less easy in his love. So great a favourite as Jack appeared to be with his aunt and cousins, might end by becoming the favourite of Esther herself. To be sure, she said not. Esther assured him that, even had there been no cousin Luke in the world to bring her carnations, cousin John would have remained an object of aversion; and it was only when the younger brother passed with ease under the doorway of his father's cottage, which compelled the more finely developed Jack to bow his head, or surveyed his own inferior proportions, betrayed by his shadow, when walking homewards at sunset, that his heart sank within him on reflecting upon the influence exercised by personal attraction on every female eye and heart.

Of the charm of his sweet countenance and gentle address he knew nothing. But even had he been aware that many an artist would have given him his day's worth in gold, to sit as a study for the head of St. John, or the beloved disciple, he would have dreaded lest the favour of Esther's family, the natural love

of change, and the passion which, according to his misgivings, he soon found to be professed towards her by his brother, might, in the end, prevail against him.

All this he freely admitted to his only confidant and friend. For living in undivided affection with his indulgent father, what other friend or confidant had he need to seek? To all his lamentations, however, John Downing made his usual reply,-" Bide a bit, my boy, bide a bit till you're old enough to step into my shoes. And when you've got a house over your head, and a living provided for you to give bread to a family, then, Luke, I'll step over to Norcroft myself, and have a talk with my sister about what's to be done for you, and settle all with her husband, so as a man in Harman's hap is not like to find fault with.”

To a homestaying man like John Downing, who had not been half a mile beyond the bounds of the parish for as many years as Luke was old, the exertion of "stepping over to Norcroft" seemed to ensure half the success of the enterprise.

“But one thing, Luke," his father could not refrain from adding, "one thing, my dear boy, bear always in mind; that however long this wedding may be in coming about, none the less would be the sin in the sight of God, if you made it a pretence for wishing your brother ill, or withholding from him the love which the Almighty exacts between brethren. Remember, Luke, that however secret the sin, before the face of the quick and the dead must be the atonement! At the last day, that searching eye which seeth into our inmost hearts, will judge betwixt thee and thy brother!"

CHAPTER III.

Revenge my foul and most unnatural murder.

HAMLET.

As months and years passed on, John Downing's exhortations to his younger son concerning the virtue of family concord were so often renewed, as to afford proof that the young man's provocations were neither few nor far between. It is true that John seldom made his appearance at Hartington; never, unless for the purpose of wrangling out of his father the means of indulging more costly vices than were within reach of a farming man's wages. He usually came penniless, and rarely went away empty-handed.

But it was not on these occasions he vented his animosities against his father's favourite and successor in office. Backed in his own parish by the parson and constable, his father

was too important a personage to be trifled with by maltreatment of his boy; and it was only when they met at Norcroft that Jack took occasion to repay with interest the double injury of being supplanted with his father and

his love.

His worst usage, however, was borne by Luke with the courage of the lion and meekness of the lamb; always the first to extend his hand for reconciliation, and comforted under the sense of his wrongs by the certainty not only of being best beloved by Esther and his father, but that throughout his native village there existed not a breathing soul he did not call his friend.

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They all like me. Not a neighbour we have got that would hesitate about doing me a good turn"-was his secret reflection; and it served to make his head lie lighter on his pillow.

While things were in this situation, John Downing was standing one fine summer morning in his cottage, with the doors open to admit the dewy fragrance of the early morn,