"Did you see nothing of Philip?"

"Only in the distance, going down a slide with Lord Sauffrenden, and all the boys in the village. Lord Sauffrenden got knocked down once or twice, and each time we heard Philip's great 'Haw! haw!' coming across the ice. You know his laugh. He only laughs about twice a-year, and then it is like thunder."

"He didn't come up to you?"

"No; he pretended not to see us. They were having great fun, and I don't think he wanted to be troubled. We skated several times round them."

"If I had been there," thought Helen, "I think he would have come."

"At last he walked off with Mr Smith," concluded Lily.

"Did he? Where could they be going? To the Hill?" "Yes; I think so, at least. I heard Philip call out something about ten o'clock, and one of the men touched his hat. I suppose he has gone to dine there."

"And what about Miss Fulton?" inquired Helen.

Oh, Miss Fulton! Lily had a fund of information and merriment about Miss Fulton. The way she and the Admiral had borne down on Mr Smith, the way Mr Smith had sailed away from them, the way the Admiral had hobbled round on his gouty leg, and caught him up again; and best of all, the way Cornelia had joined with him, and smiled, and chatted, and pursued from point to point; yet doing it all in such evident innocence and unconsciousness, that it was a treat to watch her.

The Hunts, however, who were incapable of understanding such a happy state of mind, had been wild with jealousy. They too had tried to chase down Mr Smith, but not with equal success. Lily thought he had never even spoken to them, but Carry corrected her. He had; he had stayed with them about five minutes, but after that she was certain he had been keeping out of their way.

Mrs Hunt, with a fierce, anxious face, had hauled the two hither and thither, and kept them standing by the side till they must have been half frozen, but all to no end. They were still there when the Tolletons had left, the girls looking sulky and rather ashamed. Miss Clay had been left in their charge by her brother-in-law, and Mrs Hunt

had appeared to be somewhat consoled by this attention, though Lily affirmed that even Maria and Clare looked respectable by the side of Miss Clay, who had got herself up a perfect fright.

The first rush of the incoming tide having now subsided, Helen was at liberty to dilate upon what had happened at home, which she did with animation.

The bell, the voices, the light tap at the door, were graphically portrayed. The suspense between the first and second appearance of the maid, the crunching footstep on the gravel—the look backwards from the gate,— all in turn were dwelt upon.

"Don't you think it was a pity to send so very plain a message?" said Lily, prudent for once.

"I knew it was at the time; but it was the only thing I could do. If I had had any other excuse-but, however, it was better to stick to one. No, the headache did very well. He ought not to have shown he did not believe in it. But it was just like him."

"What do you think he will do now?"

The only

'Nothing, if we can keep him at a distance. way is to defy boldly, when you are driven into a corner.' "I was so disappointed," said Carry, in her slow way. "I thought I heard him tell Miss Fulton that they were going on Saturday. I thought I should have that to tell. And she said she was so glad. So I'm sure am I!' I thought. But the next moment it turned out to be not the Aytouns going, but the Lorrimers coming."

"You stupid!" said Helen, laughing. "How could you imagine she would tell Colonel Aytoun she was glad he was going?"

"Of course," said Carry, warmly, "I knew she ought not to say it, but she is so odd. I put it down to that."

"Carry would never have said it herself," said Lily, looking at her.

"Of course not," rejoined Carry again. "How could you ever think I should? I never say rude things like that. Nobody knows better than I what I am about, though you and Helen don't think so. I can answer better than either you when I choose."

of

"It's a pity you don't choose oftener then," said Lily, drily.

CHAPTER XXII.

HE HAD GUESSED THE INDUCEMENT.

WHEN Colonel Aytoun looked back after closing the gate at Freelands, he was not hurling imprecations on the head of its inhabitant, nor even vowing eternal vengeance. In these days such magnificent sensations are unusual.

But, nevertheless, there was working within his bosom a feeling, which with care might have been nursed into a very respectable thirst for revenge. He longed to pay her out. He had never been treated so in his life before. He said to himself that no woman had ever yet turned her back upon him.

Strange as this might seem if true, it was true after a fashion.

So short a time did he allow to elapse before his affections fell from warm to freezing-point, that it was scarcely possible for any one to anticipate him.

On first acquaintance he was charming; and he never declined—he jumped from one extreme to the other. One day lying at a fair one's feet, the next walking off in another direction. But Helen had been an exception to this rule, from the beginning of his acquaintance with her. Her beauty had caught his eye. Her ready wit amused his fancy. And the freedom from restraint, and fearlessness of the world's criticism, which, joined to the ignorance of motherless seventeen, had made her ready to learn whatever he taught, and willing to obey whatever he ordered, had completed the charm.

That she had burst away from him in a rage was rather stimulating than otherwise. He had not wearied of her, and he had not done with her. He had brought his wife to Sauffrenden on purpose to renew his acquaintance with her, for the unhappy Emmeline was his only key of entrance there. She had been made to write and propose the visit ; and when it was accepted he had grimly jested with her in the satisfaction of his heart.

To be met thus !

Looked at, spoken to, like a serpent deprived at once of

its charm and its sting. And the end! Turned from the door, because, forsooth, his importunity was too troublesome, his company too insipid. Miss Tolleton was fatigued with admiration, his was altogether superfluous.

His vanity, however, would not long permit him to take this view of the case. It is difficult to sustain painful thoughts of ourselves for any length of time. Any other interpretation, any other solution of the enigma, would be welcome.

He thought of Philip. But the more he thought of him the more his conviction amounted to an instinct that he was not the man. Whoever it was, it was not he. That being the case, Philip might be made of use in discovering to him who it was.

He regretted that he had not cultivated Captain Wellwood's goodwill. A fellow who gave himself such confounded airs was not likely to be brought round in a hurry. He might be tried, but could not be depended upon.

On a sudden he recollected Sir George Lorrimer. Sir George was at present unknown to him, but he and Lady Lorrimer were expected at the Castle in a few days, and their acquaintance could be assiduously sought. Now that he was prepared beforehand he would use all his powers of ingratiation. It mattered not who or what sort of person he was; he would take colour by him, and attain the coveted information. Sir George, he was aware, had been in the neighbourhood before, and probably knew all about Miss Tolleton.

Lord Sauffrenden, before he went to the ice, sent his portmanteau to the station, intending to run up to London for a few days, and have, as he told his wife, a breath of fresh air, before inhaling more of his guest's society.

In his own house he said to himself he could not be bad to Colonel Aytoun; and though this being bad simply meant with him coming short of the veriest extreme of brotherly kindness, still it made him constrained and uncomfortable.

He was not enjoying his Christmas, and at last determined in cowardly fashion to run away from it.

As for Milly, she need have nothing to do with Aytoun. If she and Emmeline and Mary Percy kept together there was no fear of their being molested. The obnoxious guest

had gone through his usual stages with all three, although in the case of Lady Sauffrenden the preliminary stage had been very brief, for her being his wife's cousin and steady friend had developed the second prematurely.

But Milly cared not a jot for him.

As soon as her "Good morning” had been bowed across the breakfast-table, she ignored his existence for the rest of the day. She had nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be ashamed of, nothing in her life past and present which all the world might not pry into. What was Colonel Aytoun to her? A man she would not have had seen at her house but for poor dear Emmeline's sake.

Yes, Sauffrenden might go if he chose. If she had been in his place very likely she would have done the same; and she quite agreed with him as to the propriety of putting Rosamond off till after the Aytouns had left.

This was Lord Sauffrenden's business in town. He was to see his sister, and advise her to postpone her visit till they were free.

"I shall tell her that, of course; we can't turn them away as long as they choose to say," said he; "though it's the last Christmas I shall catch myself having them here, spoiling our whole party. It has been a perfect marplot."

"Poor Emmy! I am glad for her sake, however," said Millicent, tenderly. "You have no idea how nice she is, Sauffrenden. And she seems quite a different creature when she is out alone with Mary and me. She laughs and talks, and gets such a colour. And then she comes down to dinner all cold and dead again, as if he had withered her up. Fancy what it must be to be alone with him! She said to me yesterday she did hope we could put up with them for a very little longer, she did not know when she had enjoyed herself so much. Those were her

words."

"Poor thing! What a brute he is!"

"And you know, she tries to put a good face upon it. I think that is the most touching part," said the proud unemotional little Lady Sauffrenden, with a sudden break in her voice. "I can scarcely bear to hear her poor excuses, and see how she looks to find out if we are taken in by them. She never complains. She talks about the Abbey as if everybody pictured it a happy home instead of a great