ALL AMONGST THE BARLEY.

I.

O Love, O fire! once he drew

With one long kiss my whole soul thro'.

My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew. FATIMA.

A HOT wind swirled the dust beneath the August sun, and nor tree nor rock gave its shelter to Pleasance Forde carrying a bundle and two bandboxes along one of the most monotonous of England's highways. Had it been possible to carry a bundle and two bandboxes tied into a checked handkerchief gracefully, Pleasance would have done so; but, inasmuch as it was not feasible, the task became one she loathed.

Heated, weary, and powdered from head to foot with unsavoury dust, for some half-hour she trudged onwards, till espying a haven of refuge, she deposited her burden on the ground and climbed a gate, over which drooped a heavily-leaved sycamore. She leaned against the trunk of the tree, took off her coarse straw hat, and smoothed back her hair with a grateful sigh.

With the strength and size of an Amazon, Pleasance Forde possessed the exquisite softness of an infant, and as her majestic limbs adapted themselves with the unconscious grace of childhood to her attitude, it was easy to forgive the height, which was her principal defect. A calm, well-cut face, shining auburn hair, sweet mouth, and brown eyes, where smouldered a fire which had never yet blazed-only eighteen, yet a beautiful majestic woman -a woman fit for a queen, albeit holding no more exalted position than Miss Venables of the Withies own maid.

"Train five minutes late, sir; trap from the Withies outside. Black mare, won't stand an instant. Portmanteau, hat-box, rug, yes, sir. Caleb Brook, sir; thank you, sir. Good afternoon."

And presently so long a stretch of straight grey road before him, that William Aubrey began to recal the lessons of his youth and speculate as to what distance from his eye was the vanishing point. Which point, it seemed to him, receded-he was as far from it as ever, when he hailed, as an oasis in the desert, a white petticoat strongly relieved against the sandy background. They gained on the petticoat. Captain Aubrey looked at the groom who drove him-a red and brown hazel-eyed young fellow of three-and-twenty, and following the said hazel eyes with a conviction of their having good reasons for the road they travelled, under their convoy lighted rather to his delight than surprise on Pleasance Forde, in the act of draping the white petticoat artistically over a pretty foot which dangled from the wayside gate.

There was a spice of coquetry in the way her hand went hastily to her shining plaits, and this with an expression in Caleb Brook's face caused Aubrey to express, without delay, a warm hope that his presence might not deprive the lady on such a day of so comfortable a mode of progression as the dog-cart offered.

A few remonstrances from the young woman and Caleb, such as the circumstances demanded, and she was safely accommodated beside Captain Aubrey's portmanteau, Caleb politely encumbering himself with the bonnet-box.

"Oh, Caleb,” said the girl, as soon as they were off, “I really was not aware that you were driving Matilda."

"Yes, Pleasance, it's 'Tilda sure enough."

"Well, then, Caleb, I shall certainly not speak to you; your whole attention ought to be fixed on Matilda; you know how nervous I am. I beg your pardon, sir. I thought I was merely addressing Caleb Brook."

"I quite agree with you in thinking Caleb has enough to do to take care of the mare; don't let's even look at him," said Captain Aubrey, throwing away his cigar, and turning round. “Tell me, are you going most of the way with us?"

"I'm going all the way, sir, to the Withies. I'm Miss Venables' maid."

"Are you, indeed! Well met. You're just the girl I want. You'll put me up to a thing or two. I want to know how the

land lies. You know who I am, I dare say."

"Yes, sir." And Pleasance blushed a little, which was more than did her questioner.

"How long have you been with Miss Venables?" "Nearly a year."

"Well

"Yes, sir."

"Confound the girl, what an artful little puss it is! Can't you see I want you to tell me all sorts of things: whether Miss Venables uses Venetian gold wash, or rose powder, or a camel'shair brush to her eyebrows? Does she swear when her dress don't suit her? or is she peevish when her hair's out of curl?"

"She is so good a mistress to me, Captain Aubrey, that I feel ashamed of having allowed you even to finish your last sentence. Sweet little Miss Venables, with her blue eyes and innocent smiles!"

"I say, do you know you're talking like a book?"

"I talk like myself; if a book talks like me, it's hardly my fault, sir."

Captain Aubrey experienced an unwonted sensation of self-dissatisfaction at having spoken so unguardedly of his fiancée to this prim young Abigail. He felt that she knew it was in bad taste,

and anxious to reinstate himself in the good opinion of so powerful an agent as a favourite waiting-maid, proceeded to pay Pleasance Forde more attention than he would otherwise have accorded her.

Her scrutinising gaze he bore with a calm smile. His tout ensemble could stand inspection, he was conscious, for he was one of those dapper little men who have the faculty of never appearing toil-worn or travel-stained, giving you always the impression of emerging from a box fresh from the hands of a skilful valet. Delicate features, that would not have discredited a fair débutante, were redeemed from effeminacy by a complexion bronzed almost to the colour of the heavy moustache which rested on it. A handsome young man, in short, whose pretty air of conceit just served to set off his good looks in the eyes of the young woman he was addressing.

After a drive, which seemed less short to Caleb than his companions, the gates of the Withies swung open, and admitted them. into what would have been a park had it not borne traces of a recent crop of hay. It was, however, picturesquely shaded by noble old trees, and across it meandered a willowy brook, which had gained for the place its name of the Withies. Further away the ground and the trees rose higher, and in the middle distance the evening sun slanted off the bright rocks of an old quarry on to a large, low, white house, which was the home of Margaret Venables.

They were still a good way from the Withies.

"Caleb, stop a moment. I must be put down here."

"Nonsense, we're a mile from the house. Well, if you must be so wilful, I'll walk too; it won't make a difference of five minutes, and this mouthful of cool air is refreshing after that dusty road." Caleb was not in a position to remonstrate-he drove on; but his expression was not amiable.

"Now tell me, why did you want to get down-and what have you got in that bundle? Shall I carry it for you?"

"No, indeed, sir, thank you, though you might after all feel honoured by the task; for it is a hat for Miss Venables, which should have come in time for to-day's croquet party."

"Merciful heavens! is a croquet party to witness my arrival?" "You were expected yesterday, you know, sir; and I rather gathered from Miss Venables that you were fond of gaiety." "Not the deadly-lively gaiety of the Withies."

"There must be a ray of light wherever Miss Venables moves," observed her maid, casting down her eyes, and giving Aubrey the opportunity of observing that the lashes were extremely fine.

"How sentimental we are! This comes of your mistress telling you all her secrets-does she ever talk to you about me?"

"Oh, yes." And Pleasance blushed. "I've got to know you as well as if you'd been coming and going every day, instead of being out in Malta, or wherever it was. I know all the books you read, and the names of your friends, and the sort of cigars you prefer. And I've helped Miss Venables to work your slippers, and I've taught the parrot to say-"

"To say what?"

"Willy."

She came towards him, holding out a tiny hand—a fairy in green, with clouds of soft dark hair. He had not expected her to rush into his arms-the very man to have hated such an exhibition. Her smile was as bright, her blush as deep, as lover could desire; but something there was, he knew not what, in this reception of his which fell a little short of the anticipation.

It was long since they had met, but such greeting as there was over, she permitted him to pass on, and seek amongst the crowd which surrounded her for some other face which might be familiar to him.

This was his first visit to the Withies, and he had been a year out of England; but for a man who has knocked about the world as much as Aubrey had, it is never difficult to pick up an acquaintance for the circumstance of the hour to shape a friend from. Had he been so minded he might easily have found not a few, who would gladly have paid their tribute of civility to the future husband of the young heiress of the Withies. But after a few words of politeness to Margaret's companion, and a cursory glance just to satisfy himself that amongst the party were none who were sufficiently intimate with him to exact attention, he withdrew to a little distance, and seated on one of the rustic benches which abounded, absorbed himself in rather gloomy meditation.

On the point of starting with his regiment for Malta, Captain Aubrey made at Dover the acquaintance of General Venables' pretty childish daughter, Margaret. His attention was struck by her face, and riveted by the report of her fortune. The laisseraller of a watering-place, aided by the good offices of her governess, early enlisted by him in his cause, procured him frequent opportunities of meeting the young heiress-opportunities which his tact and ready wit enabled him to make good use of.

Poor, undisguisedly, but of good family and a soldier, the girl's heart once his own, he had found it no difficult task to convince her indulgent father that he was an eligible candidate for her hand; the general merely stipulating that Captain Aubrey's duty to his love should defer to that he owed his country, being of opinion that the twelve months which must elapse before she could

hope to see him again would be well spent by his little Margaret in the important occupation of learning her own mind.

Margaret was very affectionate, very lovely; parting was hard, but the authorities inexorable. He went, and in less time than either could have believed possible, they became, to say the least, reconciled to the separation. Yet, week by week, huge packets of flimsy paper were despatched by Margaret to Malta, Aubrey on his part doing all that behoved one in his circumstances in the matter of filigree silver and lace. They were still true to their plight-still lovers.

They met again, with no change in their prospects-absolutely none-all plain sailing beneath a summer sky to the harbour before them. And Captain Aubrey was immersed in so deep a study that he scarcely heard the rattle of cups and saucers near him, nor the dulcet request that he would be pleased to move his chair a little to permit the introduction of a tea-table.

In her simple black and white gown, whose tiny bow of pink alone relieved the eye, Pleasance moved amongst her gayer sisters with a stately grace which shamed them all.

Amidst the crowd they were alone.

"Thank you, I don't drink cream; your task is nearly over, isn't it?"

"Almost; James will do the rest. I can't lift these heavy trays." "I should think not; let me help you to move that urn," bringing to her assistance two white little hands with a turquoise on each third finger.

"Does that fat woman like sugar?"

"Hush! she hears you."

"No, she doesn't; I did it for an experiment. Now we speak unrestrainedly. I hate listeners."

"I'd go into that shady grove and talk to myself, sir, then." This very demurely, whilst her long lashes swept her cheek. "Where does that shady grove lead? I'd give the world for a mouthful of cooler air, such as you and I breathed awhile ago." "The path leads to the willow-walk by the brook, sir.” "Sounds romantic, come and show me the way."

"You can't mistake it, sir."

"I daren't go alone; every one has made a rush to those idiotic hoops at the further end. No one sees, come with me, Pleasance." Pleasance went. Far away down by the brook, where the nightingales were used to sing, those two walked together.

And he told her that old story which is ever fresh, and which sounds so true from falsest lips, whilst the joy of the present swept from the memory of each the facts of the past, the fears of the future.

June-VOL. III. NO. XVIII.

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