'Well, Phil,' said Ellen, turning to the window to evade his curious glances; 'I had letters to write this morning, so there was no time for Roman History.'

'You need not apologise,' replied Phil; ‘I have been much better employed in walking with Colonel Oliphant. He desires me to say, that, if you are disposed to ride, all the dragons in Christendom, or of Heathenesse, cannot prevent his sending the horses back; and we shall find him walking on the Mere Downs.'

'That is no message of Colonel Oliphant's,' Ellen replied, with indignant quickness; for she would not distrust his sense of honour so far as to believe him capable of making a private appointment. Tell me what he did say, instead of trying to make mischief.'

'What a pucker we are in!' said Phil. 'I make a point of romancing, since the pedagogue worried me so much about the accuracy of the Homeric messengers.'

'Be a Homeric messenger for once,' said Ellen, pleadingly; feeling that she was in her tormentor's power.

'Well, the Colonel, not in the most amiable of humours, asked why you were not to ride to-day; and I said it must be some act of tyranny on the part of the Dragon; probably, because you were in disgrace for not learning your lessons. So he begged me to say that the horses were still at your disposal, if there was any change of plans; and I promised to rescue you, if possible, and give you a gallop on the Mere Downs.'

'I certainly shall not ride to-day,' said Ellen:

'I have a headache.'

'Too bad to go to the concert?

It would be only charitable to let Colonel Oliphant know, in case the music is not his attraction.'

'My head will be well by that time,' said Ellen, shortly.

'Now, Aunt Ellen, considering how explicit I have been, you might give me more civil answers. I know there is something in the wind; for the Griffin looks so like thunder, that it is enough to turn the cream sour: Aunt Kate wears her shawl inside out; and Aunt Clara sits up and talks in a natural voice, instead of a languid drawl. You may as well tell me the truth at once; for I shall make a point of finding it out.'

'You will do no such thing,' said Ellen, with natural irritation. 'I wish, Phil, that you could be content to mind your lessons and your play, without meddling in matters that do not concern you.'

'Oh! very well!' retorted Phil, mockingly: 'I know a young lady who, not so long ago, was also taught to mind her lessons, drink her milk and water, and only speak when she was spoken to. But it seems she has grown out of all that.'

He left the room before Ellen could appease his offended dignity; and she looked after him in some dismay.

'He may get me into more trouble,' she thought; ' and it was foolish to provoke him. What a gulf there is between the school-room life of which he spoke, and my thoughts and feelings now! I

would not go back to it if I could; and yet I was both happier and better then than I am now than, perhaps, I ever shall be again.'

Ellen laid her letter to Lord John before Anne, who read it with a deliberation which did not signify approval.

'It may go,' she said at last: 'you might have expressed what you had to say more simply, but I dare say the letter would gain nothing in the rewriting. You must, however, add a postscript, to say that there is no occasion to continue the correspondence.'

'Really, Anne,' said Ellen, 'I do not think that necessary.' But when Anne shortly replied, 'I do,' she took up her pen, and wrote the dictated words: You need not trouble yourself to write again, as Lady Cecil will let me know how Miss Mortimer goes on.'

'Be careful to put Lady Cecil,' Anne added; 'it is of course impossible to maintain the present intimacy; and the sooner this is understood the better.'

6

'I do not believe that Cecil will give me up,' rejoined Ellen; nor do I see that anything has passed to make me love her less.'

'Time will show, Ellen; and I have no wish to argue the point. And, while I am on this subject, I must caution you about your behaviour this evening. You must sit between Kate and myself, and on no account attempt to attract Colonel Oliphant's attention, or to speak to him apart. He will thus be compelled to act fairly and openly.'

'He has never acted otherwise,' said Ellen, with kindling eyes; 'never! And if you are to watch and cavil, and refuse to treat him with common courtesy, I would rather stay at home.'

'Then do so, by all means. I was only going on your account, as my word was pledged to Norah; and though it is too late to return the tickets, that is of comparatively little consequence.'

Ellen had spoken hastily, and with no intention to be taken at her word; for she would rather have gone to the concert under any restrictions than remain at home. But she was too much subdued to remonstrate, even if she had not felt that remonstrance would be in vain. She crept up stairs again, submissive and wretched; and when Kate came to cheer her with the exhibition of her finery, it only called forth a fresh burst of tears, as she announced that Anne had settled they were not to go. And, to crown all, Phil peeped through the half-open door, and asked if she was crying because she was still in disgrace, and not allowed to go the party. It was evident that he had not forgotten the affront of the morning.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Wohl seh' ich Spott, der deinen Mund umschwebt,
Und seh' dein Auge blitzen trotziglich,

Und seh' den Stolz, der deinen Busen hebt,—
Und elend bist du doch, elend wie ich.

Unsichtbar zuckt auch Schmerz von deinem Mund,
Verborgne Thräne trübt des Auges Schein,
Der stolze Busen hegt geheime Wund',-
Mein Lieb, wir sollen Beide elend sein.

HEINE.

WHATEVER might be Hugh Oliphant's ap

preciation of the Dornton concert, the evening dragged wearily on at Rose Cottage. The sisters worked or read in absolute silence; only Kate sighed and fidgetted as she looked at Ellen, and wished that Anne would discover how badly her head was aching, and advise her to go to bed: she dared not make the suggestion herself, lest she should be accused of encouraging Ellen to be fanciful and sentimental. Before bedtime came, however, the stillness was broken by an unusual bustle in the little hall.

'An arrival,' Clara remarked; and the colour came flushing into Ellen's wan face, as she started from her listless attitude to listen more intently. But it certainly was not Hugh Oliphant who greeted Sarah with the remark, 'Well, old woman, you look scared!' and in another moment the door was thrown back, and Louis Carew, the