frankly, Minnie. I value the intimacy which enables you thus to hear and impels you to speak to me, more heartily than I can say. But I could argue with you, if time would permit us, the point which you have raised. The Major and Mrs. Montague, however, are coming our way, and I know that we ought to be starting. Let me say, though, in brief, that it is possible to feel the purest love that ever a man felt for a woman—as I did then; and at the same time, to wish, as I was then tempted to wish, to make her his mistress, simply because the Fates forbade that she should become his wife."

"Then I presume," said Minnie, with flushing face and a voice of scorn-"that you were only saved from this disgrace by her indignant refusal !"

"No Minnie! Long and earnestly did I think and ponder the whole thing over in my mind, balancing it this way and that. I could not drive it from my thoughts, you know be cause I could not drive her from my thoughts; and with the thought of her, came that of how I might so devise as to be with her for ever. I had got to justifying to myself a proposal which I thought would not then be a dishonourable one to her or to me, by resolving that if I made it, and it were accepted by her I would be as constant to her as ever husband was to wife."

"Well?"

"Well, just at that crisis, when I was on the point of yielding to my own influences, a novel fell in my way. It was the life of a girl who, though purely brought up, had become a man's mistress out of a sincere love for him, which he—at first -as sincerely reciprocated. But, although he did not at the last absolutely tire of her, he tired of the restraint imposed on him by the tie which existed between them. He was fond of that fashionable life to which he had been born: and the

،

more that he followed its engrossing paths, the less of his time did he devote to the poor little thing who was pining at home for his company. She had none to fall back upon; for her relations had cast her off, and she would not associate with others in her own position whose fast ways had no charm for her. The more she pined and got low-spirited, the more her gay lover used to think his little treasure a bore. At last she was relieved from her troubles. Her heart broke! and she died! This story, Minnie, had the greatest effect upon me. It opened my eyes completely to what might be. I had gone through the phase of thinking that anything short of a vow of fidelity for life to her I wished to place in a similar position, would be the vilest selfishness-a sort of onesided contract which would bind her without binding me. And then, as I reflected on, it struck meWhat if some day I should tire of her or of her relations, and should long for a union with one from a more congenial sphere? or what if I should be pestered by relations to form a matrimonial alliance, if not on my own account, at any rate out of consideration to my "family"— to keep up the name?' Could I resist the temptation, when it was in my power to cast her off like an old coat-when her youth and her girlhood were gone-and to consider that I had done the generous by her in making her a handsome settlement? And even if I did not act thus, Minnie-if I was constantwhy (I reflected) should I condemn her children to a life-long shame? And so I made my resolve, though it cost me many a pang before and since. I went to her-not at the last moment, when I was leaving Oxford-but weeks before it. I told her that marry her I could not; trifle with her heart any longer Ï would not: I besought her to pardon me for having done so as long as I had; and pleaded my inadver

tency. It had all grown on and on,' I said; 'and till now I had never stopped to reflect as to what it might lead to. But now that I had, even though tardily, reflected, I felt that for both our sakes it was best that we should meet no more."

"And she?"

"She answered like a queen : 'Mr. Fitzgerald, you are a gentleman! I thank God that my heart is yet my own! I thank Him and you too, that you have spoken these painful words for I will not deny that they bring with them a pang. I am thankful that you have said them in time. I like you very much. I have never dared to love you, knowing that between us there lay a gulf which seemed always as impassable as you have now declared it to be. You need not my forgiveness. You have not jilted me (as you seem to fear). You have saved me, as

well as yourself, from the risk of a great temptation; and Heaven bless you for it! Did I say I did not love you, Mr. Fitzgerald? I do love you! I love you with the love of one who will ever think of you as her best and truest friend. Such a love as this never breaks hearts!'

"I shook her hand fervently, Minnie; aye, and kissed it. I blessed her-she me ; and we parted for ever!"

"Ernest," said Minnie, "Kate Glover spoke the truth. You are a gentleman. And you deserve the respect and loving friendship of every pure-hearted woman whom you count among your chosen friends."

"I ask only for yours, and I am content!"

We should not mind hazarding a small bet! We feel confidant that some of our readers will say that Ernest did not deserve all the "cockering up' which he received alike at the hands of Kate Glover and of Minnie Seymour; that he undoubtedly did jilt the girl, whatever she, with her woman's spirit, may have assured him to the contrary; and that he ought to have been ashamed to tell such a story of himself. The very idea, too, of telling another man's own young wife, not long married, that he had had thoughts of making the girl his mistress! What credit, too, was it to a man who had heedlessly set up a flirtation with a girl out of his own rank in life, to go to her in a fit of righteous remorse, one fine day, and say in effect: "I never ought to have flirted with you at all; how ever, now that I have done so to a considerable extent, be very much

obliged to me that I do not intend to offer to insult you; and in consideration of this, I hope you may soon get over the heartache which my sudden withdrawal may possibly cause you." So Ernest will be pronounced by these critics a heartless fellow. They will say, some of them, that if he wished to deserve the name of a gentleman, he should never have addressed this young lady at all; for did he not commence the acquaintance deliberately, with his eyes wide open?

As to his unbosoming himself to Minnie, Ernest's critics must remember that to him, just now, she was as a married sister. Perhaps there had already arisen between them an amounnt of regard which exceeded in piquancy that which exists beween brother and sister. Nay, we believe we have already admitted that such a regard was in existence betwixt them, and that it was

gradually increasing in intensity. But as yet, neither of them was aware of the existence in either breast of more than brother and sisterly feelings.

And then, as to Ernest's culpability in his affaire de cœur with the queen-like young lady. Did you never hear, reader, of an old story, concerning a certain young man who behaved very foolishly indeed-got his father to advance his fortune to him, and then ran through it all? Having done so (you surely know the story), he returned to his father, quite sorry for having been so wild-only in his case the sorrow did not come till he had tasted the bitter fruits of his wildness. Well, though it would. have been more creditable to him, of course, if his sorrow had come a little sooner, still the good-natured father never twitted him about that, but received him back again as if he had been a conquering hero.

But this father had another son, who had always been a most exemplary young man; very slow, and steady, and circumspect; in short, propriety itself, in every sense of the word. This young man regularly sulked when he heard of the grand way in which his brother had been treated. He thought that the returned wanderer ought to have been snubbed, and actually called his father to task for what he had done. But he got snubbed himself for his pains.

But we must proceed with our tale.

The Major and Mrs. Montagu, when they rejoined Minnie and Ernest, both seemed somewhat nervous and confused. The Major asked how the drawing was getting on, and after admiring it duly, begged with much fervour that he might have a copy of it.

"And I another, Minnie ! I know you will not refuse your friend," said Mrs. Montagu.

"Why this sudden run upon the

products of my pencil?" thought Minnie, wondering.

"We both of us wish for reminiscences of this lovely spot," said the Major; "because to both of usmay I not say both of us?" he asked, looking towards Mrs. Montagu, who nodded assent-" to both of us it will ever bring back the remembrance of a very happy moment in our lives."

Ernest and Minnie looked at each other with inquiring smiles. Could it, then, have come about so soon? they wondered.

"And what makes this spot so honoured?" Ernest asked, mischievously assuming an air of the most complete unsuspicion.

"Tell them, Major," said Mrs. Montagu.

"Mrs. Montagu has just promised to make me the happiest man in the world," said the Major.

Minnie hugged her friend with a cry of joy, and Ernest cordially wrung the Major's hand; and then there was a general shaking of hands, succeeded by some happy. chaffing.

"I shall have to become your chaperone now, Mrs. Monty," said Minnie. "What fun! I have always, up till now looked upon you as a sort of chaperone to me, although I am a married woman."

"Fitzgerald, I shall already, with an eye to business, begin by securing your services as my best man. I know you will not refuse," said the Major.

"Most assuredly not! Nothing would give me greater pleasure!"

"How strange it all seems!" said Mrs. Montagu. "To think that, a week ago the Major and I did not know of Mr. Fitzgerald's existence, nor he of ours; and now we are such fast friends!"

"Esto perpetua ?" said Ernest. "Long live the happy friendship!"

"Yes; a week ago, what would you have thought of it," said Minnie, "if a little bird had told you, 'You

will meet in Cairo a young Irishman who will take you all for a delightful trip, which will hasten an inevitable dénouement"-(here Mrs. Montagu gave Minnie a playful slap, and the Major actually blushed)" and who will finish up by helping to tie the nuptial knot, my dear Mrs. Monty, between the Major and yourself."

"I think I ought to propose, and Mrs. Montagu to second, a vote of thanks to Mr. Fitzgerald, to be carried by acclamation," said the Major.

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Hip-pip, hip-pip, hurray!" cried Minnie. "Vote carried nem. con. Mr. Fitzgerald called on for a reply."

"I shall begin by moving a vote of want of confidence in the Major, seeing that he persists in calling Mrs. Montagu Misses Montagu."

"Hear, hear, hear!" laughed Minnie. "You see, Major, if you don't stand up for your own rights, we must do so for you! It must be 'Laura,' now and in future; though she may go on calling you Major, if she likes; for it's a nice sort of pet name."

"I suppose," said Ernest, "it is premature to ask now about the time and place for the happy event."

"As for the time," said the Major, "I hope that will be as soon as possible after we all get back to England. Mrs. Montagu must choose the place; but I can only say that even if it is not considered etiquette for the wedding to take place at the home of the bridegroom's brother, I can answer for it as certainly as if my brother were here to speak for himself, that the present company would all be most welcome to his house in Shropshire as soon after the event as the honeymoon will allow."

"Why, Major, you must not be too complimentary to Mrs. Seymour and to me, else Mrs. Montagu will think that you wish to hurry the honeymoon over."

"Our life shall be all honeymoon!" said the Major, taking the hand of his affianced, and looking at her with a frank affection, which augured a happy future more certainly than the warmest protestations of some youth of half his age could have done. At five-and-forty, people know their own minds better than at threeand-twenty.

He

Four very happy souls returned that afternoon to the dahabeeh, at Badrasheyn. Minnie and Ernest were scarcely less so than the newly-engaged pair. For the happiness of so dear a friend as Mrs. Monty was to Minnie something quite her own. And for Ernest it was enough that Mrs. Monty and the Major were Minnie's friends. That was a sufficient passport to his heart. seemed to have known them both. for an age. Moreover, it filled him with delight to think that his little extemporised expedition had been the means of bringing things to so auspicious a crisis. And, independently of the thoughts of their two friends, Ernest and Minnie were so supremely happy in each other's society! The very fact of being together made them feel so-both of them: even if they were not to articulate to each other for half an hour, it would be the same. When people are fond of each other, conversation is not an indispensable. The mere magnetism of being in each other's presence is quite sufficient to produce the calm, luxurious, sunny feeling which whispers within one"How truly happy I am!"

But had not things arrived at a strange pass, when these two young people, a married woman and an unmarried man--both of them (as may have been seen by their conversation on their way to Memphis) highly moral and religious-were going on from day to day, becoming more and more fond of each other? Aye, and when they continued to become so, after he had just been making to her a confession of the

ardent love which he had felt for another woman! Here is, at one and the same time, an act of something very like impropriety, and an act of inconsistency-the impropriety unnatural, when both had such wellregulated minds: the inconsistency apparently inexplicable-for what man could be in love with two women at one and the same time; and what woman would bear to hear a rival talked of with such enthusiasm? The whole thing, in point of fact, was a puzzle. But there are few puzzles without some clue; and this was the clue to the puzzle in question :

Ernest and Minnie were fast falling in love with each other, owing to their utter unconsciousness of the fact; perhaps all the more so because they would have mocked at the idea of such a thing being possible. Had anything happened at that early stage to open the eyes of either of them, there would have been an end of it at once. A time might come when even their high principles might be overborne by the impetuosity of passion-even as a regiment of veterans who had never known defeat, might, at the first onset, be unable to withstand the charge of a foe which had already created a panic and a stampede along the rest of the line in which those veterans stood. But now, so far was the fear or the slightest suspicion of such a danger from their two guileless minds, that they were neither of them in the slightest degree on their guard against it. The enemy could scarce find a more favourable ground for his attack, even with the weakest and most unprincipled pair that ever lived. The attainment of his aim might, in the case in point, be slow, it is true, but would it in the end be less sure?

Their ignorance of the fact that they were falling in love with each other, will also explain the paradox respecting the episode of Ernest's

Oxford love. An unmarried woman receiving marked attention from a young man might naturally feel not a little slighted and piqued if she found herself called on to hear a long story about some other, and, for all she knew, still existing flame of his. While at the same time, it is scarcely possible to suppose that the young man could be sincere in his attachment to both objects, or even to either, if he were to make a confession to one sweetheart of his love for another. It was not as if he had said to No. 2, "I loved No. 1, because I thought her this, that, and the other; but finding that she was not what I took her to be, my love ended." It would have borne rather the aspect of saying to No. 2, "I loved No. 1 till it was hopeless to love her any more. I now offer you the reversion of my heart!" All this would tend to make No. 2 grow cool in her feelings towards him, instead of growing

warmer.

" can

But with Minnie-a married woman, looking upon herself as merely liking her male chum with a warm, sisterly regard-the case was different. "I, who have my mate," she would think to herself, take a warm interest, unclouded by jealousy, in the heart passages of a friend." By-and-bye, when both she and her friend had forgotten Kate Glover for the time being, it would be a different story. If he forgot his old fealty to the absent one, why need she then be the one to remember it? And he! Well, if the lady forgot even her husband for his sake, what could he do lessthan shelve his old love?

And besides, if we are to go on to analyse his feelings, there is a difference between a love embalmed in memories of the distant past, until it had become a mere idealisation, and a love for a present animated reality.

If we are asked to suppose that he could not actually be in love with.