"Are we fast here for all night, Mr. Carleton!" she said, presently.

"I am afraid so I believe so I have been out to examine, and the storm is very thick."

"You need not look so about it for me," said Fleda "I don't care for it all now."

And a long-drawn breath half told how much she had cared for it, and what a burden was gone.

"You look very little like breasting hardships," said Mr. Carleton, bending on her so exactly the look of affectionate care that she had often had from him when she was a child, that Fleda was very near overcome again.

"Oh, you know," she said, speaking by dint of great force upon herself "you know the will is everything, and mine is very good."

But he looked extremely unconvinced and unsatisfied.

"I am so comforted to see you sitting there, Sir," Fleda went on gratefully, "that I am sure I can bear patiently all the rest."

His eye turned away, and she did not know what to make of his gravity. But a moment after, he looked again, and spoke with his usual manner.

"That business you entrusted to me," he said, in a lower tone, "I believe you will have no more trouble with it."

"So I thought! so I gathered, the other night," said Fleda, her heart and her face suddenly full of many things.

"The note was given up I saw it burned."

Fleda's two hands clasped each other mutely.

"And will he be silent?"

"I think he will choose to be so, for his own sake."

The only sake that would avail in that quarter, Fleda knew. How had Mr. Carleton ever managed it?

"And Charlton?" she said, after a few minutes' cheerful musing.

"I had the pleasure of Captain Rossitur's company to breakfast the next morning, and I am happy to report that there is no danger of any trouble arising there."

"How shall I ever thank you, Sir!" said Fleda, with trembling lips.

His smile was so peculiar, she almost thought he was going to tell her. But just then, Mrs. Renney having accomplished the desirable temperature of her feet, came back to warm her ears, and placed herself on the next seat happily not the one behind, but the one before them, where her eyes were thrown away; and the lines of Mr. Carleton's mouth came back to their usual quiet expression.

"You were in particular haste to reach home?" he asked.

Fleda said no, not in the abstract; it made no difference whether to-day or to-morrow.

"You had heard no ill news of your cousin?"

"Not at all, but it is difficult to find an opportunity of making the journey, and I thought I ought to come yesterday."

He was silent again; and the baffled seekers after ways and means, who had gone out to try arguments upon the storm, began to come pouring back into the car. And bringing with them not only their loud and coarse voices, with every shade of disagreeableness, aggravated by ill-humour, but also an average amount of snow upon their hats and shoulders, the place was soon full of a reeking atmosphere of great-coats. Fleda was trying to put up her window, but Mr. Carleton gently stopped her, and began bargaining with a neighbouring fellow- traveller for the opening of his.

"Well, Sir, I'll open it if you wish it," said the man, civilly, "but they say we sha'n't have nothing to make fires with more than an hour or two longer; so maybe you'll think we can't afford to let any too much cold in."

The gentleman however, persisting in his wish, and the wish being moreover backed with those arguments to which every grade of human reason is accessible, the window was opened. At first the rush of fresh air was a great relief; but it was not very long before the raw snowy atmosphere, which made its way in, was felt to be more dangerous, if it was more endurable, than the close pent-up one it displaced. Mr. Carleton ordered the window closed again; and Fleda's glance of meek grateful patience was enough to pay any reasonable man for his share of the suffering. Her share of it was another matter. Perhaps Mr. Carleton thought so, for he immediately bent himself to reward her and to avert the evil, and for that purpose brought into play every talent of manner and conversation that could beguile the time, and make her forget what she was among. If success were his reward he had it. He withdrew her attention completely from all that was around her, and without tasking it; she could not have borne that. He did not seem to task himself; but without making any exertion, he held her eye and ear, and guarded both from communication with things disagreeable. He knew it. There was not a change in her eye's happy interest, till, in the course of the conversation, Fleda happened to mention Hugh, and he noticed the saddening of the eye immediately afterwards.

"Is he ill?" said Mr. Carleton.

"I don't know," said Fleda, faltering a little "he was not very but a few weeks ago."

Her eye explained the broken sentences which there, in the neighbourhood of other ears, she dared not finish.

"He will be better after he has seen you," said Mr. Carleton, gently.

"Yes."

A very sorrowful and uncertain "yes," with an "if" in the speaker's mind, which she did not bring out.

"Can you sing your old song yet?" said Mr. Carleton, softly

"Yet one thing secures us, Whatever betide?"

But Fleda burst into tears.

"Forgive me," he whispered, earnestly, "for reminding you of that you did not need it, and I have only troubled you."

"No, Sir, you have not," said Fleda "it did not trouble me, and Hugh knows it better than I do. I cannot bear anything to- night I believe"

"So you have remembered that, Mr. Carleton?" she said, a minute after.

"Do you remember that?" said he, putting her old little Bible into her hand.

Fleda seized it, but she could hardly bear the throng of images that started up around it. The smooth worn cover brought so back the childish happy days when it had been her constant companion the shadows of the Queechy of old, and Cynthia and her grandfather, and the very atmosphere of those times when she had led a light-hearted strange wild life all alone with them, reading the Encyclopaedia, and hunting out the wood-springs. She opened the book and slowly turned over the leaves where her father's hand had drawn those lines of remark and affection round many a passage the very look of them she knew; but she could not see it now, for her eyes were dim, and tears were dropping fast into her lap she hoped Mr. Carleton did not see them, but she could not help it; she could only keep the book out of the way of being blotted. And there were other and later associations she had with it too how dear! how tender! how grateful!

Mr. Carleton was quite silent for a good while till the tears had ceased; then he bent towards her so as to be heard no further off.

"It has been for many years my best friend and companion," he said, in a low tone.

Fleda could make no answer, even by look.

"At first," he went on, softly, "I had a strong association of you with it; but the time came when I lost that entirely, and itself quite swallowed up the thought of the giver."

A quick glance and smile told how well Fleda understood, how heartily she was pleased with that. But she instantly looked away again.

"And now," said Mr. Carleton, after a pause "for some time past, I have got the association again; and I do not choose to have it so. I have come to the resolution to put the book back into your hands, and not receive it again, unless the giver go with the gift."

Fleda looked up, a startled look of wonder, into his face, but the dark eye left no doubt of the meaning of his words; and in unbounded confusion she turned her own and her attention, ostensibly, to the book in her hand, though sight and sense were almost equally out of her power. For a few minutes poor Fleda felt as if all sensation had retreated to her finger- ends. She turned the leaves over and over, as if willing to cheat herself or her companion into the belief that she had something to think of there, while associations and images of the past were gone with a vengeance, swallowed up in a tremendous reality of the present; and the book, which a minute ago was her father's Bible, was now, what was it? something of Mr. Carleton's, which she must give back to him. But still she held it and looked at it conscious of no one distinct idea but that, and a faint one besides, that he might like to be repossessed of his property in some reasonable time time like everything else was in a whirl? the only steady thing in creation seemed to be that perfectly still and moveless figure by her side till her trembling fingers admonished her they would not be able to hold anything much longer; and gently and slowly, without looking, her hand put the book back towards Mr. Carleton. That both were detained together she knew, but hardly felt; the thing was that she had given it!

There was no other answer; and there was no further need that Mr. Carleton should make any efforts for diverting her from the scene and the circumstances where they were. Probably he knew that, for he made none. He was perfectly silent for a long time, and Fleda was deaf to any other voice that could be raised, near or far. She could not even think.

Mrs. Renney was happily snoring, and most of the other people had descended into their coat collars, or, figuratively speaking, had lowered their blinds by tilting over their hats in some uncomfortable position that signified sleep; and comparative quiet had blessed the place for some time; as little noticed, indeed, by Fleda, as noise would have been. The sole thing that she clearly recognized in connexion with the exterior world, was that clasp in which one of her hands lay. She did not know that the car had grown quiet, and that only an occasional grunt of ill-humour or waking-up colloquy testified that it was the unwonted domicile of a number of human beings, who were harbouring there in a disturbed state of mind. But this state of things could not last. The time came that had been threatened, when their last supply of extrinsic warmth was at an end. Despite shut windows, the darkening of the stove was presently followed by a very sensible and fast-increasing change of temperature; and this addition to their causes of discomfort roused every one of the company from his temporary lethargy. The growl of dissatisfied voices awoke again, more gruff than before; the spirit of jesting had long languished, and now died outright, and in its stead came some low, and deep, and bitter-spoken curses. Poor Mrs. Renney shook off her somnolency and shook her shoulders, a little business shake, admonitory to herself to keep cool; and Fleda came to the consciousness that some very disagreeable chills were making their way over her.

"Are you warm enough?" said Mr. Carleton, suddenly, turning to her.

"Not quite," said Fleda, hesitating; "I feel the cold a little. Please don't, Mr. Carleton!" she added, earnestly, as she saw him preparing to throw off his cloak, the identical black fox which Constance had described, with so much vivacity; "pray do not. I am not very cold I can bear a little I am not so tender as you think me; I do not need it, and you would feel the want very much after wearing it. I won't put it on."

But he smilingly bade her "stand up," stooping down and taking one of her hands to enforce his words, and giving her, at the same time, the benefit of one of those looks of good-humoured wilfulness to which his mother always yielded, and to which Fleda yielded instantly, though with a colour considerably heightened at the slight touch of peremptoriness in his tone.

"You are not offended with me, Elfie?" he said, in another manner, when she had sat down again, and he was arranging the heavy folds of the cloak.

Offended! a glance answered.

"You shall have everything your own way," he whispered, gently, as he stooped down to bring the cloak under her feet, "except yourself."

What good care should be taken of that exception was said in the dark eye at which Fleda hardly ventured half a glance. She had much ado to command herself.

She was shielded again from all the sights and sounds within reach. She was in a maze. The comfort of the fur-cloak was curiously mixed with the feeling of something else, of which that was an emblem a surrounding of care and strength which would effectually be exerted for her protection somewhat that Fleda had not known for many a long day the making up of the old want. Fleda had it in her heart to cry like a baby. Such a dash of sunlight had fallen at her feet that she hardly dared look at it for fear of being dazzled; but she could not look anywhere that she did not see the reflection.

In the mean time the carful of people settled again into sullen quietude. The cold was not found propitious to quarrelling. Those who could subsided again into lethargy; those who could not, gathered in their outposts to make the best defence they might of the citadel. Most happily it was not an extreme night; cold enough to be very disagreeable, and even (without a fur-cloak) dangerous; but not enough to put even noses and ears in immediate jeopardy. Mr. Carleton had contrived to procure a comfortable wrapper for Mrs. Renney, from a Yankee, who, for the sake of being a "warm man" as to his pockets, was willing to be cold otherwise for a time. The rest of the great-coats and cloaks, which were so alert and erect a little while ago, were doubled up on every side in all sorts of despondent attitudes. A dull quiet brooded over the assembly, and Mr. Carleton walked up and down the vacant space. Once he caught an anxious glance from Fleda, and came immediately to her side.

"You need not be troubled about me," he said, with a most genial smile; "I am not suffering never was farther from it in my life."

Fleda could neither answer nor look.

"There are not many hours of the night to wear out," he said. "Can't you follow your neighbour's example?"

She shook her head.

"This watching is too hard for you. You will have another headache to-morrow."

"No, perhaps not," she said, with a grateful look up.

"You do not feel the cold now, Elfie?"

"Not at all not in the least I am perfectly comfortable I am doing very well."

He stood still, and the changing lights and shades on Fleda's cheek grew deeper.

"Do you know where we are, Mr. Carleton?"

"Somewhere between a town the name of which I have forgotten, and a place called Quarrenton, I think; and Quarrenton, they tell me, is but a few miles from Greenfield. Our difficulties will vanish, I hope, with the darkness."

He walked again, and Fleda mused, and wondered at herself in the black fox. She did not venture another look, though her eye took in nothing very distinctly but the outlines of that figure passing up and down through the car. He walked perseveringly; and weariness at last prevailed over everything else with Fleda; she lost herself, with her head leaning against the bit of wood between the windows.

The rousing of the great-coats, and the growing gray light, roused her before her uneasy sleep had lasted an hour. The lamps were out, the car was again spotted with two long rows of window-panes, through which the light as yet came but dimly. The morning had dawned at last, and seemed to have brought with it a fresh accession of cold, for everybody was on the stir. Fleda put up her window to get a breath of fresh air, and see how the day looked.

A change of weather had come with the dawn. It was not fine yet. The snowing had ceased, but the clouds hung overhead still, though not with the leaden uniformity of yesterday; they were higher, and broken into many a soft, gray fold, that promised to roll away from the sky by and by. The snow was deep on the ground; every visible thing lapped in a thick white covering; a still, very grave, very pretty winter landscape, but somewhat dreary in its aspect, to a trainful of people fixed in the midst of it, out of sight of human habitation. Fleda felt that; but only in the abstract to her it did not seem dreary; she enjoyed the wild, solitary beauty of the scene very much, with many a grateful thought of what might have been. As it was, she left difficulties entirely to others.

As soon as it was light, the various inmates of the strange dormitory gathered themselves up, and set out on foot for Quarrenton. By one of them Mr. Carleton sent an order for a sleigh, which in as short a time as possible arrived, and transported him and Fleda, and Mrs. Renney, and one other ill- bestead woman, safely to the little town of Quarrenton.

CHAPTER XXI.

"Welcome the sour cup of prosperity! Affliction may one day smile again, and till then, sit thee down, sorrow!" LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.

It had been a wild night, and the morning looked scared. Perhaps it was only the particular locality, for if ever a place showed bleak and winter-stricken, the little town of Quarrenton was in that condition that morning. The snow overlaid and enveloped everything, except where the wind had been at work; and the wind and the gray clouds seemed the only agencies abroad. Not a ray of sunlight to relieve the uniform sober tints, the universal gray and white, only varied where a black house-roof, partially cleared, or a blacker bare- branched tree, gave it a sharp interruption. There was not a solitary thing that bore an indication of comfortable life, unless the curls of smoke that went up from the chimneys; and Fleda was in no condition to study their physiognomy.

A little square hotel, perched alone on a rising ground, looked the especial bleak and unpromising spot of the place. It bore, however, the imposing title of the Pocahontas; and there the sleigh set them down.

They were ushered upstairs into a little parlour, furnished in the usual style, with one or two articles a great deal too showy for the place, and a general dearth as to the rest. A lumbering mahogany sofa, that showed as much wood and as little promise as possible, a marble-topped centre-table, chairs in the minority, and curtains minus, and the hearth-rug providently turned bottom upwards. On the centre-table lay a pile of Penny Magazines, a volume of' selections of poetry from various good authors, and a sufficient complement of newspapers. The room was rather cold, but of that the waiter gave a reasonable explanation in the fact that the fire had not been burning long.

Furs, however, might be dispensed with, or Fleda thought so; and taking off her bonnet, she endeavoured to rest her weary head against the sharp-cut top of the sofa-back, which seemed contrived expressly to punish and forbid all attempts at ease- seeking. The mere change of position was still comparative ease. But the black fox had not done duty yet. Its ample folds were laid over the sofa, cushion, back, and all, so as at once to serve for pillow and mattress; and Fleda being gently placed upon it, laid her face down again upon the soft fur, which gave a very kindly welcome not more to the body than to the mind. Fleda almost smiled as she felt that. The furs were something more than a pillow for her cheek they were the soft image of somewhat for her mind to rest on. But entirely exhausted, too much for smiles or tears, though both were near, she resigned herself as helplessly as an infant to the feeling of rest; and, in five minutes, was in a state of dreamy unconsciousness.

Mrs. Renney, who had slept a great part of the night, courted sleep anew in the rocking-chair, till breakfast should be ready; the other woman had found quarters in the lower part of the house; and Mr. Carleton stood still, with folded arms, to read at his leisure the fair face that rested so confidingly upon the black fur of his cloak, looking so very fair in the contrast. It was the same face he had known in time past the same, with only an alteration that had added new graces, but had taken away none of the old. Not one of the soft outlines had grown hard under Time's discipline: not a curve had lost its grace, or its sweet mobility; and yet the hand of Time had been there; for on brow and lip, and cheek and eyelid, there was that nameless, grave composure, which said touchingly, that hope had long ago clasped hands with submission. And, perhaps, that if hope's anchor had not been well placed, ay, even where it could not be moved, the storms of life might have beaten even hope from her ground, and made a clean sweep of desolation over all she had left. Not the storms of the last few weeks. Mr. Carleton saw and understood their work in the perfectly colourless and thin cheek. But these other finer drawn characters had taken longer to write. He did not know the instrument, but he read the handwriting, and came to his own resolutions therefrom.

Yet if not untroubled, she had remained unspotted by the world; that was as clear as the other. The slight eyebrow sat with its wonted calm purity of outline just where it used; the eyelid fell as quietly; the forehead above it was as unruffled; and if the mouth had a subdued gravity that it had taken years to teach, it had neither lost any of the sweetness, nor any of the simplicity of childhood. It was a strange picture that Mr. Carleton was looking at strange for its rareness. In this very matter of simplicity, that the world will never leave those who belong to it. Half sitting and half reclining, she had given herself to rest with the abandonment and self-forgetfulness of a child; her attitude had the very grace of a child's unconsciousness; and her face showed that, even in placing herself there, she had lost all thought of any other presence or any other eyes than her own; even of what her hand and cheek lay upon, and what it betokened. It meant something to Mr. Carleton, too; and if Fleda could have opened her eyes, she would have seen in those that were fixed upon her a happy promise for her future life. She was beyond making any such observations; and Mrs. Renney gave no interruption to his till the breakfast bell rang.

Mr. Carleton had desired the meal to be served in a private room. But he was met with a speech in which such a confusion of arguments endeavoured to persuade him to be of another mind, that he had at last given way. It was asserted that the ladies would have their breakfast a great deal quicker, and a great deal hotter, with the rest of the company; and in the same breath that it would be a very great favour to the house if the gentleman would not put them to the inconvenience of setting a separate table; the reasons of which inconvenience were set forth in detail, or would have been if the gentleman would have heard them; and desirous especially of haste, on Fleda's account, Mr. Carleton signified his willingness to let the house accommodate itself. Following the bell, a waiter now came to announce and conduct them to their breakfast.

Down the stairs, through sundry narrow turning passages, they went to a long low room at one corner of the house; where a table was spread for a very nondescript company, as it soon proved, many of their last night's companions having found their way thither. The two ladies, however, were given the chief posts at the head, as near as possible to a fiery hot stove, and served with tea and coffee from a neighbouring table, by a young lady in long ringlets, who was there probably for their express honour. But, alas for the breakfast! They might as good have had the comfort of a private room, for there was none other to be had. Of the tea and coffee it might be said, as once it was said of two bad roads "whichever one you take, you will wish you had taken the other;" the beefsteak was a problem of impracticability; and the chickens Fleda could not help thinking, that a well- to-do rooster which she saw flapping his wings in the yard, must, in all probability, be at that very moment endeavouring to account for a sudden breach in his social circle; and if the oysters had been some very fine ladies, they could hardly have retained less recollection of their original circumstances. It was in vain to try to eat or to drink; and Fleda returned to her sofa with even an increased appetite for rest, the more that her head began to take its revenge for the trials to which it had been put the past day and night.

She had closed her eyes again in her old position. Mrs. Renney was tying her bonnet-strings. Mr. Carleton was pacing up and down.

"Aren't you going to get ready, Miss Ringgan?" said the former.

"How soon will the cars be here?" exclaimed Fleda, starting up.

"Presently," said Mr. Carleton; "but," said he, coming up to her and taking her hands "I am going to prescribe for you again will you let me?"

Fleda's face gave small promise of opposition.

"You are not fit to travel now. You need some hours of quiet rest before we go any further."

"But when shall we get home?" said Fleda.

"In good time not by the railroad there is a nearer way that will take us to Queechy without going through Greenfield. I have ordered a room to be made ready for you will you try if it be habitable?"

Fleda submitted; and, indeed, there was in his manner a sort of gentle determination to which few women would have opposed themselves; besides that, her head threatened to make a journey a miserable business.

"You are ill now," said Mr. Carleton. "Cannot you induce your companion to stay and attend you?"

"I don't want her," said Fleda.

Mr. Carleton, however, mooted the question himself with Mrs. Renney, but she represented to him, though with much deference, that the care of her property must oblige her to go where and when it went. He rang, and ordered the housekeeper to be sent.

Presently after, a young lady in ringlets entered the room, and first taking a somewhat leisurely survey of the company, walked to the window, and stood there looking out. A dim recollection of her figure and air made Fleda query whether she were not the person sent for; but it was several minutes before it came into Mr. Carleton's head to ask if she belonged to the house.

"I do, Sir," was the dignified answer.

"Will you show this lady the room prepared for her. And take care that she wants nothing."

The owner of the ringlets answered not, but turning the front view of them full upon Fleda, seemed to intimate that she was ready to act as her guide. She hinted, however, that the rooms were very airy in winter, and that Fleda would stand a better chance of comfort where she was. But this Fleda would not listen to, and followed her adviser to the half-warmed, and certainly very airy apartment which had been got ready for her. It was probably more owing to something in her own appearance, than to Mr. Carleton's word of admonition on the subject, that her attendant was really assiduous and kind.

"Be you of this country?" she said, abruptly, after her good offices, as Fleda thought, were ended, and she had just closed her eyes.

She opened them again, and said "Yes."

"Well, that aint in the parlour, is he?"

"What?" said Fleda.

"One of our folks?"

"An American, you mean? No."

"I thought he wa'n't What is he?"

"He is English."

"Is he your brother?"

"No."

The young lady gave her a good look out of her large dark eyes, and remarking that "she thought they didn't look much like," left the room.

The day was spent by poor Fleda between pain and stupor, each of which acted in some measure to check the other too much exhausted for nervous pain, to reach the height it sometimes did, while yet that was sufficient to prevent stupor from sinking into sleep. Beyond any power of thought, or even fancy, with only a dreamy succession of images flitting across her mind, the hours passed, she knew not how; that they did pass, she knew from her handmaid in the long curls, who was every now and then coming in to look at her, and give her fresh water; it needed no ice. Her handmaid told her that the cars were gone by that it was near noon then, that it was past noon. There was no help for it; she could only lie still and wait; it was long past noon before she was able to move; and she was looking ill enough yet, when she at last opened the door of the parlour and slowly presented herself.

Mr. Carleton was there alone, Mrs. Renney having long since accompanied her baggage. He came forward instantly, and led Fleda to the sofa, with such gentle, grave kindness, that she could hardly bear it; her nerves had been in an unsteady state all day. A table was set, and partially spread with evidently much more care than the one of the morning, and Fleda sat looking at it, afraid to trust herself to look anywhere else. For years she had been taking care of others, and now there was something so strange in this feeling of being cared for, that her heart was full. Whatever Mr. Carleton saw or suspected of this, it did not appear. On the contrary, his manner and his talk on different matters was as cool, as quiet, as graceful, as if neither he nor Fleda had anything particular to think of; avoiding even an allusion to whatever might in the least distress her. Fleda thought she had a great many reasons to be grateful to him, but she never thanked him for anything more than at that moment she thanked him for the delicacy which so regarded her delicacy, and put her in a few minutes completely at her ease as she could be.

The refreshments were presently brought, and Fleda was served with them in a way that went, as far as possible, towards making them satisfactory; but, though a great improvement upon the morning, they furnished still but the substitute for a meal. There was a little pause then, after the horses were ordered.

"I am afraid you have wanted my former prescription to-day," said Mr. Carleton, after considering the little-improved colour of Fleda's face.

"I have, indeed."

"Where is it?"

Fleda hesitated, and then, in a little confusion, said, she supposed it was lying on Mrs. Evelyn's centre-table.

"How happens that?" said he, smiling.

"Because I could not help it, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, with no little difficulty; "I was foolish, I could not bring it away."

He understood and was silent.

"Are you fit to bear a long ride in the cold?" he said, compassionately, a few minutes after.

"Oh, yes; it will do me good."

"You have had a miserable day, have you not?"

"My head has been pretty bad," said Fleda, a little evasively.

"Well, what would you have?" said he, lightly; "doesn't that make a miserable day of it?"

Fleda hesitated and coloured, and then, conscious that her cheeks were answering for her, coloured so exceedingly, that she was fain to put both her hands up to hide what they only served the more plainly to show. No advantage was taken. Mr. Carleton said nothing; she could not see what answer might be in his face. It was only by a peculiar quietness in his tone whenever he spoke to her afterwards that Fleda knew she had been thoroughly understood. She dared not lift her eyes.

They had soon employment enough around her. A sleigh and horses, better than anything else Quarrenton had been known to furnish, were carrying her rapidly towards home, the weather had perfectly cleared off, and in full brightness and fairness the sun was shining upon a brilliant world. It was cold indeed, though the only wind was that made by their progress; but Fleda had been again unresistingly wrapped in the furs, and was, for the time, beyond the reach of that or any other annoyance. She sat silently and quietly enjoying; so quietly that a stranger might have questioned there being any enjoyment in the case. It was a very picturesque, broken country, fresh covered with snow; and at that hour, late in the day, the lights and shadows were a constantly varying charm to the eye. Clumps of evergreens stood out in full disclosure against the white ground; the bare branches of neighbouring trees in all their barrenness, had a wild prospective or retrospective beauty peculiar to themselves. On the wavy white surface of the meadow land, or the steep hill- sides, lay every variety of shadow in blue and neutral tint; where they lay not, the snow was too brilliant to be borne. And afar off, through a heaven, bright and cold enough to hold the canopy over winter's head, the ruler of the day was gently preparing to say good-bye to the world. Fleda's eye seemed to be new set for all forms of beauty, and roved from one to the other as grave and bright as nature itself.

For a little way, Mr. Carleton left her to her musings, and was as silent as she. But then he gently drew her into a conversation that broke up the settled gravity of her face, and obliged her to divide her attention between nature and him, and his part of it he knew how to manage. But though eye and smile constantly answered him, he could win neither to a straightforward bearing.

They were about a mile from Queechy, when Fleda suddenly exclaimed

"Oh, Mr. Carleton, please stop the sleigh!"

The horses were stopped.

"It is only Earl Douglass, our farmer," Fleda said, in explanation: "I want to ask how they are at home?"

In answer to her nod of recognition, Mr. Douglass came to the side of the vehicle; but till he was there, close, gave her no other answer by word or sign; when there, broke forth his accustomed guttural "How d'ye do?"

"How d'ye do, Mr. Douglass," said Fleda. "How are they all at home?"

"Well, there aint nothin' new among 'em, as I've heerd on," said Earl, diligently though stealthily, at the same time qualifying himself to make a report of Mr. Carleton. "I guess they'll be glad to see you. I be."

"Thank you, Mr. Douglass. How is Hugh?"

"He aint nothin' different from what he's been for a spell back at least I ain't heerd that he was. Maybe he is, but if he is, I ha'n't heerd speak of it, and if he was, I think I should ha' heerd speak of it. He was pretty bad a spell ago about when you went away but he's been better sen. So they say. I ha'n't seen him. Well Flidda," he added, with somewhat of a sly gleam in his eye, "do you think you're going to make up your mind to stay to hum this time?"

"I have no immediate intention of running away, Mr. Douglass," said Fleda, her pale cheeks turning rose as she saw him looking curiously up and down the edges of the black fox. His eye came back to hers with a good- humoured intelligence that she could hardly stand.

"It's time you was back," said he. "Your uncle's to hum, but he don't do me much good, whatever he does to other folks, or himself nother, as far as the farm goes; there's that corn "

"Very well, Mr. Douglass," said Fleda, "I shall be at home now, and I'll see about it."

"Very good!" said Earl, as he stepped back, "Queechy can't get along without you, that's no mistake."

They drove on a few minutes in silence.

"Aren't you thinking, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, "that my countrymen are a strange mixture?"

"I was not thinking of them at all at this moment. I believe such a notion has crossed my mind."

"It has crossed mine very often," said Fleda.

"How do you read them? What is the basis of it?"

"I think, the strong self-respect which springs from the security and importance that republican institutions give every man. But," she added, colouring, "I have seen very little of the world, and ought not to judge."

"I have no doubt you are quite right," said Mr. Carleton, smiling. "But don't you think an equal degree of self-respect may consist with giving honour where honour is due?"

"Yes," said Fleda, a little doubtfully, "where religion and not republicanism is the spring of it."

"Humility and not pride," said he. "Yes, you are right."

"My countrymen do yield honour where they think it is due," said Fleda, "especially where it is not claimed. They must give it to reality, not to pretension. And, I confess, I would rather see them a little rude in their independence, than cringing before mere advantages of external position even for my own personal pleasure."

"I agree with you, Elfie, putting, perhaps, the last clause out of the question."

"Now, that man," said Fleda, smiling at his look "I suppose his address must have struck you as very strange; and yet there was no want of respect under it. I am sure he has a true thorough respect, and even regard for me, and would prove it on any occasion."

"I have no doubt of that."

"But it does not satisfy you?"

"Not quite. I confess I should require more from any one under my control."

"Oh, nobody is under control here," said Fleda. "That is, I mean, individual control, unless so far as self-interest comes in. I suppose that is all-powerful here as elsewhere."

"And the reason it gives less power to individuals is, that the greater freedom of resources makes no man's interest depend so absolutely on one other man. That is a reason you cannot regret. No, your countrymen have the best of it, Elfie. But, do you suppose that this is a fair sample of the whole country?"

"I dare not say that," said Fleda. "I am afraid there is not so much intelligence and cultivation everywhere. But I am sure there are many parts of the land that will bear a fair comparison with it."

"It is more than I would dare say for my own land."

"I should think" Fleda suddenly stopped.

"What?" said Mr. Carleton, gently.

"I beg your pardon, Sir I was going to say something very presumptuous."

"You cannot," he said in the same tone.

"I was going to say," said Fleda, blushing, "that I should think there might be a great deal of pleasure in raising the tone of mind and character among the people, as one could who had influence over a large neighbourhood."

His smile was very bright in answer.

"I have been trying that, Elfie, for the last eight years."

Fleda's eye looked now eagerly in pleasure and in curiosity for more. But he was silent.

"I was thinking a little while ago," he said, "of the time, once before, when I rode here with you when you were beginning to lead me to the problem I have been trying to work out ever since. When I left you in Paris, I went to resolve with myself the question, What I had to do in the world? Your little Bible was my invaluable help. I had read very little of it when I threw aside all other books; and my problem was soon solved. I saw that the life has no honour nor value which is not spent to the glory of God. I saw the end I was made for the happiness I was fitted for the dignity to which even a fallen creature may rise, through his dear Redeemer and Surety."

Fleda's eyes were down now. Mr. Carleton was silent a moment, watching one or two bright witnesses that fell from them.

"The next conclusion was easy that my work was at home I have wanted my good fairy," Mr. Carleton went on, smiling. "But I hope she will be contented to carry the standard of Christianity, without that of republicanism."

"But Christianity tends directly to republicanism, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, trying to laugh.

"I know that," said he, smiling "and I am willing to know it. But the leaven of truth is one thing, and the powder train of the innovator is another."

Fleda sat thinking that she had very little in common with the layers of powder trains. She did not know the sleigh was passing Deepwater lake, till Mr. Carleton said

"I am glad, my dear Elfie, for your sake, that we are almost at the end of your journey."

"I should think you might be glad for your own sake, Mr. Carleton."

"No my journey is not ended "

"Not?"

"No it will not be ended till I get back to New York, or rather till I find myself here again I shall make very little delay there "

"But you will not go any further to-night?" said Fleda, her eye this time meeting his fully.

"Yes I must take the first train to New York. I have some reason to expect my mother by this steamer."

"Back to New York!" said Fleda. "Then taking care of me has just hindered you in your business."

But even as she spoke, she read the truth in his eye, and her own fell in confusion.

"My business?" said he, smiling; "you know it now, Elfie. I arrived at Mrs. Evelyn's just after you had quitted it, intending to ask you to take the long-talked-of drive; and learned, to my astonishment, that you had left the city, and, as Edith kindly informed me, under no better guardianship than that in which I found you. I was just in time to reach the boat."

"And you ere in the boat night before last?"

"Certainly."

"I should have felt a great deal easier if I had known that," said Fleda.

"So should I," said he; "but you were invisible, till I discerned you in the midst of a crowd of people before me in the car."

Fleda was silent, till the sleigh stopped, and Mr. Carleton had handed her out.

"What's going to be done with this here trunk?" said heir driver, trying a tug at one handle.

"I will send somebody down to help you with it," said Fleda. "It is too heavy for one alone."

"Well, I reckon it is," said he. "I guess you didn't know I was a cousin, did you?"

"No," said Fleda.

"I believe I be."

"Who are you?"

"I am Pierson Barnes. I live to Quarrenton for a year back. Squire Joshua Springer's your uncle, aint he?"

"Yes, my father's uncle."

"Well, he's mine too. His sister's my mother."

"I'll send somebody to help you, Mr. Barnes."

She took Mr. Carleton's arm, and walked half the way up to the house without daring to look at him.

"Another specimen of your countrymen," he said, smiling.

There was nothing but quiet amusement in the tone, and there was not the shadow of anything else in his face. Fleda looked, and thanked him mentally, and drew breath easier. At the house-door he made a pause.

"You are coming in, Mr. Carleton?"

"Not now."

"It is a long drive to Greenfield, Mr. Carleton; you must not turn away from a country-house till we have shown ourselves unworthy to live in it. You will come in and let us give you something more substantial than those Quarrenton oysters. Do not say no," she said, earnestly, as she saw a refusal in his eye "I know what you are thinking of, but they do not know that you have been told anything it makes no difference."

She laid her gentle detaining hand, as irresistible in its way as most things, upon his arm, and he followed her in.

Only Hugh was in the sitting-room, and n a great easy-chair by the fire. It struck to Fleda's heart; but there was no time but for a flash of thought. He had turned his face and saw her. Fleda meant to have controlled herself and presented Mr. Carleton properly, but Hugh started up; he saw nothing but herself, and one view of the ethereal delicacy of his face made Fleda for a moment forget everything but him. They were in each other's arms, and then still as death. Hugh was unconscious that a stranger was there, and though Fleda was very conscious that one was there who was no stranger there was so much in both hearts, so much of sorrow and joy, and gratitude and tenderness, on the one part and on the other, so much that even if they had been alone lips could only have said silently that for a little while they kissed each other and wept in a passionate attempt to speak what their hearts were too full of.

Fleda at last whispered to Hugh that somebody else was there, and turned to make, as well as she might, the introduction. But Mr. Carleton did not need it, and made his own with that singular talent which in all circumstances, wherever he chose to exert it, had absolute power. Fleda saw Hugh's countenance change, with a kind of pleased surprise, and herself stood still under the charm for a minute; then she recollected she might be dispensed with. She took up her little spaniel, who was in an agony of gratulation at her feet, and went out into the kitchen.

"Well, do you mean to say you are here at last?" said Barby, her gray eyes flashing pleasure as she came forward to take the half hand which, owing to King's monopoly, was all Fleda had to give her. "Have you come home to stay, Fleda?"

"I am tired enough to be quiet," said Fleda. "But, dear Barby, what have you got in the house? I want supper as quickly as it can be had."

"Well, you do look dreadful bad," said Barby eyeing her. "Why, there aint much particular, Fleda; nobody's had any heart to eat lately; I thought I might a'most as well save myself the fuss of getting victuals. Hugh lives like a bird, and Mis' Rossitur aint much better, and I think all of 'em have been keeping their appetites till you came back; 'cept Philetus and me; we keep it up pretty well. Why, you're come home hungry, aint you?"

"No, not I," said Fleda; "but there's a gentleman here that came with me that must have something before he goes away again. What have you, Barby?"

"Who is he?" said Barby.

"A friend that took care of me on the way I'll tell you about it; but, in the meantime, supper, Barby."

"Is he a New Yorker, that one must be curious for?"

"As curious as you like," said Fleda, "but he is not a New Yorker."

"Where is he from, then?" said Barby, who was busily putting on the tea-kettle.

"England."

"England!" said Barby, facing about. "Oh, if he's an Englishman, I don't care for him, Fleda."

"But you care for me," said Fleda, laughing; "and for my sake don't let our hospitality fail to somebody who has been very kind to me, if he is an Englishman; and he is in haste to be off."

"Well, I don't know what we're a-going to give him," said Barby, looking at her. "There aint much in the pantry besides cold pork and beans, that Philetus and me made our dinner on they wouldn't have it in there, and eat nothing but some pickerel the doctor sent down and cold fish aint good for much."

"None of them left uncooked?"

"Yes, there's a couple he sent a great lot I guess he thought there was more in the family but two aint enough to go round; they're little ones."

"No, but put them down, and I'll make an omelette. Just get the things ready for me, Barby, will you, while I run up to see aunt Lucy. The hens have begun to lay?"

"La, yes Philetus fetches in lots of eggs he loves 'em, I reckon but you aint fit this minute to do a thing but rest, Fleda."

"I'll rest afterwards. Just get the things ready for me, Barby, and an apron; and the table I'll be down in a minute. And, Barby, grind some coffee, will you?"

But, as she turned to run upstairs, her uncle stood in her way, and the supper vanished from Fleda's head. His arms were open, and she was silently clasped in them, with so much feeling on both sides, that thought, and well nigh strength, for anything else on her part was gone. His smothered words of deep blessing overcame her. Fleda could do nothing but sob, in distress, till she recollected Barby. Putting her arms round his neck, then she whispered to him that Mr. Carleton was in the other room, and shortly explained how he came to be there, and begged her uncle would go in and see him till supper should be ready. Enforcing this request with a parting kiss on his cheek, she ran off up stairs. Mr. Rossitur looked extremely moody and cloudy for a few minutes, and then went in and joined his guest. Mrs. Rossitur and her daughter could not be induced to show themselves.

Little Rolf, however, had no scruples of any kind. He presently edged himself into the room to see the stranger, whom he no sooner saw than, with a joyous exclamation, he bounded forward to claim an old friend.

"Why, Mr. Carleton," exclaimed Mr. Rossitur, in surprise, "I was not aware that this young gentleman had the honour of your acquaintance."

"But I have," said Rolf.

"In London, Sir, I had that pleasure," said Mr. Carleton.

"I think it was I had the pleasure," said Rolf, pounding one hand upon Mr. Carleton's knee.

"Where is your mother?"

"She wouldn't come down," said Rolf; "but I guess she will when she knows who is here"

And he was darting away to tell her, when Mr. Carleton, within whose arms he stood, quietly restrained him, and told him he was going away presently, but would come again and see his mother another time.

"Are you going back to England, Sir?"

"By and by."

"But you will come here again first?"

"Yes, if Mr. Rossitur will let me."

"Mr. Carleton knows he commands his own welcome," said that gentleman, somewhat stately. "Go and tell your aunt Fleda that tea is ready, Rolf."

"She knows," said Rolf. "She was making an omelette I guess it was for this gentleman."

Whose name he was not clear of yet. Mr. Rossitur looked vexed, but Hugh laughed, and asked if his aunt gave him leave to tell that. Rolf entered forthwith into discussion on this subject, while Mr. Carleton, who had not seemed to hear it, engaged Mr. Rossitur busily in another, till the omelette and Fleda came in. Rolf's mind, however, was ill at ease.

"Aunt Fleda," said he, as soon as she had fairly taken her place at the head of the table, "would you mind my telling that you made the omelette for this gentleman?"

Fleda cast a confused glance, first at the person in question and then round the table; but Mr. Carleton, without looking at her, answered instantly

"Don't you understand, Rolf, that the same kindness which will do a favour for a friend, will keep him in ignorance of it?"

Rolf pondered a moment, and then burst forth

"Why, Sir, wouldn't you like it as well for knowing she made it?"

It was hardly in human gravity to stand this. Fleda herself laughed, but Mr. Carleton, as unmoved as possible, answered him, "Certainly not," and Rolf was nonplussed.

The supper was over. Hugh had left the room, and Mr. Rossitur had before that gone out to give directions about Mr. Carleton's horses. He and Fleda were left alone.

"I have something against you, fairy," said he, lightly, taking her hand, and putting it to his lips. "You shall not again do me such honour as you have done me to-day I did not deserve it, Elfie."

The last words were spoken half reproachfully. Fleda stood a moment motionless, and then by some curious revulsion of feeling, put both her hands to her face and burst into tears.

She struggled against them, and spoke almost immediately

"You will think me very foolish, Mr. Carleton I am ashamed of myself but I have lived here so long in this way my spirits have grown so quieted by different things, that it seems, sometimes, as if I could not bear anything I am afraid"

"Of what, my dear Elfie?"

But she did not answer, and her tears came again.

"You are weary and spent," he said, gently, repossessing himself of one of her hands. "I will ask you another time what you are afraid of, and rebuke all your fears."

"I deserve nothing but rebuke now," said Fleda.

But her hand knew, by the gentle and quiet clasp in which it lay, that there was no disposition to give it.

"Do not speak to me for a minute," she said, hastily, as she heard some one coming.

She went to the window, and stood there looking out, till Mr. Carleton came to bid her good-bye.

"Will you permit me to say to Mrs. Evelyn," he said, in a low tone, "that you left a piece of your property in her house, and have commissioned me to bring it you?"

"Yes," said Fleda, hesitating, and looking a little confused; "but will you let me write a note instead, Mr. Carleton?"

"Certainly! but what are you thinking of, Elfie? what grave doubt is lying under your brow?"

All Fleda's shadows rolled away before that clear, bright eye.

"I have found by experience," she said, smiling a little, but looking down, "that whenever I tell my secret thoughts to anybody, I have some reason afterwards to be sorry for it."

"You shall make me an exception to your rule, however, Elfie."

Fleda looked up, one of her looks, half questioning, half fearing, and then answered, a little hesitating

"I was afraid, Sir, that if you went to Mrs. Evelyn's on that errand I was afraid you would show them you were displeased."

"And what then?" said he, quietly.

"Only that I wanted to spare them what always gives me a cold chill."

"Gives you!" said Mr. Carleton.

"No, Sir only by sympathy I thought my agency would be the gentlest."

"I see I was right," she said, looking up, as he did not answer; "but they don't deserve it not half so much as you think. They talk they don't know what. I am sure they never meant half they said never meant to annoy me with it, I mean and I am sure they have a true love for me they have shown it in a great many ways. Constance, especially, never showed me anything else. They have been very kind to me; and as to letting me come away as they did, I suppose they thought I was in a greater hurry to get home than I really was; and they would very likely not have minded travelling so themselves; I am so different from them, that they might in many things judge me by themselves, and yet judge far wrong."

Fleda was going on, but she suddenly became aware that the eye to which she was speaking had ceased to look at the Evelyns, even in imagination, and she stopped short.

"Will you trust me, after this, to see Mrs. Evelyn without the note?" said he, smiling.

But Fleda gave him her hand, very demurely, without raising her eyes again, and he went.

Barby, who had come in to clear away the table, took her stand at the window to watch Mr. Carleton drive off. Fleda had retreated to the fire. Barby looked in silence till the sleigh was out of sight.

"Is he going back to England now?" she said, coming back to the table.

"No."

Barby gathered a pile of plates together, and then inquired

"Is he going to settle in America?"

"Why, no, Barby! What makes you ask such a thing?"

"I thought he looked as if he had dressed himself for a cold climate," said Barby, drily.

Fleda sat down by Hugh's easy-chair, and laid her head on his breast.

"I like your Mr. Carleton very much," Hugh whispered, after a while.

"Do you?" said Fleda, a little wondering at Hugh's choice of that particular pronominal adjective.

"Very much indeed. But he has changed, Fleda."

"Yes in some things some great things."

"He says he is coming again," said Hugh.

Fleda's heart beat. She was silent.

"I am very glad," repeated Hugh, "I like him very much. But you won't leave me, Fleda, will you?"

"Leave you?" said Fleda, looking at him.

"Yes," said Hugh, smiling, and drawing her head down again: "I always thought what he came over here for. But you will stay with me while I want you, Fleda?"

"While you want me!" said Fleda, again.

"Yes it won't be long."

"What won't be long?"

"I," said Hugh, quietly. "Not long. I am very glad I shall not leave you alone, dear Fleda very glad! promise me you will not leave me any more."

"Don't talk so, dear Hugh!"

"But it is true, Fleda," said Hugh, gently. "I know it. I sha'n't be here, but a little while. I am so glad you are come home, dear Fleda! You will not let anybody take you away till I am gone first?"

Fleda drew her arm close around Hugh's neck, and was still still even to his ear for a good while. A hard battle must be fought, and she must not be weak, for his sake, and for everybody's sake. Others of the family had come, or were coming into the room. Hugh waited till a short breath, but freer drawn, told him he might speak.

"Fleda," he whispered.

"What?"

"I am very happy. I only want your promise about that."

"I can't talk to you, Hugh."

"No; but promise me."

"What?"

"That you will not let anybody take you away while I want you."

"I am sure he would not ask it," said Fleda, hiding her cheeks and eyes at once in his breast.

CHAPTER XXII.

"Do you think I shall not love a sad Pamela as well as a joyful!" SIDNEY.

Mr. Carleton came back without his mother; she had chosen to put off her voyage till spring. He took up his quarters at Montepoole, which, far though it was, was yet the nearest point where his notions of ease could have freedom enough.

One would have thought that saw him those most nearly concerned almost did think that in his daily coming to Queechy, Mr. Carleton sought everybody's pleasure rather than his own. He was Fleda's most gentle and kind assistant in taking care of Hugh, soon dearly valued by the sick one, who watched for and welcomed his coming as a bright spot in the day; and loved particularly to have Mr. Carleton's hand do anything for him, rather than almost any other. His mother's was too feeling; Fleda's, Hugh often feared, was weary; and his father's, though gentle to him as to an infant, yet lacked the mind's training. And though Marion was his sister in blood, Guy was his brother in better bonds. The deep blue eye that little Fleda had admired, Hugh learned to love and rest on singularly.

To the rest of the family, Mr. Carleton's influence was more soothing and cheering than any cause beside. To all but the head of it. Even Mrs. Rossitur, after she had once made up her mind to see him, could not bear to be absent when he was in the house. The dreaded contrast with old times gave no pain, either to her or Marion. Mr. Carleton forgot so completely that there was any difference, that they were charmed into forgetting it too. But Mr. Rossitur's pride lay deeper, or had been less humbled by sorrow; the recollections that his family let slip never failed to gall him, when Mr. Carleton was present; and if now and then, for a moment, these were banished by his guest's graces of mind and manner, the next breath was a sigh for the circles and the pleasures they served to recall, now seeming for ever lost to him. Mr. Carleton perceived that his company gave pain and not pleasure to his host, and for that reason was the less in the house, and made his visits to Hugh at times when Mr. Rossitur was not in the way. Fleda he took out of the house and away with him, for her good and his own.

To Fleda, the old childish feeling came back, that she was in somebody's hands who had a marvellous happy way of managing things about her, and even of managing herself. A kind of genial atmosphere, that was always doing her good, yet so quietly and so skilfully, that she could only now and then get a chance even to look her thanks. Quietly and efficiently he was exerting himself to raise the tone of her mind, to brighten her spirits, to reach those sober lines that years of patience had drawn round her eye, and mouth, and charm them away. So gently, so indirectly, by efforts so wisely and gracefully aimed, he set about it, that Fleda did not know what he was doing; but he knew. He knew when he saw her brow unbend, and her eye catch its old light sparkle, that his conversation and the thoughts and interests with which he was rousing her mind or fancy, were working and would work all he pleased. And though the next day he might find the old look of patient gravity again, he hardly wished it not there, for the pleasure of doing it away. Hugh's anxious question to Fleda had been very uncalled for, and Fleda's assurance was well grounded; that subject was never touched upon.

Fleda's manner with Mr. Carleton was peculiar and characteristic. In the house, before others, she was as demure and reserved as though he had been a stranger; she never placed herself near him, nor entered into conversation with him, unless when he obliged her; but when they were alone there was a frank confidence and simplicity in her manner that most happily answered the high-bred delicacy that had called it out.

One afternoon of a pleasant day in March, Fleda and Hugh were sitting alone together in the sick-room. Hugh was weaker than usual but not confined to his bed; he was in his great easy- chair, which had been moved up stairs for him again. Fleda had been repeating hymns.

"You are tired," Hugh said.

"No."

"There's something about you that isn't strong," said Hugh, fondly. "I wonder where is Mr. Carleton to-day. It is very pleasant, isn't it?"

"Very pleasant and warm; it is like April; the snow all went off yesterday, and the ground is dry except in spots."

"I wish he would come and give you a good walk. I have noticed how you always come back looking so much brighter after one of your walks or rides with him."

"What makes you think so, dear Hugh?" said Fleda, a little troubled.

"Only my eyes," said Hugh, smiling. "It does me as much good as you, Fleda."

"I never want to go and leave you, Hugh."

"I am very glad there is somebody to take you. I wish he would come. You want it this minute."

"I don't think I shall let him take me if he comes."

"Whither? and whom?" said another voice.

"I didn't know you were there, Sir," said Fleda, suddenly rising.

"I am but just here Rolf admitted me as he passed out."

Coming in between them, and still holding the hand of one, Mr. Carleton bent down towards the other.

"How is Hugh to-day?"

It was pleasant to see that meeting of eyes the grave kindliness on the one side, the confident affection on the other. But the wasted features said as plainly as the tone of Hugh's gentle reply, that he was passing away fast.

"What shall I do for you?"

"Take Fleda out and give her a good walk. She wants it."

"I will, presently. You are weary what shall I do to rest you?"

"Nothing," said Hugh, closing his eyes with a very placid look; "unless you will put me in mind of something about heaven, Mr. Carleton."

"Shall I read to you? Baxter or something else?"

"No just give me something to think of while you're gone as you have done before, Mr. Carleton."

"I will give you two or three of the Bible bits on that subject; they are but hints and indications, you know rather rays of light that stream out from the place than any description of it; but you have only to follow one of these indications and see whither it will lead you. The first I recollect is that one spoken to Abraham, 'Fear not I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great reward.' "

"Don't go any further, Mr. Carleton," said Hugh, with a smile. "Fleda do you remember?"

They sat all silent, quite silent, all three, for nobody knew how long.

"You were going to walk," said Hugh, without looking at them.

Fleda, however, did not move till a word or two from Mr. Carleton had backed Hugh's request; then she went.

"Is she gone?" said Hugh. "Mr. Carleton, will you hand me that little desk?"

It was his own. Mr. Carleton brought it. Hugh opened it, and took out a folded paper, which he gave to Mr. Carleton, saying that he thought he ought to have it.

"Do you know the handwriting, Sir?"

"No."

"Ah! she has scratched it so. It is Fleda's."

Hugh shut his eyes again, and Mr. Carleton seeing that he had settled himself to sleep, went to the window with the paper. It hardly told him anything he did not know before, though set in a fresh light.

"Cold blew the east wind, And thick fell the rain I look'd for the tops Of the mountains in vain; Twilight was gathering, And dark grew the west, And the wood-fire's crackling Toned well with the rest.

"Speak fire, and tell me Thy flickering flame Fell on me in years past Say, am I the same? Has my face the same brightness In those days it wore ? My foot the same lightness, As it crosses the floor?

"Methinks there are changes I am weary to-night I once was as tireless As the bird on her flight: My bark, in full measure, Threw foam from the prow Not even for pleasure Would I care to move now.

" 'Tis not the foot only That lieth thus still I am weary in spirit I am listless in will. My eye vainly peereth Through the darkness, to find Some object that cheereth Some light for the mind.

"What shadows come o'er me What things of the past Bright things of my childhood That fled all too fast; The scenes where light roaming, My foot wandered free, Come back through the gloamin' Come all back to me.

"The cool autumn evening, The fair summer morn The dress and the aspect Some dear ones have worn The sunshiny places The shady hill side The words and the faces That might not abide.

"Die out, little fire Ay, blacken and pine! So have paled many lights That were brighter than thine. I can quicker thy embers Again with a breath, But the others lie cold In the ashes of death."

Mr. Carleton had read near through the paper before Fleda came in.

"I have kept you a long time, Mr. Carleton," she said, coming up to the window; "I found aunt Lucy wanted me."

But she saw with a little surprise the deepening eye which met her, and which showed, she knew, the working of strong feeling. Her own eye went to the paper in search of explanation.

"What have you there? Oh, Mr. Carleton," she said, putting her hand over it "please to give it to me!"

Fleda's face was very much in earnest. He took the hand, but did not give her the paper, and looked his refusal.

"I am ashamed you should see that! Who gave it to you?"

"You shall wreak your displeasure on no one but me," he said, smiling.

"But have you read it?"

"Yes."

"I am very sorry!"

"I am very glad, my dear Elfie."

"You will think you will think what wasn't true it was just a mood I used to get into once in a while I used to be angry with myself for it, but I could not help it one of those listless fits would take me now and then "

"I understand it, Elfie."

"I am very sorry you should know I ever felt or wrote so."

"Why?"

"It is very foolish and wrong "

"Is that a reason for my not knowing it?"

"No not a good one. But you have read it now wont you let me have it?"

"No I shall ask for all the rest of the portfolio, Elfie," he said, as he put it in a place of security.

"Pray, do not!" said Fleda, most unaffectedly.

"Why?"

"Because I remember Mrs. Carleton says you always have what you ask for."

"Give me permission to put on your bonnet, then?" said he, laughingly, taking it from her hand.

The air was very sweet, he footing pleasant. The first few steps of the walk were made by Fleda in silence, with eager breath, and a foot that grew lighter as it trod.

"I don't think it was a right mood of mind I had when I wrote that," she said. "It was morbid. But I couldn't help it. Yet if one could keep possession of those words you quoted just now, I suppose one never would have morbid feelings, Mr. Carleton?"

"Perhaps not; but human nature has a weak hold of anything, and many things may make it weaker."

"Mine is weak," said Fleda. "But it is possible to keep firm hold of those words, Mr. Carleton?"

"Yes by strength that is not human nature's and, after all, the firm hold is rather that in which we are held, or ours would soon fail. The very hand that makes the promise its own must be nerved to grasp it. And so it is best, for it keeps us looking off always to the Author and Finisher of our faith."

"I love those words," said Fleda. "But, Mr. Carleton, how shall one be sure that one has a right to those other words those, I mean, that you told to Hugh? One cannot take the comfort of them unless one is sure."

Her voice trembled.

"My dear Elfie, the promises have many of them their double stamped with the very same signet and if that sealed counterpart is your own, it is the sure earnest and title to the whole value of the promise."

"Well in this case?" said Fleda, eagerly.

"In this case, God says, 'I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great reward.' Now, see if your own heart can give the countersign 'Thou art my portion, O Lord!' "

Fleda's head sank instantly, and almost lay upon his arm.

"If you have the one, my dear Elfie, the other is yours it is the note of hand of the maker of the promise sure to be honoured. And if you want proof, here it is and a threefold cord is not soon broken 'Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him. With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation.' "

There was a pause of some length. Fleda had lifted up her head, but walked along very quietly, not seeming to care to speak.

"Have you the countersign, Elfie?"

Fleda flashed a look at him, and only restrained herself from weeping again.

"Yes. But so I had then, Mr. Carleton only sometimes I got those fits of feeling I forgot it, I suppose."

"When were these verses written?"

"Last fall uncle Rolf was away, and aunt Lucy unhappy and, I believe, I was tired. I suppose it was that."

For a matter of several rods, each was busy with his own musings. But Mr. Carleton bethought himself.

"Where are you, Elfie?"

"Where am I?"

"Yes Not at Queechy?"

"No, indeed" said Fleda, laughing. "Far enough away."

"Where?"

"At Paris at the March des Innocens."

"How did you get to Paris?"

"I don't know by a bridge of associations, I suppose, resting one end on last year, and the other on the time when I was eleven years old."

"Very intelligible," said Mr. Carleton, smiling.

"Do you remember that morning, Mr. Carleton, when you took Hugh and me to the March des Innocens?"

"Perfectly."

"I have thanked you a great many times since for getting up so early that morning."

"I think I was well paid at the time. I remember I thought I had seen one of the prettiest sights I had ever seen in Paris."

"So I thought!" said Fleda. "It has been a pleasant picture in my imagination ever since."

There was a curious curl in the corners of Mr. Carleton's mouth, which made Fleda look an inquiry a look so innocently wistful, that his gravity gave way.

"My dear Elfie!" said he, "you are the very child you were then."

"Am I?" said Fleda. "I dare say I am, for I feel so. I have the very same feeling I used to have then, that I am a child, and you taking the care of me into your own hands."

"One half of that is true, and the other half nearly so."

"How good you always were to me!" Fleda said, with a sigh.

"Not necessary to balance the debtor and creditor items on both sides," he said, with a smile, "as the account bids fair to run a good while."

A silence again, during which Fleda is clearly not enjoying the landscape nor the fine weather.

"Elfie what are you meditating?"

She came back from her meditations with a very frank look.

"I was thinking Mr. Carleton of your notions about female education."

"Well?"

They had paused upon a rising ground. Fleda hesitated, and then looked up in his face.

"I am afraid you will find me wanting, and when you do, will you put me in the way of being all you wish me to be?"

Her look was ingenuous and tender, equally. He gave her no answer, except by the eye of grave intentness that fixed hers till she could meet it no longer, and her own fell. Mr. Carleton recollected himself.

"My dear Elfie," said he, and whatever the look had meant, Elfie was at no loss for the tone now "what do you consider yourself deficient in?"

Fleda spoke with a little difficulty.

"I am afraid, in a good many things in general reading and in what are called accomplishments "

"You shall read as much as you please, by and by," said he, "provided you will let me read with you; and, as for the other want, Elfie, it is rather a source of gratification to me."

Elfie very naturally asked "Why?"

"Because, as soon as I have the power, I shall immediately constitute myself your master in the arts of riding and drawing, and in any other art or acquisition you may take a fancy to, and give you lessons diligently."

"And will there be gratification in that?" said Fleda.

His answer was by a smile. But he somewhat mischievously asked her, "Will there not?" and Fleda was quiet.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"Friends, I sorrow not to leave ye; If this life an exile be, We who leave it do but journey Homeward to our family." SPANISH BALLAD.



The first of April came.

Mr. Rossitur had made up his mind not to abide at Queechy, which only held him now by the frail thread of Hugh's life. Mr. Carleton knew this, and had even taken some steps towards securing for him a situation in the West Indies. But it was unknown to Fleda; she had not heard her uncle say anything on the subject since she came home; and though aware that their stay was a doubtful matter, she still thought it might be as well to have the garden in order. Philetus could not be trusted to do everything wisely of his own head, and even some delicate jobs of hand could not be safely left to his skill; if the garden was to make any head-way, Fleda's head and hand must both be there, she knew. So, as the spring opened, she used to steal away from the house every morning for an hour or two, hardly letting her friends know what she was about, to make sure that peas, and potatoes, and radishes, and lettuce, were in the right places at the right times, and to see that the later and more delicate vegetables were preparing for. She took care to have this business well over before the time that Mr. Carleton ever arrived from the Pool.

One morning she was busy in dressing the strawberry beds, forking up the ground between the plants, and filling the vacancies that the severe winter or some irregularities of fall dressing had made. Mr. Skillcorn was rendering a somewhat inefficient help, or, perhaps, amusing himself with seeing how she worked. The little old silver-grey hood was bending down over the strawberries, and the fork was going at a very energetic rate.

"Philetus "

"Marm!"

"Will you bring me that bunch of strawberry plants that lies at the corner of the beds, in the walk? and my trowel?"

"I will!" said Mr. Skillcorn.

It was, another hand, however, that brought them and laid them beside her; but Fleda, very intent upon her work, and hidden under her close hood, did not find it out. She went on busily putting in the plants as she found room for them, and just conscious, as she thought, that Philetus was still standing at her side, she called upon him from time to time, or merely stretched out her hand, for a fresh plant as she had occasion for it.

"Philetus," she said at length, raising her voice a little that it might win to him round the edge of her hood, without turning her face "I wish you would get the ground ready for that other planting of potatoes you needn't stay to help me any longer."

" 'Tain't me, I guess," said the voice of Philetus, on the other side of her.

Fleda looked in astonishment to make sure that it really was Mr. Skillcorn proceeding along the garden path in that quarter, and turning, jumped up and dropped her trowel and fork, to have her hands otherwise occupied. Mr. Skillcorn walked off leisurely towards the potato ground, singing to himself in a kind of consolatory aside

"I cock'd up my beaver, and who but I! The lace in my hat was so gallant and so gay, That I flourished like a king in his own countray."

"There is one of your countrymen that is an odd variety, certainly," said Mr. Carleton, looking after him with a very comic expression of eye.

"Is he not?" said Fleda. "And hardly a common one. There never was a line more mathematically straight than the course of Philetus's ideas; they never diverge, I think, to the right hand or the left, a jot from his own self-interest."

"You will be an invaluable help to me, Elfie, if you can read my English friends as closely."

"I am afraid you will not let me come as close to them," said Fleda, laughing.

"Perhaps not. I shouldn't like to pay too high a premium for the knowledge. How is Hugh, to-day?"

Fleda answered, with a quick change of look and voice, that he was much as usual.

"My mother has written me that she will be here by the 'Europa,' which is due to-morrow. I must set off for New York this afternoon; therefore I came so early to Queechy."

Fleda was instinctively pulling off her gardening gloves, as they walked towards the house.

"Aunt Miriam wants to see you, Mr. Carleton she begged I would ask you to come there some time "

"With great pleasure. Shall we go there now, Elfie?"

"I will be ready in five minutes."

Mrs. Rossitur was alone in the breakfast-room when they went in. Hugh, she reported, was asleep, and would be just ready to see Mr. Carleton by the time they got back. They stood a few minutes talking, and then Fleda went to get ready.

Both pair of eyes followed her as she left the room, and then met with perfect understanding.

"Will you give your child to me, Mrs. Rossitur?" said the gentleman.

"With all my heart!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur, bursting into tears "even if I were left alone entirely "

Her agitation was uncontrolled for a minute; and then she said, with feeling seemingly too strong to be kept in

"If I were only sure of meeting her in heaven, I could be content to be without her till then!"

"What is in the way, my dear Madam?" said Mr. Carleton, with a gentle sympathy that touched the very spring he meant it should. Mrs. Rossitur waited a minute, but it was only till tears would let her speak, and then said like a child

"Oh, it is all darkness!"

"Except this," said he, gently and clearly, "that Jesus Christ is a sun and a shield; and those that put themselves at His feet are safe from all fear, and they who go to Him for light shall complain of darkness no more."

"But I do not know how "

"Ask Him, and He will tell you."

"But I am unworthy even to look up towards Him," said Mrs. Rossitur, struggling, it seemed, between doubts and wishes.

"He knows that, and yet He has bid you come to Him. He knows that; and, knowing it, He has taken your responsibility, and paid your debt, and offers you now a clean discharge, if you will take it at His hand; and for the other part of this unworthiness, that blood cannot do away, blood has brought the remedy

Shall we, who are evil, give good things to our children; and shall not our Father, which is in heaven, give His Holy Spirit to them that ask Him?"

"But must I do nothing?" said Mrs. Rossitur, when she had remained quiet, with her face in her hands, for a minute or two after he had done speaking.

"Nothing but be willing be willing to have Christ in all His offices, as your Teacher, your King, and your Redeemer; give yourself to Him, dear Mrs. Rossitur, and He will take care of the rest."

"I am willing!" she exclaimed. Fresh tears came, and came freely. Mr. Carleton said no more, till; hearing some noise of opening and shutting doors above stairs, Mrs. Rossitur hurriedly left the room, and Fleda came in by the other entrance.

"May I take you a little out of the way, Mr. Carleton?" she said, when they had passed through the Deepwater settlement. "I have a message to carry to Mrs. Elster a poor woman out here beyond the Lake. It is not a disagreeable place."

"And what if it were?"

"I should not, perhaps, have asked you to go with me," said Fleda, a little doubtfully.

"You may take me where you will, Elfie," he said, gently. "I hope to do as much by you some day."

Fleda looked up at the piece of elegance beside her, and thought what a change must have come over him if he would visit poor places. He was silent and grave, however, and so was she, till they arrived at the house they were going to.

Certainly it was not a disagreeable place. Barb's much less strong-minded sister had at least a good share of her practical nicety. The little board path to the door was clean and white still, with possibly a trifle less brilliant effect. The room and its old inhabitants were very comfortable and tidy the patchwork counterpane as gay as ever. Mrs. Elster was alone, keeping company with a snug little wood fire, which was near as much needed in that early spring weather as it had been during the winter.

Mr. Carleton had come back from his abstraction, and stood, taking half unconscious note of these things, while Fleda was delivering her message to the old woman. Mrs. Elster listened to her implicitly, with, every now and then, an acquiescing nod or ejaculation; but so soon as Fleda had said her say, she burst out, with a voice that had never known the mufflings of delicacy, and was now pitched entirely beyond its owner's ken. Looking hard at Mr. Carleton

"Fleda! Is this the gentleman that's to be your husband?"

The last word elevated and brought out with emphatic distinctness of utterance.

If the demand had been, whether the gentleman in question was a follower of Mohammed, it would hardly have been more impossible for Fleda to give an affirmative answer; but Mr. Carleton laughed, and, bringing his face a little nearer the old crone, answered

"So she has promised, Ma'am ."

It was curious to see the lines of the old woman's face relax as she looked at him.

"He's worthy of you, as far as looks goes," she said, in the same key as before, apostrophising Fleda, who had drawn back, but not stirring her eyes from Mr. Carleton all the time. And then she added to him, with a little, satisfied nod, and in a very decided tone of information

"She will make you a good wife."

"Because she has made a good friend?" said Mr. Carleton, quietly. "Will you let me be a friend, too?"

He had turned the old lady's thoughts into a golden channel, whence, as she was an American, they had no immediate issue in words; and Fleda and Mr. Carleton left the house without anything more.

Fleda felt nervous. But Mr. Carleton's first words were as coolly and as gravely spoken as if they had just come out from a philosophical lecture; and with an immediate spring of relief, she enjoyed every step of the way, and every word of the conversation, which was kept up with great life till they reached Mrs. Plumfield's door.

No one was in the sitting-room. Fleda left Mr. Carleton there, and passed gently into the inner apartment, the door of which was standing ajar.

But her heart absolutely leaped into her mouth, for Dr. Quackenboss and Mr. Olmney were there on either side of her aunt's bed. Fleda came forward and shook hands.

"This is quite a meeting of friends," said the doctor, blandly, yet with a perceptible shading of the whilome broad sunshine of his face. "Your a aunt, my dear Miss Ringgan, is in a most extraordinary state of mind!"

Fleda was glad to hide her face against her aunt's, and asked her how she did.

"Dr. Quackenboss thinks it extraordinary, Fleda," said the old lady, with her usual cheerful sedateness, "that one who has trusted God, and had constant experience of His goodness and faithfulness for forty years, should not doubt Him at the end of it."

"You have no doubt of any kind, Mrs. Plumfield?" said the clergyman.

"Not the shadow of a doubt!" was the hearty, steady reply.

"You mistake, my dear Madam," said Dr. Quackenboss, "pardon me it is not that: I would be understood to say, merely, that I do not comprehend how such a such security can be attained respecting what seems so a elevated and difficult to know."

"Only by believing," said Mrs. Plumfield, with a very calm smile. " 'He that believeth on Him shall not be ashamed;' 'shall not be ashamed!' " she repeated, slowly.

Dr. Quackenboss looked at Fleda, who kept her eyes fixed upon her aunt.

"But it seems to me I beg pardon; perhaps I am arrogant" he said, with a little bow; "but it appears to me almost in a manner almost presumptuous, not to be a little doubtful in such a matter until the time comes. Am I do you disapprove of me, Mr. Olmney?"

Mr. Olmney silently referred him for his answer to the person he had first addressed, who had closed her eyes while he was speaking.

"Sir," she said, opening them, "it can't be presumption to obey God, and He tells me to rejoice. And I do I do! 'Let all those that love thee rejoice in thee, and be glad in thee!' But mind!" she added, energetically, fixing her strong grey eve upon him, "He does not tell you to rejoice do not think it not while you stand aloof from His terms of peace. Take God at His word, and be happy; but if not, you have nothing to do with the song that I sing!"

The doctor stared at her till she had done speaking, and then slunk out of her range of vision behind the curtains of the bed-post. Not silenced, however.

"But a Mr. Olmney," said he, hesitating, "don't you think that there is in general a a becoming modesty, in a in people that have done wrong, as we all have putting off being sure until they are so? It seems so to me!"

"Come here, Dr. Quackenboss," said aunt Miriam.

She waited till he came to her side, and then taking his hand, and looking at him very kindly, she said

"Sir, forty years ago I found in the Bible, as you say, that I was a sinner, and that drove me to look for something else. I found then God's promise, that if I would give my dependence entirely to the Substitute he had provided for me, and yield my heart to his service, he would, for Christ's sake, hold me quit of all my debts, and be my father, and make me his child. And, Sir, I did it. I abhor every other dependence the things you count good in me I reckon but filthy rags. At the same time, I know that ever since that day, forty years ago, I have lived in his service, and tried to live to his glory. And now, Sir, shall I disbelieve his promise? do you think he would be pleased if I did?"

The doctor's mouth was stopped, for once, He drew back as soon as he could, and said not another word.

Before anybody had broken the silence, Seth came in; and after shaking hands with Fleda, startled her by asking, whether that was not Mr. Carleton in the other room.

"Yes," Fleda said "he came to see aunt Miriam."

"Aint you well enough to see him, mother?"

"Quite and very happy," she said.

Seth immediately went back and invited him in. Fleda dared not look up while the introductions were passing of "the Rev. Mr. Olmney," and of "Dr. Quackenboss," the former of whom Mr. Carleton took cordially by the hand, while Dr. Quackenboss, conceiving that his hand must be as acceptable, made his salutations with an indescribable air, at once of attempted gracefulness and ingratiation. Fleda saw the whole in the advancing line of the doctor's person, a vision of which crossed her downcast eye. She drew back then, for Mr. Carleton came where she was standing, to take her aunt's hand; Seth had absolutely stayed his way before to make the said introductions.

Mrs. Plumfield was little changed by years or disease since he had seen her. There was somewhat more of a look of bodily weakness than there used to be; but the dignified, strong- minded expression of the face was even heightened; eye and brow were more pure and unclouded in their steadfastness. She looked very earnestly at her visitor, and then with evident pleasure from the manner of his look and greeting. Fleda watched her eye softening with a gratified expression, and fixed upon him, as he was gently talking to her.

Mr. Olmney presently came round to take leave, promising to see her another time; and passing Fleda, with a frank grave pressure of the hand, which gave her some pain. He and Seth left the room. Fleda was hardly conscious that Dr. Quackenboss was still standing at the foot of the bed, making the utmost use of his powers of observation. He could use little else, for Mr. Carleton and Mrs. Plumfield, after a few words on each side, had, as it were, by common consent, come to a pause. The doctor, when a sufficient time had made him fully sensible of this, walked up to Fleda, who wished heartily at the moment that she could have presented the reverse end of the magnet to him. Perhaps, however, it was that very thing which, by a perverse sort of attraction, drew him towards her.

"I suppose a we may conclude," said he, with a some. what saturnine expression of mischief "that Miss Ringgan contemplates forsaking the agricultural line before a great while?"

"I have not given up my old habits, Sir," said Fleda, a good deal vexed.

"No I suppose not but Queechy air is not so well suited for them other skies will prove more genial," he said, she could not help thinking, pleased at her displeasure.

"What is the fault of Queechy air, Sir?" said Mr. Carleton, approaching them.

"Sir!" said the doctor, exceedingly taken aback, though the words had been spoken in the quietest manner possible "it a it has no fault, Sir that I am particularly aware of it is perfectly salubrious. Mrs. Plumfield, I will bid you good-day; I a I hope you will get well again."

"I hope not, Sir!" said aunt Miriam, in the same clear hearty tones which had answered him before.

The doctor took his departure, and made capital of his interview with Mr. Carleton; who, he affirmed, he could tell by what he had seen of him, was a very deciduous character, and not always conciliating in his manners.

Fleda waited with a little anxiety for what was to follow the doctor's leave-taking.

It was with a very softened eye that aunt Miriam looked at the two who were left, clasping Fleda's hand again; and it was with a very softened voice that she next spoke.

"Do you remember our last meeting, Sir?"

"I remember it well," he said.

"Fleda tells me you are a changed man since that time?"

He answered only by a slight and grave bow.

"Mr. Carleton," said the old lady "I am a dying woman and this child is the dearest thing in the world to me after my own and hardly after him. Will you pardon me will you bear with me, if, that I may die in peace, I say, Sir, what else it would not become me to say? and it is for her sake."

"Speak to me freely as you would to her," he said, with a look that gave her full permission.

Fleda had drawn close and hid her face in her aunt's neck. Aunt Miriam's hand moved fondly over her cheek and brow for a minute or two in silence; her eye resting there too.

"Mr. Carleton, this child is to belong to you how will you guide her?"

"By the gentlest paths," he said, with a smile.

A whispered remonstrance from Fleda to her aunt had no effect.

"Will her best interests be safe in your hands?"

"How shall I resolve you of that, Mrs. Plumfield?" he said, gravely.

"Will you help her to mind her mother's prayer, and keep herself unspotted from the world?"

"As I trust she will help me."

A rogue may answer questions, but an eye that has never known the shadow of double-dealing makes no doubtful discoveries of itself. Mrs. Plumfield read it, and gave it her very thorough respect.

"Mr. Carleton pardon me, Sir I do not doubt you but I remember hearing long ago that you were rich and great in the world it is dangerous for a Christian to be so can she keep in your grandeur the simplicity of heart and life she has had at Queechy?"

"May I remind you of your own words, my dear madam? By the blessing of God all things are possible. These things you speak of are not in themselves evil; if the mind be set on somewhat else, they are little beside a larger storehouse of material to work with an increased stewardship to account for."

"She has been taking care of others all her life," said aunt Miriam, tenderly; "it is time she was taken care of: and these feet are very unfit for rough paths; but I would rather she should go on struggling, as she has done, with difficulties, and live and die in poverty, than that the lustre of her heavenly inheritance should be tarnished even a little. I would, my darling."

"But the alternative is not so," said Mr. Carleton, with gentle grace, touching Fleda's hand, who he saw was a good deal disturbed. "Do not make her afraid of me, Mrs. Plumfield."

"I do not believe I need," said aunt Miriam, "and I am sure I could not but, Sir, you will forgive me?"

"No, Madam that is not possible."

"One cannot stand where I do," said the old lady, "without learning a little the comparative value of things; and I seek my child's good that is my excuse. I could not be satisfied to take her testimony."

"Take mine, Madam," said Mr. Carleton. "I have learned the comparative value of things too; and I will guard her highest interests as carefully as I will every other as earnestly as you can desire."

"I thank you, Sir," said the old lady, gratefully. "I am sure of it. I shall leave her in good hands. I wanted this assurance. And if ever there was a tender plant that was not fitted to grow on the rough side of the world I think this is one," said she, kissing earnestly the face that yet Fleda did not dare to lift up.

Mr. Carleton did not say what he thought. He presently took kind leave of the old lady, and went into the next room, where Fleda soon rejoined him, and they set off homewards.

Fleda was quietly crying all the way down the hill. At the foot of the hill, Mr. Carleton resolutely slackened his pace.