prospects, I felt greatly cheered and strengthened. Surely there were happy days in store for me; surely I had reason to thank God for the intelligence which had reached me after the long, dreary interval of utter silence and suspense. Now I felt a new vigour, a fresh impetus to work, a hope— it might be a wild one, but there it was, and I did not strive to banish it-that in due time Gilbert would return to claim me, and that some day, in the far distance yet, the fairy vision of that memorable evening at Cleeve would become reality.

All I

Miriam and I were dear friends now; and after a while I told her how deeply I regretted the wicked jealousy and the cruel unkindness of other days. "But it all came back to me," I said one day. "I, too, knew what it was to be an orphan and alone in the world, and to meet with coldness and aversion where I hoped at least for toleration. made you endure, Mirrie, was visited upon me a hundredfold; for I had to bear not only neglect and indifference, but positive ill-treatment; for Sibyl oppressed me in many ways, and taunted me, and upbraided me with faults I had not committed, and even the servants were encouraged to treat me with disrespect."

"Oh, Margaret, dear, how hard it must have been! But, indeed, there is very little that I have to forgive, if forgiveness, as you say, is necessary to your peace. You were always really good to me; only I wanted more love than you could give. I was an exacting little creature, I believe, rather inclined to be morbid and fanciful.”

"No, indeed! I never saw anything morbid about you." "I gave you real cause for unhappiness, Miriam. You do not know how horribly jealous I used to be of every caress you received, of every attention paid to you. I could not bear not to be first in everybody's regard; that was the great secret of my naughtiness to you and to other people. Ah! I was taught better! Many a bitter but needful lesson I had to learn. I had to accustom myself to take the lowest place -to be last instead of first. I wanted humiliation, if ever proud spirit did, and I had it abundantly."

"It will all work for good in the end, Margaret."

"I know it, dear. I trust and believe it has worked for good already. Some natures require but little discipline; but mine was one that called for heavy chastisement-perhaps it still needs the rod."

After these talks with Mirrie, all my friends told me that I looked quite another creature. The Brewster girls said my old companion had cheered me wonderfully; while Mrs. Brown rejoiced over my improved health and spirits; and Jane asked me one day, rather timidly, whether something had not transpired to make me very happy?

I had so much confidence in her now, and she had been so much of a sister to me in my seasons of depression, and in a slight illness I had at the commencement of that winter, that I felt it would be a relief to speak once more of that which was nearest my heart. Accordingly, I told her why I had left my family clandestinely; why I had been so anxious to preserve the secret of my whereabouts; and why the necessity of anything like mystery was happily no more. I had nothing now to hide; for the one person for whose sake I had sought concealment could be no longer benefited by my maintaining the sort of incognito I had assumed. Henceforth I had no secret to guard. I could be open as the day, though of course all that concerned my attachment to Gilbert was for her ear alone.

A more faithful friend than Jane Brown I could not have found; and she was sympathizing as faithful, and wise as sympathizing; and I always felt stronger and more inclined to patient waiting after my conversations with her. She was going to be married early in the ensuing summer, and I felt that I should miss her sadly, though she was going no further away than the Hampstead-road. Still, Jane Brown and Mrs. Wright must be in some sense very different personages; but I hoped that I should have news of Gilbert-perhaps see him-long ere Jane's wedding day arrived.

And so that second winter in London passed away, and I hailed with joy the lengthening days, and looked eagerly for he first snowdrops in Russell-square; for "early in March" Mirrie had said Gilbert might be looked for at St. Eldred's.

And I had written to Alice Tredgold, and told her where I was, and what I was doing, and entreated to be told about themselves. And Alice had written back very fully, speaking freely, too, of her brother, and telling me as much as she knew of his rupture with Mr. Saunderson, an event which did not seem to have caused any great consternation at the North Fort, for they had long been disenchanted, and had seen Gilbert's future in connection with his tyrannical, prejudiced patron in anything but a promising point of view. I had thought the poor old people would have been stunned at the news of Mr. Saunderson's displeasure; but I found that it was rather a relief than otherwise to know that their son was free once more-for there had been strange, unnatural jealousy manifested by the adopted father with respect to the real parents. Money for them Gilbert might have at pleasure, but intercourse with them must be limited. Mr. Saunderson would rarely permit him the indulgence of a visit to St. Eldred's, and even too many letters from that place evoked his wrath, and made him irritable and suspicious. He would fain-so Alice thought-have separated Gilbert entirely from his kindred; he would provide for them amply, but his protégé his adopted son-must be devoted to himself only! Poor Gilbert! his had been no enviable lot! Apparently he had been kept in complete subjection. The bread of dependence, though gilded metaphorically, as were literally the oats of Caligula's pampered charger, is generally bitter; and Gilbert had found it year by year more unpalatable and more indigestible. At length he was discarded because he would not sell himself for gold and grandeur!

It was my greatest comfort to write to and to hear from Alice; and I begged her to treat me as a sister, and if anything were wanted at home to let me know, since I could know no deeper pleasure, in Gilbert's absence, than to minister to the needs of the parents whom he so fondly and so dutifully loved. And I could do it, for I was laying money by; my wants being few, and in excess of my income, which was continually increasing.

And the snowdrops came and went, and I looked every

day for tidings of Gilbert.

He had sailed in the "Ellerslie"

to Shanghae, and I anxiously searched the columns of shipping intelligence for news of the barque, now due in Southam Harbour. But the month of March slowly, sadly waned— and a very wild March it was, going out as it came in, like a raging lion-and still there was no account of the "Ellerslie;" still Alice had only hopes and anticipations to talk about; and still they watched at the North Fort for blessed tidings of the son and brother. When April came, and the sunny days were bright, my heart grew sick within me; I was glad that I had plenty of work to do, that I really had not time to fret, and wear myself out with miserable forebodings. But patience grew very tired, and faith was weak and wavering.

It was the end of April when I saw in the papers the announcement of two marriages which interested me deeply. The first, and by far the more important, was that of my cousin Sibyl to Mr. Saunderson! The other that of Cecilia Churchman to the "Eustace" she had talked to me about that weary night at Kingsdown. I wondered whether she had married with or without consent. I had not heard from her for some months, her last letter being in answer to mine, in which I thanked her heartily for all her goodness, and returned the £5 she had so considerately forced upon me. She had disclaimed the idea of "goodness," begged me to apply to her if ever I needed money, and she had written in her own particularly rapturous style about Eustace, whom she called "the most archangelic darling in creation;" but she had said not one word about any prospect of marriage, and her father's name was not even mentioned.

I could only hope the "archangelic" Eustace would realize all her expectations. As for the other wedding, I doubted not that both parties would gain exactly what they sought, and, perhaps, a little more.

CHAPTER XLI.

THE OLD PEOPLE.

It was May, and still no tidings of the "Ellerslie," and her owners began to fear that she would never be heard of any more. And others besides her owners feared too; the captain's wife and children, the first mate's orphan sisters, and the sadly anxious family at the North Fort. Alice's letters kept up bravely till the middle of April; then she suddenly gave way, and admitted that the most dreadful apprehensions haunted her continually. The spring had been unwontedly stormy; the columns of all the newspapers daily recorded fresh wrecks, and the names of vessels missing which by calculation ought to have arrived in port; and the minds of all who had any deep interest in seafaring matters were terribly depressed.

As for myself, though the dread was never absent from my mind, though I lay tossing on my bed at night listening to the furious wind dealing with the Bloomsbury and Holborn chimney-pots, and though I dreamt-if sleep surprised mehorrible dreams of shipwreck and drowning, and actually heard the roaring of the waves, and tasted the bitter brine upon my sobbing lips, I never quite lost hope till one fair June morning, when some one told me that on all hands the "Ellerslie" was now counted as lost; that the owners had ceased their inquiries for her; for vessels that had left the port from whence she sailed weeks afterwards were safely moored ere this in London or Easthambury Docks, or were in Southam Water-though all had encountered much foul weather, and some had reached the harbour almost dismantled by the fury of the tempest. All brought news of heavy gales, and signals of distress in every latitude; and some brought home actual accounts of wrecks, of the sea strewn with spars and the débris of lost ships; of boats floating keel upwards on the waves; of rescued crews; of casks and bottles, picked up from time to time, containing last farewells and messages from those who were now quietly sleep