This was spoken at a venture, little thinking how soon his words might come true.

Miss Lawrence's eyes brightened through her tears, an involuntary smile played over her features, and departed as suddenly as it came.

"I think you mean Miss Fairweather. You will not come to Abercorn. You care not if you never see me again."

"How can you make such an unfeeling. speech after asking for a lock of my hair," said Ernest gaily.

"You know I could not help that after what Alice said," and then she added, "I wish you would not compliment me, Mr. Basil. I hate the language of praise which does not come from the heart."

Ernest had hardly time to feel surprise at the earnest manner in which these words were spoken, for the coach started, and Miss Lawrence removed the handkerchief from her eyes to flutter it at the window, while Ernest stood gallantly waving his till the vehicle had disappeared.

"Is she not a kind, warm-hearted girl," said Miss Saunders, "I am sorry and yet so glad she is gone."

"Glad and sorry, that is an enigma. May I ask why ?"

"Because I think she was growing too fond of somebody in Y--."

"She had so many admirers that it is not wonderful if she should have been a little smitten with some one or other of them."

"And you really have no idea who that somebody was ?"

"I have sometimes thought it was that tall handsome Mr. Edwards."

"Nothing of the sort."

"Not Mr. Danvers ?"

Certainly not," said Miss Saunders, in a very decided tone, while a blush at the same time overspread her features, which Ernest could not help remarking.

"And why not Mr. Danvers ?" he said in a rallying tone, which gave the conversation a new turn, and perhaps prevented him from

then making the discovery of the party who had engrossed Miss Lawrence's affections.

"And now," said he, as they reached home, "I must go and dress for a tiresome dinner party. Ah, if Constance were to be there."

CHAPTER XII.

THE SENSE OF LOVER'S NONSENSE-LOVE'S ENCHANTMENT-MISS CONSTANCE FAIRWEATHER RECEIVES SOME PRUDENT ADVICE.

IMAGINE then, gentle reader, the change which has come over the spirit of Ernest Basil's dream. He, but a few short weeks ago so tired of life, so blasé and ennuy'e-now full of hope and joy, energy, love. Ever since he had gone home that evening and poured forth his whole soul in a letter to the only woman he had ever truly loved, he had indeed been a changed How indescribably happy was he now? In what occupation did the day glide by into which Constance Fairweather, either mentally or personally, entered not? He was either walking with her, or sitting at the window watching for her appearance, (for love is so full of devices that he knew the programme of her daily avocations with wonderful certainty,

man.

and was constantly meeting her by the merest chance) or else writing to her, or reading the letters which she sent him, or else listening while others talked of her, and slily prolonging the conversation upon this interesting topic.

The dear, the delightful, the ever-precious, never to be sufficiently prized letter he received that morning. In it Miss Fairweather had signified that she was going to take tea at a certain house, and that if he should be out walking about half-past five, they might meet by chance. It is a fact that Ernest was out walking at that hour, and that they did meet, and though the near approach of Miss Fairweather's departure began to be felt by both, yet they could not be otherwise than happy in each other's presence. The very

obstacles and difficulties under which they met, gave a zest which a more ordinary course of wooing would not have possessed. Surely there is something peculiarly pleasant, if not romantic in walking beside a young lady to whom you appear in the world's eye a mere