as I am now, I shall almost bring myself to believe that Doctor Asprey is wrong, and that I, as it were, exist upon my illness. That was a sharp attack that I had last night, but it seems to have left no special ill effect behind it, as I am in my normal state of lassitude and weariness."

"Even that is good hearing," said Gerald, "for I was prepared to find you a prisoner to your room, and I had something particular to say to you."

Again," cried the invalid, with uplifted eyebrows and a quaint expression of horror in her face. "Oh, for the happy days, when we had no mysterious communications to make to one another. I begin to feel myself like a modernised Mrs. Radcliffe, and expect to find trap-doors in the library floor, and see sheeted spectres gibbering in the park."

"You will readily understand what I have to ask you," said Gerald. "I need not enter into the details of the quarrel between father and son. I may simply say that it arose from my obedience to an obligation laid on me by my mother on her deathbed, and

"Is it positively necessary, my dear boy, that we should enter into these family matters ?" asked the invalid, querulously. "It is," said Gerald, "in so much as that in his conduct to me, as in every act of his life subsequent to his parting from my mother, Sir Geoffry has been guided by a belief in his wife's misconduct, if not actual shame. It is necessary that he should be enlightened on that matter, and that the truth should be told to him."

Gerald," cried Mrs. Entwistle, with an ineffectual struggle to raise herself on her couch, "you would not betray me ?"

"I would vindicate the memory of the dead," said Gerald.

"But at my expense. Wait till I am gone, my dear boy; you will not have to postpone your explanation long, and-and my views have somewhat altered since last night."

"You wish you had not told me this story," said he, bending over her and taking her hand.

"With all my soul I wish it," said Mrs. Entwistle, earnestly. "It is natural enough and to be expected, of course, but your manner seems changed and different towards me this morning. And I-I have been, and am so fond of you."

"But she was my mother," said Gerald, sadly. "Ah, you will not leave her memory with this stain upon it! I am, I know, the only person in the world whose affection

you care for, and God knows it is not for me, owing as I do almost everything to your kindness, to sit in judgment on matters which took place almost before my existence. Your conduct to her has been atoned by your conduct to me, and if my futher lost his wife through your acts, I have found a second mother in you."

As he said these words he bent over the couch, and kissed the wan cheeks, down which the tears were coursing. Then he continued: "But you will not refuse to make reparation by letting me see my father to clear his mind of the groundless suspicion which has so long possessed him, and of showing how harshly his wife was treated by him.'

"I should not object to that," said Mrs. Entwistle, with something of the old sarcastic ring in her voice. 'Major Heriot never appreciated my sister, and, even in his most devoted days, treated her with a frigid courtesy which would have led any woman with a little spirit to hate him."

"You will not object, then, to my seeing Sir Geoffry, and acquainting him with what you told me last night?"

"You must do as you will," said the invalid, wearily; "but a very short time, and I shall be beyond the influence of his wrath, however violent it may be."

So the concession was granted, though unwillingly, and Gerald determined to go down to Springside, where he had ascertained that his father was residing, and make an effort to see him. He was sufficiently acquainted with the violence of Sir Geoffry's temper to appreciate fully the difficulty of his task, and he allowed to himself that, even if he succeeded in obtaining admission into his father's presence, he would yet be far from attaining the object of his visit. Once admitted to an audience, much doubtless rested with him, and his success would greatly depend on his power of holding himself in check, and rendering himself invulnerable to the taunts, and worse than taunts, with which he was likely to be greeted. Looking at the motives which influenced him, the restitution of his mother's good name, and the reparation of the wrong which had been done to her during her lifetime, and to her memory since her death, the young man felt that he would be enabled to fulfil his self-imposed task in the spirit in which he had conceived it. It would be a difficult task no doubt, but it should be undertaken in a proper spirit, and would, he hoped, be carried out successfully.

Gerald did not purpose going to Springside until next morning. He did not think it would be kind to leave Mrs. Entwistle until he had seen whether the access of illness, which had induced her to send for Doctor Asprey, gave any signs of reappearance, and, moreover, he had something else to do that morning. Something particular, apparently, so attentive was he to a second toilet, which he seemed to think it necessary to perform after quitting his aunt's presence, and at the conclusion of which he left the house and struck across the park towards Kensington Gardens.

The broad walk, which had been lately filled with fashionable promenaders, was now almost deserted, and the turfy paths of the long green alleys were already dotted with freshly fallen leaves. In many spots the grass had been worn away entirely, in more it was brown, brittle, and stubbly; the leaves lay where they fell, being not yet sufficiently numerous, in the gardener's opinion, to be worth the trouble of collection. The children usually found there, taking in the best imitation of fresh air under the circumstances, had gone to the seaside, accompanied by their nursemaids, and even the shabby-genteel people, whose business in life seems to be to sit on the extreme edges of the seats and eat captains' biscuits, had forsaken their haunts. Struck by the contrast between the gaiety which the scene had presented on the last occasion of his visiting it, and the desolation which then characterised it, Gerald Hardinge stopped and looked round, then, with a shiver, was turning away, when he caught sight of a figure, with its back towards him, some little distance off.

A female figure, trim, neat, and lissome, strolling along with somewhat languid steps, and idly pushing up the grass with her parasol. Just the sort of figure to induce a wish to see the face belonging to it. No wonder, then, that Gerald Hardinge, after a minute's hesitation, started in pur

suit.

"I'm going blind, I fancy," he said to himself, as he hurried along. "It was by the merest chance that I saw her, and yet I felt certain she would not neglect my summons. How wonderfully graceful she is; how much improved since the old days!"

The next moment he had gained the lady's side. She gave a little cry as he stood suddenly before her, hat in hand. She had been startled by his appearance, and the colour flushed up into her cheeks.

"But you expected me, Rose ?"

"Oh yes; but at the moment I was thinking of-something else."

"You are as candid as ever." "You would not have me otherwise, Mr. Gerald ?"

'Certainly not. Equally certainly I will not have you call me Mr. Gerald." "What would Mrs. Entwistle think if she heard me call you anything else ?" "Mrs. Entwistle is not here. What made you refer to her ?"

"I don't know; she came into my head."

"I notice she always does come into your head, or, at least, you always allude to her, whenever you are annoyed. You did not like Mrs. Entwistle, Rose ?"

"I did not take any violent fancy to her."

"So I was sorry to see."

"Were you? Well, then, if it will please you, I will take a violent fancy to her, Mr.-I mean, Gerald."

"Don't be absurd, Rose; you are in one of your teasing humours, which always provoke me.

"Then you should not have written to me to meet you at so short a notice, and come upon me so suddenly when you arrived. It was lucky your letter found me, as I might have started off for my holiday."

I knew you would not go without letting me know, and giving me the chance of saying good-bye. Rosc, can you be serious for a minute ?"

There was something in his tone which caused her to put off her light laughing manner in an instant. "Of course I can, Gerald," she said, earnestly. If my nonsense pains you I—"

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'You know there is nothing I love to listen to so much," interrupted Gerald; "but just now I have something in downright sober earnest to say to you, my child. You have known me, little Rose, in two very different positions in life."

"Yes," said Rose, rather sadly; "long ago, when you were a scene-painter; now, when you are a-a swell."

"Yes; you fancy that I have returned to

"Discarded you, Gerald-for what?" "Principally for siding with my mother, with whom also he had quarrelled, believing she had deceived him. It has just been my fortune to discover that his suspicions of my mother were utterly unfounded, and I am going to him to-morrow to prove this to him."

Coming on such an errand he will be sure to welcome you and take you back into favour, Gerald," said Rose, with yet a touch of sadness in her voice.

"I am by no means so sure of that. If he does, well and good. I will ask nothing of him but his recognition and his name." "What is his name, Gerald ?" "That you shall not know, little Rose, until I have seen him. Curious, too, that you should ask, as it is a matter in which you may be interested."

"I, Gerald? How ?"

Surely you must know! Surely long ere this your heart must have told you how dear you are to me, Rose. Will you not answer me?" he said, taking her hand and passing it lightly through his arm.

"I-I-I thought you liked me, Gerald," said the girl, looking down.

"Liked you!" he echoed, with a laugh. "I like you so much that I am going to ask you to be my wife, to share my fortunes, and to take my name when," he added, with a touch of bitterness, "when it is decided under what name the remainder of my life is to be passed! What answer do you give me, Rose ?"

She gave him none, beyond what was conveyed in the momentary upward glance of her large eyes, and in the slight pressure from the little hand that trembled on his arm. It was, however, apparently enough for Gerald, who, after glancing hastily round to see that there were no observers within sight, bent down and touched her forehead with his lips. 66 Thank you, dearest one," he said. "You are taking a leap in the dark, and have not the least idea what fate may be in store for you. But, whatever it is, I shall be by your side to share its troubles. Another twenty-four hours will determine whether I am to remain an outcast under a false name, or to resume my position as my father's son."

"You are determined, then, to see your father, Gerald ?"

him of its truth. Whether I fail in this, or whether I succeed, all I should ask of him would be the permission to bear his name. I want no money from him. I would take none."

"Then if your father is still obdurate against you, Gerald, you will go on living as you have done lately?"

"Not entirely, little Rose. In the first piace, I shall have you with me, and in the next I am determined to shake off this laziness under which I have so long been labouring, and to work for my living."

"That's good hearing, Gerald," said the girl, looking up delightedly at him. "What you said last, I mean," she added, noticing the smile upon his face; "though I don't mean to deny that to become your wife will be the fulfilment of my dream of happiness."

"It is very sweet of you to make such a confession. How long have you had this dream, Rose?"

It

"Almost all my life, it seems to me. began I think in the old days at Wexeter, when you used to give me drawing lessons in Miss Cave's lodgings. You recollect Wexeter, Gerald, and Madge ?" "Yes," he said, "of course I recollect Madge well."

"I was almost jealous of Madge once, I remember. I used to think you liked her, Gerald, but that of course was absurd. Poor darling Madge, how surprised she will be at what I have to tell her! I shall write to her directly I get home."

"I think you had better leave it until you can tell her something more definite, dearest," said Gerald. "By to-morrow night I shall know what effect the communication I have to make to you will have upon my father, and you can then write more fully as to your future to your sister. Now talk to me about yourself."

The approach of autumn, which strikes with dismay the inhabitants of most watering-places, whether inland or on the coast, is regarded very calmly by the dwellers in Springside, for to those who have been prudent enough to invest their savings in lodging-houses in that favourite spot, there is no portion of the year which does not bring its due amount of profit and gain. When the summer is over, and the London families, who have been making a holiday sojourn in the city of springs, return to the city of smuts, the Springsidites view the departure of their visitors with perfect composure. They know that after a very short interval, just long enough for

them to go through the process of a "thorough clean up," and the substitution of winter for summer furniture, their lodgings will be again filled, and this time by a class of tenant, rich, valetudinarian, and certain to remain for many weeks. This interval, however, though made much of by those who take advantage of it for the perform ance of necessary labour, is generally voted desperately dull by the better class of inhabitants, most of whom try to make their escape to more congenial places. Sir Geoffry, in particular, very much resented the state of affairs at this dull season of the year. Most of his club cronies were away; it was next to impossible to get up a rubber; and even the few friends admitted to the intimacy of Wheatcroft, were among the defaulters. Cleethorpe was shooting in Scotland, and Mr. Drage had gone over to attend a church congress, which was being held at Bircester. Sir Geoffry could have put up with all of this if Mrs. Pickering had been at home to talk with and read to him, but she had asked for a few days' holiday, and of course he had not dreamed of refusing her.

The instant she was gone, the old general felt her loss. There was a letter from Irving a long letter-full of business, which he would have liked to submit to her consideration, and in which he would not stir without her advice. He had grown accustomed to consult his housekeeper in almost everything, and to place great reliance on her judgment.

"A wonderful woman, sir!" Sir Geoffry said of Mrs. Pickering to his friend Cleethorpe, just before the gallant captain started for his shooting-box in the Highlands. "A wonderful woman! Most women have a knack of hitting the right nail on the head, but this they do by accident, by intuition, as it is called, and can never tell you why! Now, Mrs. Pickering is always right, and can always give you her reason for being so. You did me an immense service, sir, when you persuaded that lady to undertake the management of my household."

But Mrs. Pickering was gone, and had taken her judgment with her, and Sir Geoffry was left alone, to use strong language at his loneliness and the dreariness of his house, and to render the lives of his servants almost insupportable, by the variety of his orders and the caprices of his querulous temper.

On the second night after Madge's departure, just at the time that she was entering the grounds at Hollycombe, Sir

Geoffry was seated at the window of the dining-room, looking out into the garden, and wondering what he should do if chance ever removed Mrs. Pickering from his service. The mere idea of such a contingency made him hot with vexation; it was not like the same place without her, and nothing seemed to go on rightly in her absence.

"And yet," said the old general to himself, "and yet I'm likely to lose her at any moment. She's a young woman still, and a handsome woman, and attractive in every way, and is certain to be picked up sooner or later. If I were a younger man myself I should be too glad of such a wife; and of course there are hundreds who have the same idea. Perhaps at this very moment there is some confounded fellow talking to her, and making up his mind that he'll ask her to marry him. What's that?"

He started, and, shading his eyes with his hand, peered out into the gloaming.

"I could have sworn I saw a figure," he said, turning back into the room, "but there is nothing there. I'm nervous tonight, and shall set the doctor's warning at defiance, and take a glass or two of port. Absurd to think that a man of my figure, without any hereditary tendency to gout, should

He stopped, attracted by the noise made by the opening of the door, and looked in that direction. He saw the door open, and a man's figure enter the _room and advance quickly towards him. For an instant the old general thought he was attacked, and his hand closed upon the neck of the decanter he was lifting from the sideboard, as his handiest weapon of defence.

The figure, however, stood upright and motionless before him. As far as he could make out in the dull uncertain light it was that of a tall, well-knit young man, with a full and flowing beard.

Sir Geoffry eyed it for a moment in silence, then he said: "Who are you, and what is your business here, sir ?"

"I want to see you,' was the reply; but no sooner did the old general hear the tones of the voice from which it was attered, than he relaxed his hold of the decanter, and stepping a pace forward, waved his hand toward the door.

"I know you now!" he cried, in loud and angry tones; "I cannot discern your features, but I recognise your voice! How dare you insult me by your presence? Leave the house at once!"

"Father," said the young man, submissively.

Coming on such an errand he will be sure to welcome you and take you back into favour, Gerald," said Rose, with yet a touch of sadness in her voice.

"I am by no means so sure of that. If he does, well and good. I will ask nothing of him but his recognition and his name." "What is his name, Gerald ?" "That you shall not know, little Rose, until I have seen him. Curious, too, that you should ask, as it is a matter in which you may be interested."

"I, Gerald? How ?"

Surely you must know! Surely long ere this your heart must have told you how dear you are to me, Rose. Will you not answer me?" he said, taking her hand and passing it lightly through his arm.

"I-I-I thought you liked me, Gerald," said the girl, looking down.

"Liked you!" he echoed, with a laugh. "I like you so much that I am going to ask you to be my wife, to share my fortunes, and to take my name when," he added, with a touch of bitterness, "when it is decided under what name the remainder of my life is to be passed! What answer do you give me, Rose ?"

She gave him none, beyond what was conveyed in the momentary upward glance of her large eyes, and in the slight pressure from the little hand that trembled on his arm. It was, however, apparently enough for Gerald, who, after glancing hastily round to see that there were no observers within sight, bent down and touched her forehead with his lips.

"Thank you, dearest one," he said. "You are taking a leap in the dark, and have not the least idea what fate may be in store for you. But, whatever it is, 1 shall be by your side to share its troubles. Another twenty-four hours will determine whether I am to remain an outcast under a false name, or to resume my position as my father's son.”

"You are determined, then, to see your father, Gerald ?”

him of its truth. Whether I fail in this, or whether I succeed, all I should ask of him would be the permission to bear his name. I want no money from him. I would take none."

"Then if your father is still obdurate against you, Gerald, you will go on living as you have done lately?"

"Not entirely, little Rose. In the first place, I shall have you with me, and in the next I am determined to shake off this laziness under which I have so long been labouring, and to work for my living."

"That's good hearing, Gerald," said the girl, looking up delightedly at him. "What you said last, I mean," she added, noticing the smile upon his face; "though I don't mean to deny that to become your wife will be the fulfilment of my dream of happiness."

It is very sweet of you to make such a confession. How long have you had this dream, Rose?”

It

"Almost all my life, it seems to me. began I think in the old days at Wexeter, when you used to give me drawing lessons in Miss Cave's lodgings. You recollect Wexeter, Gerald, and Madge ?" "Yes," he said, "of course I recollect Madge well."

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"I was almost jealous of Madge once, I remember. I used to think you liked her, Gerald, but that of course was absurd. Poor darling Madge, how surprised she will be at what I have to tell her! I shall write to her directly I get home."

"I think you had better leave it until you can tell her something more definite, dearest," said Gerald. "By to-morrow night I shall know what effect the communication I have to make to you will have upon my father, and you can then write more fully as to your future to your sister. Now talk to me about yourself.”

The approach of autumn, which strikes with dismay the inhabitants of most watering-places, whether inland or on the coast, is regarded very calmly by the dwellers in Springside, for to those who have been prudent enough to invest their savings in lodging-houses in that favourite spot, there is no portion of the year which does not bring its due amount of profit and gain. When the summer is over, and the London families, who have been making a holiday sojourn in the city of springs, return to the city of smuts, the Springsidites view the departure of their visitors with perfect composure. They know that after a very short interval, just long enough for