"SOUGHT FOR SILLER."

By the Author of "The Widower's Wooing," "Maude Carrington's Mistake," &c. &c.

CHAPTER II.

CONTRARY to custom, during the next few days we saw nothing further of Mr. Warburton. Harvey Prescott mentioned casually that he had gone on a visit to some friends of his, some thirty miles off. I was not sufficiently interested in him to inquire where. However, one evening, towards the end of the week, he appeared unexpectedly and alone, making himself very agreeable to both myself and May. I supposed at the time it was fancy, but, I remember it striking me that he held her hand longer at parting than was his won't, he having hitherto honoured my unwilling fingers with that lingering clasp; and after he had gone, there was a light now on May's face I did not like to see there. I was very keen where she was concerned, and had more than began to know on my own account what that lightness meant.

I was still further disquieted, as the days went on, that Mr. Warburton should so evidently contrive to meet my cousin when I was not with her. If she drove into the neighbouring town, she was no longer desirous of having me with her; but would take her maid instead, and on these occasions she would come back looking charming, and too conscious to please me, and admit that she had met Mr. Warburton, and had had a long talk with him. It was the same in her walks, and in her rides Mr. Warburton was obiquitous. He called seldom enough at the house, it was true, and when he did come he was very guarded in his manner towards us both.

I was not long left in doubt as to the turn matters had taken, and my suspicions as to his having discovered her heiress-ship were now set at rest. Major Gunthorpe had come over to luncheon from Oxford, as was not unusual with him, and Uncle James and I, as was very usual with us, had carried him off on a long walk to have look at some sheep which my uncle has just bought. It was quite dusk when we returned. Major Gunthorpe and I proceeded at once to the drawing-room, leaving Uncle James standing in the porch, giving directions to one of the gardeners. At first I thought there was no one in the room, it being a very long one; but as we advanced towards the fire I became aware of the presence

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of Mr. Warburton, who languidly rose from his chair and came forward to speak to me, while May pushing back her chair, said hastily,

"You find us in the dark, Marian; I had no idea it was so late."

It was quite a shock to me at finding him thus tête-à-tête with my cousin, and my face and voice betrayed what I felt I suppose I know there was an angry bitterness in my tone, as I said, keeping my hands well in my muff the while, to avoid having to shake hands with him, "It is an unexpected pleasure to see you here, Mr. Warburton, I have seen nothing of you for some time, whatever May may have done. You had much better have been with us, dear," I added, turning to her; "it would have done you much more good than sitting here alone."

"Not alone!" she answered, quickly, putting back her soft, wavy hair behind her little pink ears, showing an unwonted flush on her delicate childish face, "You have been here a long time. haven't you?" she continued, glancing shyly up at Mr. Warburton. He answered her query with a look of intelligence, and then turning to me, remarked airly,

"It's very pretty of you, Miss Neville, to reproach me with my absence. I only hope you will not discover by-and-bye that you see too much of me." Again May and he exchanged looks, and I felt that Major Gunthorpe's kind eyes were resting gravely on my troubled face." And I ought to be," he concluded, with a smile deeply grateful and very much flattered at the interest you ar good enough to take in me."

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I was angry with myself, and still more angry with him, for placing me in a false light before Major Gunthorpe. I had laid myself open to the infatuation of being jealous of my cousin. had laid myself open to being suspected of showing an attachment to Mr. Warburton; and intimate as I was with Major Gunthorpe, I was yet not sufficiently so to take him into my confidence; so I sat silent, and my silence may have been mistaken for sulkiness.

The two men talked to each other in a cold, disjointed sort of manner for a few minutes, May putting in a little word now and then, and then Major Gunthorpe said good-bye to me, in rather a pitying way, as if he were sorry for me, which was very hard to bear-so hard that the tears sprang to my eyes, not unobserved by him. "Poor child!" he said, in a very low voice, and turned to go. Mr. Warburton, having no excuse to linger, soon followed his example; he did not seem to be too much at his case in my presence.

No sooner had he left us than I, kneeling down beside May,

on the hearth-rug, and entwining my arms lovingly around her waist, burst into tears, leaning my head against her shoulder.

Oh, May, darling," I said, recovering myself with difficulty; "I can't help fearing that Mr. Warburton is making love to you again, and it makes me wretched to think you should waste one thought upon so unprincipled and mercenary a man."

May drew herself away from my encircling arms coldly, and I hardly knew it was her voice when she said:

"You have made me miserable enough, Marian, as it is, by your heartless flirtation with him. You almost succeeded, I know, but not quite. He has told me how your beauty infatuated him and intoxicated him for a brief while; but how his heart never really wavered from me."

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And you believed this?" I cried, starting to my feet, my eyes flushing with angry scorn; "you believe that I tried to come between you and what you thought your happiness. Couldn't you see," I continued, softening, "how he sought me, how he pretended to admire me; and can't you understand how for your sake I did not repulse him, but tolerated and endured his attentions, repugnant as they were to me? I understood clearly, if you did not, that it was the rumour of my being the heiress which caused him to transfer them from you to me; and now he has heard the truth," I cried, with growing excitement, "I am certain of it: it accounts for everything. Oh, May, dearest, I implore you to see him as he really is, and to have nothing to do with him."

"You are cruel; you are unkind; you are unjust," blazed forth May, clasping her baby hands. "How dare you say such things. of him? You love him yourself, you are jealous of me, you grudge me my happiness-he was afraid you would come between us; but I promised you never should. I won't hear a word against him. Go away, Marian! leave me-I won't listen to you."

"Has it gone as far as this," I cried? Oh, can't I save you from this man? He does not love you, May—he has said as much. I know that he is false, and base, and heartless, and unworthy of you. Try and remember how dearly I love you," I cried, standing over her, "and how I would not say these things if I did not know them to be true."

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"I suppose you think," said May, with cold distinction, “ that you alone can be loved, for yourself and for your beauty, but that no one would so care for me. You may underrate me as you please; but you are mistaken altogether."

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I underrate you?" echoed I, sorrowfully; "why, May, it is because I admire you so, and because I love you so, and rate you so highly, that I cannot bear to think of your being that man's wife."

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"Then you must accustom yourself to the idea, Marian," she answered with surprising calmness; for he is to speak to my uncle to-morrow, and I beg you will never speak another word against him in my hearing. He is the soul of honour, and I love him with my whole heart."

I looked at her for some moments in speechless astonishment. Was this cold, self-reliant girl, my clinging, tender, affectionate, little sister? If Mr. Warburton's influence had so changed her and estranged her now, how would it be if she became his wife? I had no heart and no wish to say anything further to her just then, so without another word I quitted her abruptly, and retired to the solitude of my own room; there to cry and to lament, and to recover my composure before dinner.

The next morning, feeling low and depressed, and finding that May studiously avoided me, I went out alone, directly after breakfast, to try if a long, brisk walk would recruit my spirits. I had walked about for a couple of hours, not caring much where I went, and was slowly returning homewards, through a path in the home plantations, called the "Lover's Walk," a thick leafy avenue, the lofty lime-trees closing over head, formed a cool retreat in balmy June; but was desolate enough in December. The dead leaves thickly strewn under foot, and the soughing of the wind around the bare branches of the trees, harmonised well with my present mood. Walking along quietly, my eyes bent on the ground, I did not see Harvey Prescott, seated on the trunk of an old tree until excited by his voice.

"Miss Neville," he said, drearily, "won't you stop a minute and speak to me?"

"Of course I will," I answered; "I nearly pissel you without. seeing you ;" and I held out my hand to him as I spoke.

He took it in both of his, and then I saw that his pleasant, happy, boyish face, had a sad, troubled look on it, which pained me to see there.

"Are you, too, in trouble, Harvey ?" I said, calling him by his name, as I sometimes did. "Has anything gone wrong with you?"

"Ob, Miss Neville," he said, still holding my hand, “may I tell you about it? may I speak to you about her?" and taking my silence for consent, he continued

"I have been very uneasy the last few days at the way that fellow Warburton has been hanging about your cousin May, and I thought I wouldn't put it off any longer, but come and tell her at once how very fond I was of her, and ask her to give me a little hope that in time she might come to care for me?"

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Well," I asked, dejectedly, turning when we had reached the end of the avenue, "what did she say?" I asked the question idly

to help him on with his story, well knowing the nature of the answer he had received.

"She listened to me very quietly," he said, "without once interrupting me, and I thought from her silence that perhaps she didn't dislike me and would tell me so; so, you see, I wasn't prepared for what she did say. She put out her little hand to me, and I saw there were tears in her eyes, but her voice was very firm, a firmness I didn't like, it seemed to cut off all hope, as she said 'I'm so sorry for you, Mr. Prescott; but you mustn't think of me in this way. I could never care for your as you wish― it is quite impossible. I shall always like you very much as a great friend, but not in that way.' Then, Marian, I was so stung, and surprised, and pained by her answer that I said hotly: 'I know how it is-I have to thank Warburton for this. Is it quite hopeless, May? I don't believe any one can love you as I I'll wait ever so long. Wait till you try and and like me.' She smiled faintly and shook her head, and I saw I had no chance now if I ever had any. So I left her, Marian, and you found me here. I'm very hard hit indeed. I had no idea I should feel it like this. Do you think I am a great fool, Marian? and is it—it must be-Warburton who has won her from me?"

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"I suppose there is no harm in your knowing it, Harvey,” I answered, dejectedly. "From what May said to me last night I fear it will not be a secret long, and I fear to think that-well, I don't know what I do fear, but everything for her. If she had but cared for you, Harvey," I added, laying my hand impulsively on his arm, "how happy it would have made me! but, as it is, he is to speak to Uncle James to-day."

"To-day!" he cried, in a hoarse voice; "so soon, it is indeed all over. How blind I have been; but I declare to you till the last few day I always believed Warburton was the last man to think of marrying, his ways of life are so opposed to the idea, and," he said, lowering his voice, "there are not many fathers would let him marry their daughters. He has led a very dissipated life, and there are many stories about him which, of course, you couldn't understand. It didn't matter to any one much, as long as he remained single; but what will the Admiral say to his gambling propensities-they are too well-known; and then an ecarte story which-but I musn't say these things to you, and you might think it was a good deal of jealously on my part."

"Oh, Harvey," I exclaimed, clasping my hands, "can we do nothing to save her from him? she won't listen to me. Couldn't you tell Uncle James all you know, every thing?"

"No, Marian," he replied, sorrowfully; "it would be quite impossible; you wouldn't wish me to look despicable in her eyes, would