The first night he speaks, and of course is scorned and reviled; a friend's interposition only saves him from being personally insulted. The second night he receives reluctant attention; the third, he excites breathless interest, and a friend in tears clasps his hand. He soon rises to some high place: whether that of prime minister or not is not exactly set forth; but he guides the councils of his country; whilst the angel woman watches over the toiling man."

"Oh, yes! I have it all before me," applauded Sir Hugh.

Constance had a most universal capacity for enjoyment, and took great delight in Sir Hugh; contriving to parade his devotion all the more from her having been annoyed by her good mother-inlaw's remarks upon the subject that morning. Both that lady and Louisa mutually encouraged each other in their wrath against Constance's little entertainment with Sir Hugh.

It was not all entertainment to her, though; or at any rate it was a very shallow one:-she had an anxious, tired look, the moment she left off talking and laughing; and said on the staircase, that she must have sleep, and could not stop and talk to the girls; so she kissed them in that way which I have observed lady friends sometimes have of kissing each other.

There is not the slightest need to kiss at all, but

they do it; and in a wooden, mechanical way, as the people in patterns on old Chinese porcelain might, without the slightest unction and with the tip of their lips; thinking, perhaps, the while of the trimming of a gown, or the arranging of a party.

Constance did not go to bed, though, but sat down to write. There were one or two tears in her eyes, which she brushed away with her pretty hand. Tears were a rare occurrence with her; and if they did come, I believe that a book, or music, or a fancy, brought them more quickly than the real events of life would do. But is it not so with very many of us now-adays? To-night there was less of sentiment and more feeling in those tears: and in truth there was some cause for them.

She was thinking of many things: her early joyous marriage; how much she was in love with Frank Everett-that weak, selfish, and not very sensible man-that good-looking, good-natured, and sometimes remarkably ill-tempered man-and she had waltzed and sung duets with him once, till they danced and sang themselves into love: at least, so they fancied. Then he had neglected her; for he was so little accustomed to consider anybody besides himself: and yet, when he felt at last how thoroughly he had wearied her, and how cold she had grown to him, she had thought then that he had somewhat regretted the love that he had lost. But that was

gone, and it was not in the nature of any earthly circumstances that it should return to him; none could ask it of her, or judge her for it. And yet he was not altogether bad: the fault seldom lies entirely either with one thing or one person-hardly anything in nature is perfectly black; but what a relief it would be to all of us very often, if we could blacken aught entirely, and have full reason in our own minds for doing so!

woman,

Constance was wishing that she had been a different and that the circumstances of her life had differed also. She was conscious of her superiority to her husband, and to one of her gay and reckless nature, this was a greater misfortune than it would have been to many another. She had grown up in that worship of intellect which clever uneducated people feel, often far more strongly and indiscriminately than those who have been more cultivated, and who have tasted oftener of the fruit of the tree of knowledge: it was not in her nature that her heart should ever go beyond her intelligence.

It was nearly two years since her husband had been ill, and mad; and a dreary out-look it was for her to think of the many more years of lonely childless marriage which might yet await her. She was cheered now and then by sapient promises from doctors and friends of her husband's recovery: not

that that recovery would have added much to her happiness; but poverty, and the dependence which it brought, pressed heavily upon her, and he might have added to her material comforts. She had just received a letter which told her of some amelioration in his state, and she had rather angered Mrs. Everett by her unwillingness to set off to him immediately; but Constance had naturally enough requested a further confirmation of his recovery, and wished to wait a little before she decided. She changed her mind, though, that evening, and wrote to say that she was coming, and resolved to please Mrs. Everett the next day by the announcement of her resolution.

Now all that was settled: and settled the more quickly because she was angry. A letter from Mr. Erskine lay in the depths of her writing-book, which had vexed her for two whole days-a longer time than she mostly allowed anything to do, if she could help it. It was a letter of advice; the first of such a nature that he had ever written her: and "it shall be the last," thought she. He had been her tried, devoted friend for some years; she had turned to him on all occasions when she had needed help; and well did she know her power over him. He had seen her a few times in London talking to Sir Hugh; he had heard of her at Ilderton and Millthorpe Grange, and always, always Sir Hugh. He could not find any valid excuse for suddenly rushing into her

neighbourhood; and then what on earth could his being there avail? he could not mount guard upon Constance at Ilderton, and what were her proceedings, or Sir Hugh's, to him?

Mr. Erskine was just then a little beside himself: nobody ever intends deliberately to think, feel, and act as they often do; and for his own peace and comfort, he had never meant to take that desperate interest in his friend Mrs. Everett's reputation which he did. He could not ask his mother too many questions on the subject; and she would not have comforted him, for she was always glad to make sensible reflections and speak of Constance's imprudence. She had the sixth sense which we always possess for divining the true relations of those we love. She naturally liked Constance, and recognised her fascination, but now she was instinctively afraid of her; was glad that she had a husband, and wished him long life: indeed, she always caught up any one rather sharply who expressed an opinion that he would never recover.

So Mr. Erskine wrote to Constance, having firmly persuaded himself that she would take it well, and told her that she was talked of, and that the kind world took cognisance of her flirtation with Sir Hugh. He begged her to care for her reputation; begged her to forgive him; to forgive the thought and care which he could not but have for her, and his wish