet fancies of eighteen, my dear."

"Yes, but Helena has known Mr. Vere all her life; and he is not eighteen."

"So much the worse; she has loved him so frankly and unblushingly all her days that I am afraid it will be terribly like marrying her brother. However, we have nothing to do with it; if the young people are satisfied, and if Mr. and Mrs. Bertram are pleased, we have no right to be discontented. I always wanted John Vere to get married; if I had been twenty years younger, I should inevitably have fallen in love with him myself! Ah! well-a-day! we shall see what we shall see!" I was glad to get away to my own room, and lock myself in, and open the window, and let the cool air in from the river. It had never occurred to me what it would be to see John Vere and Helena together, now that their relative positions were confessed. I had never dreamed how hard it would be to put down all my own rebellious wishes and regrets, nor how difficult I should find the task I had undertaken to perform. I felt that I had been acting a part all the evening; and I was very, very weary, tired alike in body and in mind, and oh! how sick at heart! And I stood at my window, listening to the light rustle of the blossomed trees beneath, and hearing the deep murmur of the receding tide, as the waves came bubbling and retreating on the weedfringed rocks below our garden-wall

"And the burden laid upon me

Seemed greater than I could bear."

Those midnight waters, sinking, sinking, sinking, as the ebb-current bore them away to the sea, seemed to murmur in my ears-" never more! no! never, never more!" And my poor, wearied, aching heart answered like an echo

"That which I have been, can I be no more?
Noi never more!"

And still the deep river murmured "never more!" and I half wished that I too were drifting away quietly and tranquilly in the solemn night to the great fathomless ocean beyond! And then came a wild longing for rest and peace-for some sure calm haven, where those clear, far-seeing eyes, would haunt my brain no more. And again"I pitied my own heart,

As if I held it in my hand-
Somewhat coldly -with a sense

Of fulfilled benevolence,

And a 'poor thing' negligence."

That was a dark and dreary hour. The precursor of many more still darker, still more dreary, which were to follow it its train.

The days went on, and I tried to redeem the pledge I had given Strange to say I saw exactly, or thought I saw, just what was lacking in Helena to make her perfect in the eyes of her betrothed. There was an indescribable something wanting that I could not decipher even