Presently Julia added: "It is very singular that Mr. Shenstone should have remained here so long, if his intentions are not serious towards either of us. Though you are engaged to be married, Alice, you know every body is not; and I really do not see why you should send away Mr. Shenstone, only because the congratulations of your friends do not amuse you. I dare say he does not mind it, and I am sure I do not. Besides, if you would but make public your engagement with Arthur, then it would be known that Mr. Shenstone's attentions cannot be directed to you. I must confess, I see no reason why he should be driven from the house in this manner."

A new light here broke upon Alice, and she was revolving in her mind a suitable reply to make her sister, when she was saved the trouble by the entrance of Mr. Shenstone.

"I was telling my sister," said Julia, “ that I thought it a great pity that you should leave us just now. I know not what papa will do without you."

"I shall leave Mr. Graham in such good company," said George, “that I can hardly flatter myself I shall be missed. I have determined to travel. There are many places in Europe, and out of it, I am anxious to visit, and I cannot do better than take the present opportunity of doing so."

"Where do you think of going to in the first instance?" asked Julia.

583348B

"To India," answered he, and bent his eyes on Alice.

"To India!" repeated both the sisters, the voices of each bearing intonations of surprise.

Julia's astonishment and annoyance vented themselves in the exclamation: "How can you go to India to be broiled, and to catch the cholera? And all alone too, without any one to take care of you!”

But Alice's found no vent in words. In Shenstone's sudden determination to go to India, she discerned a desire of forming an acquaintance with Arthur, and of being of service to him for her sake. She thought so highly of George, that she felt convinced, should this be his motive, he would so far sacrifice his own feelings as to promote her marriage with Arthur by the best means in his power. Nor was she mistaken. George could not conceal from himself that a further residence under the same roof with Alice, could serve only to feed a passion which must be forever hopeless. After a grievous struggle with himself, he formed the resolution to search out Arthur, and for the sake of the woman whom he loved more than his own life, make the means he possessed, instrumental to the union of that woman to the husband of her choice.

CHAPTER XI.

I grant indeed that fields and flocks have charms
For him that grazes, or for him that farms.

CRABBE.

THE morning which was to be Shenstone's last at Graham Court, dawned cold and with a drizzling rain. His departure having been fixed at an early hour, he had taken leave of the family the preceding evening, with what melancholy feelings will be easily understood.

From the period of his return from America, he had scarcely quitted his mother; and his sisters, married in a distant part of the country, had seldom been able to visit Shenstone House, whilst the delicate state of Mrs. Shenstone's health had made it difficult for her to undertake a long journey for the purpose of seeing them. George had resolved never to leave his mother for any period exceeding two or three days; and the result of these combined circumstances was, that he had little in common with his sisters, who were considerably older than himself. His affections had been centered on his mother and on Alice; from the one he was severed by death, from the other by circumstances nearly as fatal as the fell destroyer.

VOL. II.

On the occasion, however, of his intended long absence from home, he had determined to visit his sisters previously to his departure, and for this purpose he left Graham Court with the intention of returning thither no more, but, his visits concluded, of immediately quitting England. With what sinking of the heart he took leave of Alice, is better imagined than described. He went forth a wanderer, and the cheerless prospect was his of seeking in new countries, and amongst new faces, those social ties, without which existence to the generality is devoid of happiness or pleasure.

At seven o'clock on a November morning, he descended to the drawing-room from his own apartment, there to await the breakfast, which was preparing for him previous to his departure. The grey twilight which precedes sunrise afforded enough of melancholy light to render useless the candle he had brought from his room. There are few things so thoroughly uncomfortable as the aspect of a drawingroom by twilight in the morning, before the all-healing hand of the housemaid has done its work of patching up the gaps between the table and chairs, restoring the symmetrical order of the books, workbags, newspapers, inkstands, with which tables are usually so completely laden, and which the company of the preceding evening have displaced. The candles nearly burnt to their sockets, a latent whiff of lamp oil as he crossed the passage, and a distant glimpse

of a blue gown and white linen petticoat, hastily vanishing at one door as he entered at the other, told the story that the footman was in the act of carrying off the lamp which had been barely extinguished the night before, and that he had disturbed the housemaid in her labours, which the grate filled with black cinders, and fender dragged away from the hearth, the rug turned up, a duster, a huge black gauntlet, a coal scuttle, and an unextinguished tallow candle, told him were not nearly concluded. In this abode of discomfort did he pace to and fro, until, having dispatched his breakfast, he bade adieu, a long adieu to scenes where he had first found comfort and peace of mind. As George's carriage drove from the door, a lookeron might have seen, peeping through the half-closed window shutters of an upper room, a head bristling with papillottes innumerable. The window was that of Julia's room, but no responsive longing lingering look was cast behind from the carriage door; for he who departed, well knew that Alice's room looked to the garden front.

The iron lodge-gates had just been heard to close behind the carriage, when Mr. Graham, in flowered dressing-gown, green slippers, and wigless, shuffled into the hall, fondly hoping to catch his young friend, and once more shake him by the hand. But the servant informed him he was gone, leaving a letter, which he produced. It contained grateful acknowledgments to Mr. Graham for the kindness with which he had