having their society during his stay at Priorton. He was a farmer, whose father had made money at war prices. He had bought his own farm, and thus constituted his son a small laird. He had an independent bearing as well as an independent portion of the world's goods; he was really a manly fellow, in his brown, ruddy, curly, strapping comeliness. But, better still, was an intelligent fellow, who read other things than the newspapers, and relished them. He was a little conceited, no doubt, in consequence of comparing himself with others, but he had a good heart. Corrie and Chrissy both regarded him with scarcely concealed interest and admiration. Chrissy wished that the lads at home would grow up to be as comely and manly; Corrie made up her mind to have just such a husband as this Spottiswoode of Bourhope. It was evident the very first night that Bourhope was taken with Corrie. He stared and stared at her, admiring her waxen complexion, the bend of her white throat, and the slope of her white shoulders; and even changed his seat at one time, as it seemed, in order to see her better. He quickly claimed her as his partner at loo, and engaged her to walk out with him to hear the band practising next evening. Chrissy thought it all very natural, and all the more enjoyable. But she caught herself fancying Bourhope and Corrie married, and rebuked herself for carrying her speculations so far. Only she could not help thinking how Bourhope would weary after the marriage, say when there was a snow-storm, or a three day's fall of rain at the farmhouse. But that was Bourhope's affair: if he was pleased, what business was it of hers? Bourhope had this in common with Chrissy, he could enter when Bourhope, resting from the fatigues of his drill, lounged with the girls in the early forenoon in Mrs. Spottiswoode's drawing-room. So it was worth while, he thought, to spur up to Chrissy and inquire what took her abroad at such an untimely hour. When Bourhope caught a nearer glimpse of Chrissy he was rather dismayed to see that she had been crying. Bourhope hated to see girls crying, particularly girls like Chrissy, to whom it was not becoming. He had no particular fancy for Cinderellas or other beggar maids. He would have hated to find that his kinsfolk and friendly host and hostess, for whom he had a considerable regard, were mean enough and base enough to maltreat a poor little guest of their own invitation. Notwithstanding these demurs, Tom Spottiswoode of Bourhope rode so fast up to Chrissy as to cause her to give a violent start when she turned. "Hallo! Do you go to market, Miss Chrissy, or what on earth takes you out in the town before the shutters are down?" pointing with his sheathed sword to a closed shop. 6 Chrissy was taken aback, and there was something slightly hysterical in her laugh, but she answered frankly enough, "I go to Dr. Stark's, Mr. Spottiswoode. Dr. Stark attends my mother, and is at Blackfaulds every day. I wait in his laboratory till he comes there before setting out; he goes his rounds early, you know. He lets me know how mother was yesterday, and as he is a kind man he carries our letters, - Maggie and Arabella and I are great writers, and postage comes to be expensive, -a great deal too expensive for us at Blackfaulds; but the doctor is a kind man and he favors' our letters. And Mr. Spottiswoode," she said, warming tain himself. with her subject, and impelled to a bit of confidence, During the first three days of the week, Bourhope" do you know, Dr. Stark thinks my mother will be was zealous in attaching himself to Corrie. But a about again in a few months. You are aware her sharp observer might have remarked that after this knee-joint has been affected. We were even afraid he flagged a little, taking more as matter of course she would never put down her foot again. It would and politeness the association he had established be- have been a dreadful trial to all of us." Chrissy tween her and him at tea, loo, and the evening prom-spoke simply, in a rather moved voice. enade. He would even stifle a yawn while in Corrie's company, though he was a mettlesome and not a listless fellow. But that was only like men, to prize less what they had coveted when it was half won. Bourhope was slightly moved, too. He had never heard much about Mrs. Hunter of Blackfaulds, except that she was a woman who had been long ailing; and also occasional remarks about the consequences of her being lost or spared to her family. Thus for a short time matters stood. Corrie, fair and swan-like, Bourhope reasonably impressionable, Chrissy was grateful for his evident sympathy, Mr. and Mrs. Spottiswoode decidedly favorable, and gratified by it; but, as if half ashamed of havChrissy Hunter harmless, if not helpful. Mrs. ing elicited it she at once began to prattle to him Spottiswoode knew that those who dally with a on other subjects. Bourhope had leapt from his suggestion are in great danger of acting on it, and horse, and was doing her the honor of walking at had very little doubt that the next ten days, with her side, his beast's bridle over his arm, and his the crowning performance of the ball, would decide spurs ringing on the pavement. A sparkling pratthe desirable match between Bourhope and Corrie.tle that was, of Chrissy's, about the fine morning, the town and the yeomanry, few topics, but well handled, and brilliantly illustrated. Bourhope dared to confess to himself how sorry he was when he reached Mr. Spottiswoode's door. III. AT this juncture it struck Bourhope, riding home from the morning drill, to ask himself what could possibly take Chrissy Hunter out so early every morning. He had already seen her once or twice keeping out of the way of him and his companions, and returning again from the opposite end of Priorton, which was flanked by the doctor's house. Corrie, he noticed, was never with her. Indeed, Bourhope had a strong suspicion that Corrie retreated to her pillow again after showing him her lovely face, lovely even in the pink curl-papers. But Chrissy certainly dressed immediately and took a morning walk, by which her complexion, at least, did not profit. Not being a very strong little woman, her brown face was apt to look jaded and streaky Next morning Bourhope detached himself from his comrades when he approached the town, and looked narrowly for Chrissy. It would be but civil to inquire for poor Mrs. Hunter. So bent was he on being thus civil that though Chrissy was far in advance he knew her by the pink gingham trimming of her morning bonnet, fluttering like rose leaves in the morning sun. He came up to her, and politely asked after her mother. Chrissy was a little confused, but she answered pleasantly enough. She was not nearly so talkative, however, as on the preceding morning, though Bourhope made witty comments on the letter she held in her hand, and pertinaciously insisted on her telling him Instead of walks there were gatherings round whether she mentioned him in her return letters! shining tables; and bottles and glasses clinked cheerHe reminded her that they were cousins in a way.ily in many a parlor. But Mr. Spottiswoode was This was the first time Chrissy had known of any sober by inclination. The impressiveness of office, one hunting up a relationship with her, and though which had quite the contrary effect on many propleased in her humility, Chrissy was no fool in vosts of his era, only added to his characteristic that humility of hers, Bourhope she knew was caution. The yeomen, too, knew well where hilardestined for her cousin Corrie. He was out of Cor-ity ended and excess began. So there was little rie's way just now, and was only courteous and cor- fear of excess in Mr. Spottiswoode's house. Mrs. dial to her as living for a time under the same roof. Spottiswoode, a genius in her own line, had a cheerShe liked the ruddy, curly, independent, clever fel- ful fire in her drawing-room, and sat by the hearth, low of a farmer laird who, out of the riches of his with her children tumbling round her, while Corrie, kindness, could be courteous and cordial to a poor, fairer than ever in the blinking fire-light, and Chrisplain girl. But Bourhope could never overtake sy, brown and merry, sat on either side of her. She Chrissy coming from Dr. Stark's again. He spied invited the farmer laird to enter that charmed ring, and peeped and threw out hints, and hurried or which of course he could not help contrasting with loitered on the way to no purpose. Chrissy took the loneliness and comfortlessness of Bourhope. But care that people should not notice the fact of her be- though he sat next Corrie, a certain coldness crept ing escorted home in the early morning by Bourhope. over the well-arranged party. He caught himself A chance conversation between Mrs. Spottis- glancing curiously at the book Chrissy Hunter had woode and Corrie was overheard one day by Bour-been almost burning her face reading by the firehope, when they imagined him deep in Blackwood; light before he came in. Mrs. Spottiswoode did not for it was the days of the "Noctes." Mr. Hunter much care for reading aloud, but she took the hint of Redcraigs, Corrie's father, had not been well, in good part, and called on Chrissy to tell what her and a message had been sent to that effect to her. book was about, and so divert Bourhope, without But she was philosophic and not unduly alarmed. wholly monopolizing his attention. "Papa makes such a work about himself," she said candidly to Mrs. Spottiswoode. "Very likely he has only taken lobster to supper, or his Jamaica | rum has not agreed with him, and he is bilious this morning. I think I will send out a box of colocynth, and a bit of nice tender veal, to put him in good humor again. You know, Agnes, if I were to drive out, I could not get back in time for the evening walk in the meadows. Besides, I was to see Miss Aikin about the change in the running on of my frills. It would overturn all my plans to go; and my head gets so hot, and I look so blowsy when my plans are disarranged," Corrie concluded, almost piteously. "Yes; but, Corrie," hesitated Mrs. Spottiswoode, you know Dr. Stark is not easy about papa just now. I think I had better go out myself. It is unlucky that Spottiswoode is to have several yeomen, who do business at the bank, at dinner to-day with Bourhope; but I dare say Mary will manage that, as Chrissy will mix the pudding for her. So I will go myself to Redcraigs; all things considered, it would be a pity for you not to be in your best looks Chrissy was rather shy at first. She never told stories freely away from home; but she was now pressed to do it. After a little, however, she put her own sympathetic humor and pathos into the wondrous narrative, till she literally held her listeners spell-bound. And no wonder. Those were the days of Scott's early novels, when they were greatly run after, and the price of a night's reading was high. Chrissy's cousin "Rob" was a bookseller's apprentice, and his master, for the purpose of enabling Robbie to share his enthusiasm, would lend the apprentice an uncut copy. Robbie brought it out to Blackfaulds, and then all would sit up, sick mother among the rest, to hear it read aloud, till far into the small hours. -- Who can tell what that cordial of pure healthful intellectual diversion may have been even to the burdened father and sick mother of Blackfaulds, and to Chrissy! The very speaking of it made her clasp her hands over her knee and her gray eyes to shine out like stars as Bourhope thought to himself. How suggestively Chrissy discoursed of Glendearg and the widow Elspeth Glendinning, her two lads, Bourhope, at this point, fell into a fit of coughing, and Martin and Tib Tacket, and the gentle lady and lost the rest of the dialogue; but perhaps his and Mary Avenel. With what breadth, yet precioccasional snort of disapprobation was called forth assion, she reproduced pursy Abbot Boniface, devoted much by this interlude as by the audacious judgments of the Shepherd and Tickler. The day unluckily turned out very rainy, and the drill was gone through in a dense white mist which caused every horse to loom large as an elephant, and every rider to look a Gog or Magog. The young ladies, so fond of a change of costume at this time in Priorton, could do no shopping; the walk in the meadows at sunset with the lounging yeomen had to be given up. The green meadows were not inviting, the grass was dripping, the flowers closed and heavy, and the river red and drumly. All was disappointing, for the meadows were beautiful at this season with their summer snow of daisies,-not dead-white snow either, for it was broken by patches of yellow buttercups, crow's-foot, lady's finger and vetch, and by the crimson clover flowers, and the rusty red of sorrel, and the black pert heads of the nib-wort plantain, whose black upon the white of ox-eye daisies has the rich tone of ermine. Prior Eustace, wild Christie of the Clinthill, buxom Mysie Hopper, exquisite Sir Percy Shafton, and even tried her hand to some purpose on the ethereal White Lady. Perhaps Chrissy enjoyed the reading as much as the great Enchanter did the writing. Like great actors, she had an instinctive consciousness of the effect she produced. Bourhope shouted with laughter when the incorrigible Sir Percy, in the disguise of the dairy-woman, described his routing charge as "the milky mothers of the herd." Corrie actually glanced in affright at the steaming windows and the door ajar, and pinched Chrissy's arm when she repeated, for the last time, the words of the spell: their schemes, their anxieties, themselves even, to | and troubled in her sound head and warm heart. fasten their eyes and hearts on the brown girl, the She was no fool in her simplicity. She knew that book dropping from her hand, but the story written Bourhope did not in any sense belong to Mrs. Spotso graphically on her memory. Corrie was the first tiswoode and Corrie, and she had shrewdly suspected to recover herself. "O dear!" she cried, "I forgot of late that their anticipated projects would not be I was to take down my hair for Miss Lothian to point carried out. She could not help occasionally turnit at eight o'clock,” and hurried out of the room. ing over in her mind the circumstance that Cecilia was very plain, but that depressed Mortimer Delville nevertheless bestowed his heart on her, though the gift like her fortune was disastrous to her for many a long day. Chrissy thought that if Bourhope were independent and original enough to like her- to love her, he was his own master, there was nothing between him and his inclination save her inclination and her father and mother's will. And there was little doubt about their will with respect to a man so worthy, so unexceptionable, and so well endowed as Bourhope. Mrs. Spottiswoode roused herself next, and spoke a few words of acknowledgment to Chrissy. "Upon my word, Chrissy, your recital has been quite as good as the play. We are much obliged to you. I am afraid your throat must be sore; but stay, I have some of the theatre oranges here. No, bairns, you are not to have any; it is far too late for you to be up. Dear me; I believe you have been listening to Chrissy's story like the rest of us!" But Mrs. Spottiswoode was not under any apprehension about the success of Chrissy's reading. She proved this by immediately leaving Chrissy tête-à-tête with Bourhope while she went to put the children to bed, and see if Mr. Spottiswoode, who was doing a quiet turn of business in his office, would have a game of cards before supper. She had really never heard of a girl being married simply for her tongue's sake! Perhaps she knew the line in the song too, "Very few marry for talking," and had found its truth in her own experience, for she was a shrewd, observant woman. Bourhope, it should be understood, was longest subjected to the influence of Chrissy's story-telling power. Indeed, when he did somewhat recover from it, his fancy created fine visions of what it would be to have such a story-teller at the farmhouse during the long, dark nights of winter and the endless days of summer. Bourhope was no ignoramus. He had some acquaintance with "Winter's Tales" and summer pastorals, but his reading was bald and tame to this inspiration. He thought to himself it would really be as good as a company of players purely for his own behoof, without any of the disadvantages. He stammered a little in expressing the debt he owed to Chrissy, and she could only eagerly reply by saying: "Not to me, not to me the praise, Mr. Spottiswoode, but to the Great Unknown. OI would like to know him!" Bourhope was stimulated to do at once what he was sure to do ultimately, he presented his hospitable entertainers with a box at the play. No doubt this was a great delight to Chrissy, for it was in the days when actors were respectable artists, and playgoing was still universal. Chrissy in her freshness enjoyed the provincials as well as if they had been first-rate performers, took the good and left the bad, and sat quite entranced. Bourhope, although he was decidedly intellectual for his calling, watched Chrissy rather than the stage. He read the feeling of the moment reflected in her sagacious yet sensitive face. Once he turned round and tried the same experiment with Corrie. He might as well have expected to borrow a living soul from well-moulded stucco or marble. He now realized in a more lively manner than ever that geese may look as fair and white and soft and shapely as swans, till they expose their waddling. He tried in church the process he had learned at the play, and, it must be confessed, not without effect, Chrissy's expression giving a fair notion of the good Priorton minister's earnestness and eloquence. But at length Chrissy, aware of the liberty Bourhope took in thus making her his study, got restless Nor was there anything like duty to the Spottiswoodes to stand between Bourhope and Chrissy. But still Chrissy's nice sense of honor was disturbed, for had she not a guess that a very different result had been expected? Nay, she had even a halfcomical notion that she herself had been expressly selected as a companion to Corrie Hunter during the gayeties of the yeomanry weeks, to prove a sort of harmless foil. A dream of love was a grand shock to Chrissy's quiet life, making wild, yet plaintive music, like all nature's true harmonies, within her; and filling her mind with tremulous light which glorified every object and was fain even to dazzle herself. It was not unnatural that Bourhope should excite such a dream. But Chrissy was not completely dazzled. It was only a dream as yet, and she would be the mistress of her dream; it should not be the mistress of her. So she resolved, showing herself a reasonable, thoughtful, conscientious woman, as well as a loving, fairly proportioned and lovely human spirit. Chrissy retained all her sober senses. She recollected what was due both to the hero and to the others concerned. She was neither a weak victim, nor a headstrong, arrogant, malicious conqueror. Like all genuine women, she struggled against yielding herself without her due, without a certainty that there was no irreversible mistake in the matter. She was not a girl to get lovesick at the first bout, nor one to run away at a worthy lover's beckoning, though she would sacrifice much, and do it proudly, joyously, for true affection, when once it had confessed itself. So she shrank from Bourhope, slipped away from him, and managed to avoid him. He was puzzled and vexed and almost exasperated by doubts as to whether she cared for, or wished to accept his notice and regards. Little brown Chrissy taught the bold yeoman a lesson in her own quiet way. She slowly forced upon him the conviction that any gifts or attainments of his-the prosperous, cultivated farmer laird were as dross compared with the genius and acquirements of Chrissy Hunter, whom many short-sighted men called insignificant and plain amid the poverty and cares of Blackfaulds. Bourhope was not radically mercenary; he had no certainty that his superiority in worldly estate would secure the strange good upon which he set his heart, and he was at once stimulated and incensed by her indifference to his advances. So he had no communication with Chrissy, apart from a demure interchange of words in general conversation, for three days before the grand review and the ball, except in a single incident touching the pipe-claying of his belts. 1 Every Saturday, THE OLD YEOMANRY WEEKS. The gentlemen of the old yeomanry who had not | was not a finer man or a more promising dragoon in Chrissy's bright, tranquil satisfaction in contemservants to do it for them did their own pipe-claying, the regiment than Bourhope. and might generally be seen doing it very indifferently to the accompaniment of private whistling, or plating from the box of Mrs. Spottiswoode's phaeton social bawling to each other over adjacent walls, in the stand of county ladies, with their gorgeousness the back courts and greens of Priorton. Bourhope and grace, was decidedly impaired. The review, was one day doing his rather gloomily in the back with its tramping and halting, its squares and files, court, and succeeding very ill, when Chrissy, who its shouting leaders, galloping aides-de-camp, flashsaw him from a window, could endure it no longer. ing swords, and waving plumes, was certainly very Chrissy was not what most intellectual women are fine. All the rest of Priorton said so and proved an abstracted, scared being, so, for they stood or sat for a whole day witnessing described as being, with two left hands. The exigency of her situation it, under a scorching sun, on foot and in every deas eldest daughter at Blackfaulds had rendered her scription of vehicle from a corn-cart to a coronetted as handy as other girls, and only unlike them in carriage. Yes, the review was very fine to the How mass, but it was but a confused, hollow, agitating being a great deal more fertile in resource. of the grand, general rank and file by concentrating could such a woman stand and see Bourhope de- play to Chrissy as to Bourhope. Still she lost sight stroying his accoutrements, and in danger of smearing himself from head to foot with pipe-clay? She her regard on one little scarlet dot. It was to her therefore came tripping out, and addressed him with a play with its heart awanting, and yet the whirl some sharpness: "That is not right, Mr. Spottis- and movement were welcome for a moment as subwoode; you will never whiten your belt in that stitutes for that heart. way; you will only soil the rest of your clothes. I watched the old sergeant doing it next door for Major Christison. Look here," — and she took the article out of his hands, and proceeded smartly to clean it. Poor Bourhope bowed to her empire, though he would much rather their positions had been reversed; he would rather a thousand times have brushed Chrissy's shoes than that she should clean his belts. She was gone again the moment she had directed him. A portion of his belt was now as white as snow; but nothing would have induced her to stay. Bourhope was new to the humiliations as well as the triumphs of love, that extreme ordeal through which even tolerably wise and sincere spirits must pass before they can unite in a strictness of union He was not exactly grateful deserving the name. for the good suggestion; indeed, he had a little fight against Chrissy in his own breast just then. He told himself it was all a whim; he did not really care for the girl, one of a large family in embarrassed circumstances. No, it would be absurd to fall in love with a little coffee-colored girl, one of whose shoulders was a fraction of an inch farther out than the other. He was not compelled to marry either Corrie or Chrissy, not he. Pooh! he was not yet half through with his bachelor days. He would look about a little longer, enjoy himself a little At the word enjoyment Bourhope stopped short, as if he had caught himself tripping. If Chrissy Hunter was ugly, she was an ugly fairy. She was his fate indeed; he would never see her like again, and he would be a lost and wrecked man without her. more. The ball remained, and Bourhope was resolute it Others besides Bourhope had determined on makMrs. SpotTheir affair ing the ball a theatre of explanations. tiswoode was not pleased with the aspect of things as between Bourhope and Corrie. made no advance, and the ball was the conclusion of the yeomanry weeks. The yeomen were already, to all intents and purposes, disbanded, and about to return, like Cincinnatus, to their reaping-hooks. Corrie was evidently not contented. She was listless and a little peevish, unless when in the company of other yeomen than Bourhope, a rare thing with Corrie, who was really a very harmless girl, But she looked elegant in her ball-dress, and had always a train of admirers on such occasions. And then, of course, many men needed the spur of jealousy to Chrissy, too, had her own fears and doubts about induce them to take the bold leap of matrimony. this ball. Bourhope hitherto had only pursued her, if he had pursued her, in rather a secret manner. public occasion. His conduct would then be marked She would now see how he would treat her on a and conspicuous, and even Mrs. Spottiswoode's and Corrie's eyes would be opened to it. Then, again, he would have an opportunity of contrasting her THE review and the ball were still in store. Bour-personally with all the girls about Priorton. Chrissy hope would not be beaten with that double shot in gazed wistfully into the glass, as she fastened her It would go hard with the brown, curly, yellowed scrimp old white frock and sighed. But independent laird if he were beaten, for already he she did not look so much amiss as she supposed; And with her scarlet coral beeds twisted among was shaken more in his pride and confidence than she was young, slight, and full of subtle character. But her first he had ever thought to be. her dark little turret curls and bows, there was piquancy and attraction in her. reserve. IV. The review for which all the drilling had been undertaken went off without serious effect on the contesting parties. The only thing was, that Bour-purely disinterested and unbounded pleasure in the hope was so disturbed and so distracted in his mind gayety was grievously checkered, and it was to be that he could not attend to orders, and thus lost his feared the account she would carry home of her character as a yeoman, and all chance of being first ball to expectant Blackfaulds would be disapAnd this, although pointing. future fugleman to his corps. the major had said, when the drills began, that there There were only two chaises in repair in Priorton, to convey the whole towns-people in rotation to the ball. It was thus unavoidable that some should be very early as well as some very late. Mr. Spottiswoode, as provost, was of course among the first after the Colonel and his lady,-old country people, who stood arm-in-arm, bluff and bland, under the evergreens over the door, and shook hands with everybody, great and small,—a family of pretty girls, meanwhile, laughing behind them. Mrs. Spottiswoode wore a splendid bunch of white feathers tipped with straw color in her blue gauze turban. Even Chrissy's dazed eyes noticed that, as well as the white ribbon in Provost Spottiswoode's bottle-green coat, which pointed him out an honorary steward. But how handsome brown curly Bourhope looked in his red coat! A strange thought came over Chrissy. She did not wish Corrie, in her white crape and French ribbons, and so tall and straight and fair, to be blighted in her beauty. No, not for a moment. But Chrissy was cruel enough to cherish a passing wish that, by some instantaneous transformation, Bourhope might be pitted with small-pox, or scarred with gunpowder, or have premature age brought upon him as with the wave of a wand, the soul within being left unchanged, however. Mrs. Spottiswoode, unlike Chrissy, was quite alive to the practical. She remarked everything with keen eyes, and determined now to be at the bottom of the business. She should either go in and win triumphantly, or take a sudden tack and sail away with flying colors, as if she had never entertained the most distant intention of coming to close quarters, and thus give the impression that she never had any intention of promoting a match between Bourhope and Corrie. Mrs. Spottiswoode thought Bourhope looked as if he were going to do something desperate. His first blunder had been to hand, or rather lift, Chrissy into the chaise, instead of Corrie, at starting from their own door. He repeated the unaccountable blunder at the County Rooms, which compelled him to take Chrissy into the ball-room; and while Chrissy was still gazing in bewilderment and admiration at the evergreens, and chalked floors, and laughing couples, Mrs. Spottiswoode could scarcely believe her ears when she distinctly heard Bourhope ask Chrissy's hand for the first dance, saying that he would have engaged it before if he had got the opportunity. tiswoode would have called it a flirtation, and more than a flirtation. Chrissy looked well in her shabby dress, almost pretty indeed in the new atmosphere. Mrs. Spottiswoode was aggrieved, disgusted in the first instance, but she would not just yet believe such an incredible contradiction to her well-laid scheme. Match-making involves many parties, there are such numerous wheels within wheels of calculation and resource. She glanced at Corrie, who was dancing very complacently with the Colonel's nephew, and exchanging passing words with yeomen who tried to get speech with her. In her white crape and teeth as white, and her dimples, she was safe, heart-whole and prosperous, a beauty who might pick and choose a suitable husband, even though infatuated Bourhope should throw himself away. Mrs. Spottiswoode gave a sigh of relief. Failure now would only be comparative. The dance being over, Bourhope sat down beside Chrissy. No, she turned her head the other way, and he rose up and strolled through the room. But he was soon back in his old place. He wanted to dance with Chrissy again. She hesitated, grew nervous, and cast her eyes on Mrs. Spottiswoode. He went straight across to their hostess, and said, " Mrs. Spottiswoode, you have no objection that I dance this dance again with Miss Chrissy Hunter ?" "None in the world, Bourhope," said Mrs. Spottiswoode, with a spasmodic smile; "why should I?” "Why, indeed," he returned, 66 or every dance? May I tell her so?" That is as she and you may agree. You are aware that would appear something serious," she said, trying to laugh. "I will take the consequences," he significantly assured her, and went back and told Chrissy so; and then he drove her to her inmost citadel, and beat her there. Other eyes than Mrs. Spottiswoode's were attracted to the pair. Half a dozen matrons' heads went wagging significantly; girls whispered and tittered; gentlemen opened their eyes, shaped their mouths, as if about to whistle, strolled up and took their observations of the preoccupied, unconscious couple quite coolly, and then speculated and gossiped. Mrs. Spottiswoode read these comments as well as what had gone before, and was ready with her Now Mrs. Spottiswoode had no doubt that Bour- magnanimity. It was this which constituted her a hope would solicit her sister Corrie for this dance, truly able tactician. She shifted her tack before and therefore she had peremptorily forbidden Corrie the shout of malicious exultation and ridicule could to engage herself in any other quarter, even when have been raised at her discomfiture. By a dexterCorrie had demurred at the certainty of the arrange-ous sleight of hand she shuffled her cards, and altered ment. It was very odd of Bourhope, unless he her suit. In a moment, Mrs. Spottiswoode was thought Chrissy would have no chance of any other winking and nodding with the matrons interested partner and wanted to spare a plain little girl's in the news of the night.. She arrested a goodmortification at the very commencement of the even-humored yeoman, and crossed the room on his arm, ing. "That must be it," Mrs. Spottiswoode said to express and receive congratulations. "You have to herself, and was consoled by Corrie's hand being immediately requested for the Colonel's nephew. The Colonel's wife opened the ball with the most popular and oldest private for partner, and of course Chrissy and Bourhope stood below Corrie and the Colonel's nephew. But Bourhope and Chrissy did not mind Corrie's precedence, and were talking to each other quite intimately. Bourhope was forgetting the figure and bending across to Chrissy, though he was saying nothing particular and speaking out quite loud. But he looked engrossed and excited. If it had been any other girl than Chrissy, Mrs. Spot- | for my found out the secret? Foolish fellow, Bourhope; |