kneeling-cushion, placed at about the middle of the altar-railing, as if for early use. Mountclere strode to the vestry, somewhat at a loss how to proceed in his difficult task of unearthing his brother, obtaining a private interview with him, and then, by the introduction of Sol and Chickerel, causing a general convulsion.

"Ha! here's somebody," he said, observing a man in the vestry. He advanced with the intention of asking where Lord Mountclere was to be found. Chickerel came forward in the same direction.

"Are you the parish clerk?" said Mountclere to the man, who was dressed up in his best clothes.

"I hev the honour of that calling," the man replied.

Two large books were lying before him on the vestry table, one of them being open. As the clerk spoke he looked slantingly on the page, as a person might do to discover if some writing were dry. Mountclere and Chickerel gazed on the same page. The book was the marriageregister.

There plainly enough stood the signatures of Lord Mountclere and Ethelberta. The viscount's was very black, and had not yet dried. Her strokes were firm, and comparatively thick for a woman, though paled by juxtaposition with her husband's muddled characters. In the space for witnesses' names appeared in trembling lines as fine as silk the autograph of Picotee, the second name being that of a stranger, probably the clerk.

"Yes, yes-we are too late it seems," said Mountclere, coolly.

Chickerel stood like a man baked hard and dry. Further than his first two words he could say nothing.

"They must have set about it early, upon my soul," Mountclere continued. "When did the wedding take place?" he asked of the clerk, sharply.

"It was over about five minutes before you came in," replied that luminary, pleasantly, as he played at an invisible game of pitch-andtoss with some half-sovereigns in his pocket. "I received orders to have the church ready at five minutes to eight this morning, though I knew nothing about such a thing till bedtime last night. It was very private and plain, not that I should mind another such a one, sir; " and he secretly pitched and tossed again.

Meanwhile Sol had found himself too restless to sit waiting in the carriage for more than a minute after the other two had left it. He stepped out at the same instant that Christopher came past, and together they too went on to the church.

"Father, ought we not to go on at once to Ethelberta's, instead of waiting?" said Sol, on reaching the vestry. "'Twas no use coming in here."

"No use at all," said Chickerel, as if he had straw in his throat. "Look at this. I would almost sooner have had it that in leaving this

church I came from her grave-well, no; perhaps not that, but I fear it is a bad thing!"

Sol then saw the names in the register, Christopher saw them, and the man closed the book. Christopher could not well command himself, and he retired.

"I knew it. I always said that pride would lead unworthy man, and so it has!" said Sol, bitterly. now? I'll see her."

Berta to marry an
What shall we do

"The best course

"Do no such thing, young man," said Mountclere. is to leave matters alone. They are married. If you are wise, you will try to think the match a good one, and be content to let her keep her position without inconveniencing her by your intrusions or complaints. It is possible that the satisfaction of her ambition will help her to endure any few surprises to her propriety that may occur. She is a clever young woman, and has played her cards adroitly. I only hope she may never repent of the game. A-hem. Good morning." Saying this, Mountclere slightly bowed to his relations, and marched out of the church with dignity; but it was told afterwards by the coachman, who had no love for Mountclere, that when he stepped into the fly, and was as he believed unobserved, he was quite overcome with fatuous rage, his lips frothing like a mug of hot ale.

"What an impertinent gentleman 'tis," said Chickerel. "As if we had tried for her to marry his brother!"

"He knows better than that,” said Sol. "But he'll never believe that Berta didn't lay a trap for the old fellow. He thinks at this moment that Lord Mountclere has never been told of us, and of our belongings."

"I wonder if she has deceived him in anything," murmured Chickerel. "I can hardly suppose it. But she is altogether beyond me. However, if she has misled him on any point she will suffer for it.”

"You need not fear that, father. It isn't her way of working. Why couldn't we have been sooner? Why couldn't she have known that when a title is to be had for the asking, the owner must be a shocking one indeed D the title!"

"The title is well enough. Any poor scrubs in our place must be fools not to think the match a very rare and astonishing honour, as far as the position goes. But that my brave girl will be miserable is a part of the honour I can't stomach so well. If he had been any other peer in the kingdom, we might have been merry indeed. I believe he'll ruin her happiness—yes, I do-not by any personal injury or rough conduct, but by causing her to be despised; and that is a thing she can't endure."

"She's not to be despised without a deal of trouble-we must rcmember that. And if he insults her by introducing new favourites, as they say he did his first wife, I'll call upon him and ask his meaning, and take her away."

"Nonsense-we shall never know what he does, or how she feels; she will never let out a word. However unhappy she may be, she will always deny it-that's the unfortunate part of such marriages."

"An old chap like that ought to leave young women alone, d him!"

The clerk came nearer. "I am afraid I cannot allow bad words to be spoke in this sacred pile," he said. "As far as my personal self goes, I should have no objection to your cussing as much as you liked, but as a servant of the church my conscience won't allow it to be done."

"Your conscience has allowed something to be done that cussing and swearing are godly worship to."

"The prettiest maid is left out of harness, however," said the clerk. "The little witness was the chicken to my taste-Lord forgive me for saying it, and a man with a wife and family!"

Sol and his father turned to withdraw, and soon forgot the remark, but it was frequently recalled by Christopher.

Sol.

"Do you think of trying to see Ethelberta before you leave?" said

66

Certainly not," said Chickerel. "Mr. Mountclere's advice was good in that. The more we keep out of the way the more good we are doing her. I shall go back to Anglebury by the carrier, and get on at once to London. You will go with me, I suppose?"

"The carrier does not leave yet for an hour or two."

"I shall walk on, and let him overtake me. If possible, I will get one glimpse of Lychworth, and Berta's new home; there may be time, if I start at once."

"I will walk with you," said Sol.

"There is room for one with me," said Christopher.. "I shall drive back early in the afternoon."

"Thank you," said Sol. "I will endeavour to meet you at Coomb." Thus it was arranged. Chickerel could have wished to search for Picotee, and learn from her the details of this mysterious matter. But it was particularly painful to him to make himself busy after the event; and to appear suddenly and uselessly where he was plainly not wished to appear would be an awkwardness which the pleasure of seeing either daughter could scarcely counterbalance. Hence he had resolved to return at once to town, and there await the news, together with the detailed directions as to his own future movements, carefully considered and laid down, which were sure to be given by the far-seeing Ethelberta.

Sol and his father walked on together, Chickerel to meet the carrier just beyond Lychworth, Sol to wait for Christopher at Coomb. His wish to see, in company with his father, the outline of the seat to which Ethelberta had been advanced that day, was the triumph of youthful curiosity and interest over dogged objection. His father's wish was based on

calmer reasons.

Christopher, lone and out of place, remained in the church yet a little

longer. He desultorily walked round. Reaching the organ-chamber, he looked at the instrument, and was surprised to find behind it a young man. Julian first thought him to be the organist; on second inspection, however, he proved to be a person Christopher had met before, under far different circumstances; it was our young friend Ladywell, looking as sick and sorry as a lily with a slug in its stalk.

The occasion, the place, and their own condition, made them kin. Christopher had despised Ladywell, Ladywell had disliked Christopher; but a third item neutralised the other two: it was their common lot. Christopher just nodded, for they had only met on Ethelberta's stairs. Ladywell nodded more, and spoke. "The church appears to be interesting," he said.

"Yes. A detached tower is rare in England," said Christopher.

They then dwelt on other features of the building, thence enlarging to the village, and then to the rocks and marine scenery, both avoiding the malady they suffered from-the marriage of Ethelberta.

"The village streets are very picturesque, and the cliff scenery is good of its kind," rejoined Ladywell. "The rocks represent the feminine side of grandeur. Here they are white, with delicate tops. On the west coast they are higher, black, and with angular summits. Those represent grandeur in its masculine aspect. It is merely my own idea, and not very bright, perhaps."

"It is very ingenious," said Christopher, "and perfectly true."

Ladywell was pleased. "I am here at present making sketches for my next subject-a winter sea. Otherwise I should not have-happened

to be in the church."

"You are acquainted with Mrs. Petherwin-I think you are Mr. Ladywell, who painted her portrait last season?"

"Yes," said Ladywell, colouring.

"You may have heard her speak of Mr. Julian?"

"Oh yes," said Ladywell, offering his hand. Then by degrees their tongues wound closer round the subject of their sadness, each tacitly owning to what he would not tell.

"I saw it," said Ladywell, heavily.

"Did she look troubled?"

.

"Not in the least-bright and fresh as a May morning. She has played me many a bitter trick, and poor Neigh too, a friend of mine. But I cannot help forgiving her. I saw a carriage at the door, and strolled in. The ceremony was just proceeding, so I sat down here. Well, I have done with Knollsea. The place has no further interest for me now. I may own to you as a friend, that if she had not been living here I should have studied at some other coast-of course that's in confidence."

"I understand, quite.”

"I only arrived two days ago, and did not set eyes upon her till this morning, she has kept so entirely indoors."

Then the young men parted, and half-an-hour later the ingenuous Ladywell came from the visitors' inn by the shore, a man walking behind him with a quantity of artists' materials and appliances. He went on board the steamer, which this morning had performed the passage in safety. Ethelberta single having been the loadstone in the cliffs that had attracted Ladywell hither, Ethelberta married was a negative which sent him away. And thus did a woman put an end to the only opportunity of distinction, on exhibition walls, that ever offered itself to the tortuous ways, quaint alleys, and marbled bluffs of Knollsea, as accessories in the picture of a winter sea.

Christopher's interest in the village was of the same evaporating

nature. He looked upon the sea, and the great swell, and the waves sending up a sound like the huzzas of multitudes, but all the wild scene was irksome now. The ocean-bound steamers far away on the horizon inspired him with no curiosity as to their destination; the house Ethelberta had occupied was positively hateful; and he turned away to wait impatiently for the hour at which he had promised to drive on to meet Sol at Coomb.

Sol and Chickerel plodded along the road, in order to skirt Lychworth before the carrier came up. Reaching the top of a hill on their way, they paused to look down on a peaceful scene. It was a park and wood, glowing in all the matchless colours of late autumn, parapets and pediments peering out from a central position afar. At the bottom of the descent before them was a lodge, to which they now descended. The gate stood invitingly open. Exclusiveness was no part of the owner's instincts; one could see that at a glance. No appearance of a wellrolled garden-path attached to the park-drive, as is the case with many, betokening by the perfection of their surfaces their proprietor's deficiency in hospitality. The approach was like a turnpike-road, full of great ruts, clumsy mendings, bordered by trampled edges and incursions upon the grass at pleasure. Butchers and bakers drove as freely berein as I cers and peeresses. Christening parties, wedding companies, and funeral trains, passed along by the doors of the mansion without check or question. A wild untidiness in this particular has its recommendations; for guarded grounds ever convey a suspicion that their owner is young to landed possessions, as religious earnestness implies newness of conversion, and conjugal tenderness recent marriage.

Half-an-hour being wanting as yet to Chickerel's time with the carrier, Sol and himself, like the rest of the world when at leisure, walked into the extensive stretch of grass and grove. It formed a park so large that not one of its owners had ever wished it larger, not one of its owners' rivals had ever failed to wish it smaller, and not one of its owners' satellites had ever seen it without praise. They somewhat avoided the roadway, passing under the huge, misshapen, ragged trees, and through fern brakes, ruddy and crisp in their decay. On reaching a suitable eminence, the father and son stood still to look upon the many-chimnied