Our care. We do not love by space and measure, Margaret; I had no need to take from you to give to her. Had it been so, I should have felt that it was not my duty to keep her with me, my own daughter has the first right, and she will ever have it; but my daughter must try to conquer this very sinful and very groundless jealousy and envy, or she will make us all very miserable. And a jealous spirit unchecked and fostered now may grow to something frightful in after-days. My dear, pride is at the bottom of it all."

"May not some of it be that I love you and papa so much, and that all these years you have given me all the love you had to give?"

"I think not; because we have never neglected you for Miriam. Margaret, I have seen something of this spirit in you ever since you were a very little girl. You are scarcely a child now; it is time you examined your heart; it is time you began to regulate your own conduct. And oh, my dear, do pray for a meek and lowly spirit; be willing to take a lower place, if it be God's will; do not strive to be first; you do not know what misery will come of it, in future years, when your father and I are not here to protect you from yourself."

Then mamma prayed with me, and kissed me, and sent me into the open air, for I had cried so much that I was beginning to have a headache; and, altogether softened and ashamed of myself, I went out into the fields behind the house. The sunset was glorious, bathing all the sea and land in loveliest, richest hues; a purple glow was on the distant hills, and rosy clouds flecked all the deep blue sky, and were reflected on the quiet waves, while the great scarred cliffs were ruddy and bronzed, as it were, in the mellow evening light. I began to ascend the hill, that I might the better look across the bay and see the Chell Lighthouse gleaming like a silvery star on the distant promontory; and, as I wound round the lower path, I came upon the churchyard gate, for our parish church was half up the slope of Combe, and served the suburb of North Combe, and the more distant village of Upper Combe,

on the other side of the low green hill. I thought I would go and look at Mrs. Downing's grave, and ask God there to give me another heart, and take away my pride and the cruel jealous spirit that was in me.

But there, sitting on the scarcely green turf, was Miriam herself, her head bowed down in an abandonment of grief. The churchyard was very solitary and the evening still, and, as I advanced among the tombs, I heard her say, half in French and half in English, "Oh, mamma! mamma! Oh, dear God, do let me come to Thee! But if I may not come yet, oh! make me patient, make me fit to be with Thee in Thine own happy heaven." And again the childish voice broke off its prayer, and sobbed, “Oh, mamma! my own darling mamma!"

All my heart was melted then, and I stepped softly over the grass, and took the little one to my bosom, and kissed her fondly, and tried to comfort her. "Mirrie dear," I said, "your mamma is not here—she is there!" and I pointed to the azure dome, where already the first lamps of night were palely shining forth.

She ceased to weep, but clung to me convulsively; and presently she said, "I know that, Margaret; I know she is with Jesus, and He will take me to be with her some day, and with papa and little Charley, who went away so long ago. But it is hard waiting, and it may be many years; only, if it is right, I must try to be happy and to be good; but Margaret, Margaret, do love me!"

Smitten to the heart, I told her I did love her, and at that moment I really did; and then she nestled in my arms- -I was so very much taller and stouter than she was-and whispered, "I wonder if mamma knows that you love me? If she does, she loves you too; and I know she loves uncle and aunt," meaning my father and mother; "and oh, Margaret! best of all, Jesus loves them for being so good to me, a poor child, with no one in the world. And I must try to be very good; and you will help me, will you not? I can't be clever, but I may be good; and oh, everybody is ery good to me!"

CHAPTER VIII.

THE NORTH FORT.

AND what about Gilbert all this time,-Gilbert, my ancient friend and staunch ally? I must go back a little, and tell you of the marvellous change that had come over the fortunes of the Tredgolds. The old gentleman-not so very old either, only at fourteen one thinks fifty a patriarchal age-had turned out to be exactly as my vivid fancy had painted him-rich, influential, a bachelor, and not remarkably good-tempered. But, amiable or unamiable, he took to Gilbert Tredgold, to whom he owed his life; and from the first hour they spent together in the best bedroom at the Royal Hotel, took a lively interest in his concerns, and seemed never tired of talking over all kinds of subjects with him.

The old gentleman, as I persisted in calling him—he had just entered on his forty-ninth year-was a Mr. Saunderson, a Southam merchant; and he had a very charming place of his own at Tenterly, half-a-dozen miles out of the great bustling sea-port where his business lay; and to this secluded spot he determined to carry Gilbert, as soon as they should both be sufficiently convalescent to undertake the journey; for Gilbert was by far the greater sufferer of the two. Mr. Saunderson seemed to be made of very tough and leathery materials, and had evidently a sort of guttapercha constitution; since within twenty-four hours of the wreck he was quite comfortable, and delighted to go over the adventure again and again for the benefit of all who cared to listen to him; while Gilbert had to lie in bed, restless and feverish from his injured arm, which, for the time being at least, was altogether hors de combat. Indeed, the hurt took such troublesome ways, that at one time both my father and Mr. Warden were very apprehensive as to the result.

But, while Gilbert was medically attended and carefully

F

nursed, Mr. Saunderson was not idle: he ran down to Southam for a day or two, and when he returned he made all kinds of inquiries about his protégé, and, of course, learned the very humble circumstances of his family, though not their pretensions to the Tredgold-Austell estates. All that he learned pleased him greatly, and he went often to the cottage where Stephen Tredgold lived, and talked to him about the fishing trade and the loss of the "Little Gipsy." And the two held very serious and confidential conversations, and something more than ordinary was certainly mooted-something which gave Mr. Saunderson occasion to correspond with certain Government authorities, and even took him up to town-a journey not so easily accomplished then as now.

The result was presently shown to the intense satisfaction of all concerned, including the inmates of Kelver House, but rousing the envy of some people, who had " never cared for those Tredgolds, with their stuck-up ways, keeping themselves to themselves as if they were better than common folk." Mrs. Tredgold was quite right when, in her simple faith, she had said either they needed their boat no more, or something better was in store for them.

Mr. Saunderson had settled to take away Gilbert, but he knew right well that Gilbert was the mainstay of the family, and that, boy as he was, his services could not be dispensed with without severe loss and detriment to the humble fortunes of the Tredgolds.

Of course, the chief question with which he had to deal was some provision for the Tredgolds, Gilbert being permanently removed, and the "Little Gipsy" gone. It would have been easy enough for Mr. Saunderson to buy another and far more serviceable boat; for about his being “ very rich," it seems I had guessed rightly. He could buy gallant vessels fit to circumnavigate the world if so it pleased him, and, of course, he could have become the owner of a whole fleet of fishing smacks had he chosen. Everybody expected that the "Little Gipsy" would be replaced by a far tighter trimmed craft; that Stephen Tredgold would glory in new

nets, and that all possible fishing appliances would be histhe best that could be purchased. But "everybody" was wrong; nothing of the kind occurred.

Between St. Eldred's and North Combe was a long, rocky promontory, jutting out far into the sea; the road to the town was cut round the inner base of the wooded hill which ended in this promontory, called North Point. Passing through the wood which skirted the high road, you came upon two little cultivated fields; then, upon a long, low line of building; then a smooth level of fine thymy turf; then terraces and earthworks, partly the design of nature, and partly the result of science also. And on the highest level were placed two guns, commanding all the bay, and protecting not only the small harbour of St. Eldred's, but the mouth of the river, which led to the more important haven further on. The long one-storied house was called the North Fort, and it had always been inhabited by some half-superannuated sailor or soldier, and was supposed to be connected with the coast-guard. As for the guns, there they were, supposing the French or other adverse powers should send a fleet into the Channel; but their chief present use was for effecting a feu de joie on the 18th of June, and on other National anniversaries. And, of course, there was a flagstaff and a flag; and it was the duty of the inmate of the Fort to hoist the Union Jack upon occasion, and also certain mysterious arrangements of bunting, which the vessels in the offing understood, and which signals were repeated at Chell Point and at other points beyond, as far as the great town of Southam. The duties of the North Fort man were very light; but still it was essential that he should be something of a seaman-no mere land-lubber could fill the post, or would ever be appointed. And when Mr. Saunderson came first to Kelver House to ask my father's counsel, and to tell us he thought he could secure the station for Stephen Tredgold, we all felt that this would be better than a dozen "Little Gipsies."

Some influence was needed even in the case of so very petty an appointment, and some canvassing was necessary;