resolved to devote himself to the missions in Ceylon, and, moreover, as his uncle would hear from home, having engaged himself to the lady doctor with whom he had sailed.

His letters were of course gone home, but the tidings could not but pervade the house before ten minutes were over; and Elizabeth sat wondering how Agnes was to hear them, and whether they would almost break her heart. No one, except the mother, could help acquiescing in Sir Jasper's observation that it was just what might have been foreseen. It was always the way with those boys.

CHAPTER XXXI.

HIS BRIGHT PARTICULAR STAR.

On the Sunday afternoon after that week of anxiety and excitement, Juliet Willingham went out by herself in search of solitude and an opportunity for reflection. It was one of the days of still, warm sunshine that come after the frosty nights of October; the trees had not lost their russet tints; the sky was blue, and over everything there was a sense of peace.

Juliet walked away from the town along a pleasant road which, raised a little on a low hill-side, looked over a space of pretty commonplace country, now veiled and softened by the autumnal haze. She sat down on a bench which was placed under a group of trees a mile or so out of the town, the church-tower of which formed an object in the landscape. A blue line of smoke and a distant rattle showed the afternoon train, which, last Sunday, had brought Lewis back from London. This had been a more peaceful Sabbath; but Juliet was very tired; she had been under a great strain of effort and feeling, aggravated by the fuss and bustle of the small quarters at the Quaking Cottage, and by the worry of anxiety about George Buckley, who had not turned up at his father's house, and whose fortunes were much on Lewis's mind.

Juliet sat still, enjoying the solitude and silence. The moment was approaching on which she had long fixed in her own mind to tell her family of her intention to adopt the stage as a profession. Mr. Belville's words were a distinct encouragement, and she knew that Clarence, though he had avoided the subject, had some plan in his mind as to the way in which she could enter on her preparation. She knew that for an outsider she had an

exceptionally good chance, and, though she was as well aware as without further experience she could be, of the kind of difficulties likely to await her, she was firmly convinced that the sacrifice was for her worth while, and that true maidenliness consisted, not in shrinking from disagreeables, but in steering her way bravely and sensibly through them.

Even while her heart swelled at the thought of Aunt Minnie and home, she knew that the home life would be intolerable to her, since she was in no way necessary to the two sisters (the Major's views had never dawned on her imagination). She must obey her call and do what she was meant to do. She had made up her mind, and, though she had always been a far less religious girl than Agnes, the effort of the decision had so deepened her whole nature that she had now prayed earnestly for help and guidance, feeling the need of it as she had never done before.

She had made up her mind, and nothing she thought could make her alter it. Nothing? Could she ask Clarence Burnet now to help her; could she leave home and friends and step out into his world now? Every inherited and inborn instinct within her made her feel that she must go home to Aunt Minnie and-wait. How could she ask for, or even accept, his comradeship and his help, if he wanted so much more from her, or if, still worse, he did not want it, while she--? What was one dark, passionate gaze, at such a moment, to build on either way? And how could girls work with men at all, if such considerations were to upset their arrangements?

The idea that Clarence Burnet could be her lover had, when it first glanced across her mind, startled her exceedingly. All the considerations which her relations were whispering to each other lay dormant in her mind. She would fain have denied her own feelings and his. But Juliet's scheme of life led her to face facts, and she surely knew that she loved him. He had deepened and widened the world for her; but even while she tried to look at it sensibly,' all the unusual elements in the matter only made her feel the more that the next step must be his.

Of course if her indifference, or his indifference, could be satisfactorily established, the whole matter might be ignored, and she could proceed with her purpose. But it was so unlucky that she could not see him. Here she rose with a start, for along the road came Alaric Lambourne, with a lady beside him. Juliet's plans all went out of her head. Now she would know if he was really better.

Alaric stopped with a cordial greeting.

'Here is my wife,' he said. 'She did not think Clarence and I were capable of looking after each other, so she came yesterday to keep us in order.'

'I did not know what foolish things he might do, Miss Willingham,' said Mrs. Lambourne. I could have better trusted his cousin to look after him.'

How is Mr. Burnet?' said Juliet, anxious to get the important question properly put without delay.

'Really better,' said Alaric. He is up on the sofa to-day. I am going to carry him off soon to Monks' Warren, for he mustn't use his knee for some time; but I want to stay till poor Randall's operation is over. So I hope "As You Like It" to-morrow I'll try and make a better hand of Orlando.

will be a success.

this time.'

I am very glad you can play,' said Juliet, 'for Lord Rotherwood and some of his cousins are coming over for it, and I'm sure they would rather see you than Mr. Howard.'

'Oh,' said Alaric, 'I'm frightfully out of practice. It would drive Clarence frantic to see me.'

He says you play Orlando much better than he does.'

'Ah, but we know better, don't we?' said Alaric, with a smile. 'Emily, we ought to be turning. Are you on your way back, Miss Willingham?'

Juliet walked back beside them, and Alaric talked congenially of dramatic topics. Both he and his wife were pleasant and friendly, so that Juliet began to feel at her ease, and put questions much to the point as to the reading given by Miss Ellen Terry of the great Shakespearian part then before the public.

As they came back they encountered Lewis and Selva also returning from a Sunday stroll, and, at the door of their lodging Mrs. Lambourne asked Lady Willingham if she would come in for a few minutes and see Clarence, who was equal to a short visit, and would be glad to see his friends.

Come and report on me, Miss Juliet,' said Alaric, as he went on before them, and in a minute or two Juliet found herself in the front drawing-room of the lodging-house, where Clarence lay on a sofa by the fire, with his left arm in a sling, and his eyes looking blacker than ever. He hardly spoke a word, except to say that he was much better, and Selva made commonplace talk with the Lambournes, while Markham brought in the tea, and

Lewis looked rather stiff and ill at ease. Presently Clarence asked him if he had heard anything of Buckley.

No. It is impossible to say what fool's trick he may have been up to. This is the first time I've had a chance of expressing what we all owe to you, Burnet; I am sure my cousin feels deeply what you saved her from, and we regret exceedingly that you suffered so much yourself.'

There was an indefinable stiffness in Lewis's manner as he made this proper acknowledgment, which struck on Clarence's

keen ears at once.

'I daresay I might have managed it better,' he said, coldly. I ought to have seen that the scene was shaky. Then perhaps I shouldn't have knocked it down.'

He did not look well enough for much company, and, after drinking a cup of tea, Selva rose to take leave, and backed up her husband by a pretty little speech to Clarence about all the many ways in which he had helped them, and, if this was goodbye before they all went back to Ousehaven, she must thank him for all his kindness. She did thank him, but she contrived to convey a sense of conclusion to the intimacy in every word. 'I only did what I undertook to do, Lady Willingham,' said Clarence. I regret that I have been unable to fulfil my engagement to the end'

'Now,' said Alaric, quaintly, if any one echoes that sentiment, it won't be civil to me.'

Under cover of the laugh thus raised the visitors departed; Juliet was tongue-tied and spell-bound; but her straightforward young fingers gave Clarence's a warm pressure even while she could not speak or look, and at the door she suddenly turned and darted back again.

Mr. Burnet, I thank you a great deal more for all your teaching than for anything else, and—if I get on really, it will be owing to you.'

She was gone before he could speak, while Clarence lay back flushed and breathless, and Alaric and his wife looked at one another in silence. Mrs. Lambourne shook her head. She had tried the little experiment, at her husband's suggestion, but she could not think the result satisfactory. Presently she took up her jacket and went away, while Alaric moved over to the sofa, and sat down by it.

'Now,' he said, 'my dear old boy, you are going to tell me all about it.'

'Since you ask-I suppose you know?' said Clarence, gruffly. 'When did it begin?' asked Alaric.

'On the first day I ever saw her. There's nothing to be said, Alaric. I went into it with my eyes open. Now, I must pay for my whistle. There's nothing to say; I understand all about it. Of course such an idea never crossed their minds as a possibility. Their point of view is perfectly natural, no doubt.'

'I should think that the young lady's intention of going on the stage might modify it.'

'They can't loathe the idea more than I do,' burst out Clarence with vehemence.

'That's rather a complication.'

'Her heart is set on it! Neither I nor anyone else has a right to stop her. And I had thought of how it might be managed for her. Miss Lascelles, you know, lives with her mother in Kensington; she coaches beginners; she is a very good sort, and would take proper care of her, and use interest for her too. And now Belville has taken a fancy to her. You see-if-if-if-I wasn't a fool, I could look after her better than any one else could-if she must do it.'

'But could not you look after her still better, since you are— as you say a fool-about her?' suggested Alaric.

'I am certain of her absolute and entire indifference to me!'

'Oh, well, you can't get "back of that," anyhow, if that's the case.'

'You don't understand,' said Clarence, more gently, after a silence. 'She is utterly single-minded. She has set this object before her, and she has the power to carry it out. She isn't unpractical. She thinks she faces the difficulties. She thinks she knows all about it. Good heavens! to think she ever should know! Not that she could be hurt-that's impossible-but that she should be exposed to all the rough and tumble of stage-life-that she should have to fight her way to success! It's maddening!'

'And so you don't think they guess your feelings?' said Alaric, without a direct reply.

'They did not. They would as soon have suspected Rigg! They never did suspect that poor fool Buckley, because he isn't of their own sort; but after all the sense was knocked out of me— I don't know. But they'll forget it, or think it a temporary infatuation. I suppose I can do what I promised for her, and