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to myself, and at last I concluded that it was merely the natural result of extreme youthfulness, and the happy inexperience of life which a sheltered home like hers inevitably produces. She admired John Vere with girlish enthusiasm; she wondered at his goodness and cleverness. Sometimes, I think, she almost worshipped him as he stood far above her on unattainable heights to which he beckoned her in vain. But so far could she go and no farther; and always came a point, a halting-place on the road which they were travelling together, where her feet faltered, and her vision failed her. and, consequently, to reciprocate; and her sweet eyes grew dim, and She ceased to understand, her lovely roses paled as she gazed on into the misty distance, so clear and grand to him—so hazy, so doubtful, and so confused to her.

John Vere came nearly every evening; but he rather puzzled me in his demeanour to Helena. He was most kind, most attentive; yet he never seemed to seek opportunities for talking to her alone. Indeed, he did not make use of them when they were thrown in his way. Very often Miss Capel and her sister found that they must go somewhere, or do something, which would require their presence out of doors or in another part of the house; and I used to plead my literary engagements, and shut myself in the library, that the lovers might enjoy that privacy which is, to all true lovers, so acceptable and so indispensable to their enjoyment. But neither John Vere nor Helena Bertram seemed to care at all about being left to themselves. The Misses Capel might, perhaps, be in the way sometimes, but I was never de trop; and as I rose to leave the room Helena would cry out, "Oh! Evy, do not go to the library. Sit with John and me!" or else "John and I am going to walk in the garden. Do come with us." And sometimes I was obdurate, and refused to accompany them; but generally I had the weakness to accede to their request, and spend the evening in conver sation, which was carried on chiefly between John Vere and myself, for Helena never would prosecute a subject to any considerable length. And so that fair May month glided away, and the lilacs came into full bloom, and the golden tresses of the laburnam drooped on every side, and the mountain ash put forth its snowy clusters, and the hawthorn whitened the edges far away in the real open country; and the days lengthened till they seemed all sunshine and rosy twilight; and the nights were warm and still, and fragrant, scarce deepening into obscurity ere the earliest gleams pierced the eastern skies.

Many walks Helena and I took; and sometimes in the evening John Vere accompanied us; and we botanised, and talked science, and literature, and philosophy; and more and more of deepest truth and soundest doctrine I learned from those lips, that seemed to move only to the well-attuned music of a noble mind and a manly, pious heart.

On one of these sweet balmy evenings Helena and I, instead of

LABOUR AND WAIT;

money. Papa said the other day, 'I wish we could keep Miss Charteris with us for a prolonged season, Helena. I am sure she always does you good, and I am sure you always do, dear Evelyn; and I have said so a dozen times at least, and meant it, too."

"I know you have, dear child "—somehow I had learned insensibly to call Helena "dear child" whenever we were holding serious conversations"—and I only wish I deserved the excellent opinion you and your friends have formed of me. But I cannot do as you wish. I must go my own way, and do my own work, and be content to strive, and toil, and, perhaps, suffer, and be alone in the world."

"Alone in the world? Oh, Evy, that seems so sad, so hard! But why must you be alone? You have many friends-many admirers. You are getting famous; you are winning for yourself a glorious and well-earned reputation-those are John's words though, not mine. We were talking about you last night when we were star-gazing on the

terrace down there."

Helena

Were those John Vere's words? I could not doubt it. never said anything that was not strictly true. He admired me then; he esteemed me; he could echo the world's voice of praise; he could add a leaf to the crown of fame that was slowly twining for my brow. But

"Oh, mockery! give the vine
Something round which its tendrils may entwine
and the meed

Of love's kind words to woman! Worthless fame!
That in his bosom wins not for my name
The abiding place it asked."

We were silent, and again the white and rosy apple-blooms fluttered down to our feet, and the plash of the, sobbing waves over the tideworn rocks fell sadly and mournfully on the ear. Then Helena said, "Evelyn, what should I do if my life were like stand alone in this world-such a wide, wide, busy, self-seeking world yours ? How could I

as it seems to be ?"

"God does not require it of you, dear child. If it were His will that your life should be as mine, He would give you strength according to your need, as He will give it, as He has given it to me in the days that are past."

I some

"Evy, I would almost change places with you if I could feel as you do. You are more like John than anyone I ever met with. times think, Evy, that if—”

Her voice died away in a sort of irresolute cadence. I divined what she was going to say. One of those strange inspirations which enable us to read the very soul of another visited me at that moment, and I knew as well as if the sentence had been uttered what it was that she was about to say. Therefore, as she paused, I spoke of something else;

but she seemed not to hear, so intent was she on the subject that occupied her mind.

"You do not ask me what it was that I sometimes thought, Evelyn. That if--"

little words-much
But it is wiser not
might have beens.'

"Never mind! Ifs' are sometimes perilous might have been that is not in every case, IF! to contemplate the 'ifs-not to dwell upon the Our circumstances are as they are, all 'ordered,' all for the best. us then work out for ourselves from the material given to us that which is good and true, and worthy of record in the annals of our own conscience."

Let

Helena sighed. "Yes, you are right; but this is an 'if' that can do no one any harm, and I must say it, and then it will be out of my head. If I do not say it now I shall say it another time when, perhaps, I had better not. I have often thought that if, when you and John met, and learned to know each other, you had both been unengaged, you might have loved each other; in fact, I said so to John only the other day"

'Helena, I wish you would not discuss me with Mr. Vere after such a fashion. It is not kind; it is not fair!"

I spoke impetuously, and Helena imploringly begged me not to be vexed, promising not to offend in the same way again.

"Indeed," she continued, "I might have known that I was wrong, for John was not pleased. He said, Helena, you ought not to say such things. Are you wishing I had loved someone else?' I really believe he was a little jealous, only one can scarcely imagine anything so commonplace in him."

"We will talk no more about it, Helena, dear."

"And you are not angry with me, Evelyn ?"

"Oh, no; not in the least. Only, please, grant me one favour. Never refer to any possible or probable love affairs of mine. I have given up everything of the kind. I am going to be an elderly spinster, devoted to literature; only premising that if my stockings are azure, I shall certainly wear long petticoats."

"You naughty thing! As if you were ever meant to be an old maid!"

"Hush! that is the tabooed theme, remember. If you pursue it I shall run away into the house."

"Very well! I stand reproved.

Evelyn, I often wish I could do

something in the world. I wish I could write."

"Do not wish anything of the kind. It is not necessary that you Your nature fits you, should serve your generation with your pen.

Helena, for a calm, happy home life. You will best perform your

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duty by your own fire-side. I can fancy you twenty years hence, a handsome happy matron, with good and lovely children around you. I can see you reigning wisely and lovingly over a well-ordered household, content to sur yourself in the reflection of your husband's fame, and proud of yourself and of your name, because you are his wife, and your name is that which he has given you. I can believe that, in days to come, it will be said of you, Her husband is known in the gates when he sitteth among the elders of the land . . . Her children arise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own works praise her in the gates.'

A loving

"Thank you, Evelyn! I hope, I pray that I may so worthily accomplish my lot in life. Evy, it is my most earnest desire, my constant prayer, that I may be a truly good wife to John. wife I know I shall be, and a proud wife; for what woman would not be proud of one so noble, and grandly religious, and intellectual, and beautiful as he? But I want to be a really good wife, a helpmate, not a mere companion, &c., &c. Sometimes I think of the future, and of all that I ought to be and do, till I get frightened. Oh! if John should be disappointed-if he should ever come to feel that he might have chosen more wisely, more happily for himself! He would never let me know by word, or hint, or glance; but I shall find it out. I sometimes think mamma was quite right. Our engagement ought not to have been so hastily concluded."

"But you do not regret it, Helena ?"

"No! That is, not for myself. And yet-though I am sure I shall never meet the man whom I can love, and reverence, and obey as I can John Vere-I feel every now and then that we are not quite suited. He has depths in his soul that I cannot fathom."

"It would be strange if he had not. All truly great and good men have in their inmost natures heights and depths where the women who love them cannot follow. Perhaps we have all-women as well as men -some mysterious recesses in our souls, unvisited, save by our own introspective ken, and by God Himself!"

"But to return to what I was saying, Evelyn. I do wish I had something to do some share in the world's work, as you

have."

"You have your share, undoubtedly. Your work is house-work, dear Helena, and blessed work it is! Be content now to perform a daughter and a sister's loving duty, and, in the time to come, a wife's!"

"Hark! There is Miss Capel calling us in to tea. How late it is! I am afraid we have kept them waiting."

"I think not. Miss Capel has been to see a poor sick man in Pilgrim's-lane, and Miss Joanna has been very busy making jelly for some of her invalid pensioners."