liant waltz, then a mazurka, then a varsovienne-all of the most inspiriting kind-till the fair performer happening to cast her eyes upon a looking-glass that reflected her friend's image, perceived that Georgiana's whole person seemed transformed, and instinct with animation, while her feet were busily tracing steps in the air. Anna Matilda ceased playing abruptly, and turned round on her stool.

'Oh, go on-go on!' said Georgiana, imploringly.

'Why, Georgy,' cried Miss Audley, starting from her seat, why are you so excited, my dear girl?'

Georgiana's animation faded in an instant, and she leant her head back on the cushions, while two streams of tears ran down from her eyes. In reply to her friend's anxious questions, she answered, half-weeping half-laughing-'I fancied I was at the ball.'

True-it is the twenty-eighth,' murmured Anna Matilda.

Then, without chiding her for the weakness she had involuntarily betrayed, she began describing in such sarcastic colours the disappointment their two unworthy lovers would experience at not meeting them, that Georgiana finished by laughing outright, and declaring she was quite glad to be so many miles away from the festive scene, and out of all danger of ever meeting Harry again.

Things went on very smoothly for some time after, and Georgiana recovered a portion of her former spirits, though occasionally she complained that winter was rather dull in the country. But when the spring set in with unusual mildness, she took such interest in watching the blossoms, and inspecting the beehives, and rambling about the garden and the fields, that even when Fanny, now just out, wrote that she pitied her for being buried in the country, while they were all alive with balls and parties in town, she would not own to herself that she felt the least regret for London festivities. The only passage that really interested her in Fanny's gossiping letter, was a passing mention of

Harry Clifford, who, she said, had not been seen at any of their acquaintances' houses since the ball on the 28th February, at which he made his appearance but for a moment, and then vanished. Fanny thought he might have danced with her. He did, however, inquire after both Miss Audley and Georgiana. On the cross-writing of Fanny's long letter, she stated that Frank Blythwood was more rattling than ever,' and was thought to be courting a rich soap-boiler's daughter.

Georgiana put the letter into her friend's hand, and pointed to the two forbidden names.

'It shows we have done what our dignity required,' said Anna Matilda; 'do let us forget them once for all.'

Summer succeeded to spring. The young ladies received visits from some of their neighbours-but as they only allowed the female portion of the families to enter their cottage, they were nicknamed the 'nuns.' Georgiana thought there would be no harm in admitting gentlemen to the privilege of morning calls; but Miss Audley ruled that until Georgiana was of age, and could take the resolution they intended forming, beyond the power of revocation, it was more suitablo to decline male visitors altogether. For it should be observed that Anna Matilda had determined on waiting for her friend's majority, before she bound herself to the celibacy and solitude she was for ever praising.

Georgiana submitted, as she always did, to her imperious friend, but remained unconvinced. She thought, however, there was little use in adorning herself if nobody (of the male gender) was to see her; and accordingly she neglected her dress, and rambled about in her last year's straw hat, and wrapped up in a large shawl that completely concealed her elegant figure.

'I am graduating for becoming a hermit,' would she say whenever Miss Audley remonstrated with her for growing careless of her toilet.

But one day on returning from her morning walk, she picked the old trimming off her hat, and put

on new ribbons, and while SO engaged, informed her friend there was an artist sketching in the neighbourhood.

Is there?' said Miss Audley, in a tone of indifference.

'He is very handsome,' continued Georgiana.

'Is he?' replied her friend, with the same provoking coolness.

'His name is Edgar Tyrrell-a pretty, romantic name-is it not?' persisted Georgiana.

'Surely, Miss Fletcher, you did not ask him his name?' exclaimed Anna Matilda, roused to indignation.

'No, Miss Audley, I did not,' replied Georgiana, laughing; 'I saw it on his colour-box.'

'Then you must have approached him nearer than good manners warranted,' said Matilda.

'He asked me a question about an old castle, being a stranger in this neighbourhood,' said Georgiana, and good manners prevented my remaining dumb.'

'But suppose he is handsome, and has a romantic name,' resumed Matilda, 'what is that to us? Are you still weak-minded enough to pin your faith on handsome men?'

'No; but what harm is there in saying he is handsome?' persisted Georgiana; 'I speak as I should of any picture at the exhibition.'

Still as the handsome picture was sufficiently made up of flesh and blood, for Georgiana not to care to

rambles, and judging for herself, how dangerous a swain the unknown artist was likely to prove.

Accordingly they sallied forth together on the following morning, and Georgiana led the way, of course by chance, to the spot where he was at work, when politeness required she should bow to him. In a few minutes both young ladies were looking at his sketch, and Miss Audley was presently descanting on colour and chiaroscuro with a fluency that showed her to be deeply conversant with the jargon of the fine arts. Whether Edgar Tyrrell listened very attentively to the meaning of her remarks, is more than doubtful, for the young painter's eyes were so fascinated by the classic beauty of his new acquaintance, that his ears caught nothing beyond the mere sound of her words, which had the effect of sweet music, or of a murmuring stream.

'What do you think of him?' asked Georgiana, the moment they were out of hearing.

'He is very intellectual,' replied Anna Matilda.

'How can you tell that,' said Georgiana laughing, 'when he hardly spoke two words?'

Miss Audley turned away her head with an impatient gesture. She never could brook being made to perceive that she had said a silly thing-and resolved, if she met the young painter again, to give him an opportunity of proving that she had judged him rightly. But he was not to be found on the same spot next morning, nor the day after; and Anna Matilda unconsciously betrayed a degree of irritability during the rest of the day, which would have led any one to suppose that she attached more importance to the meeting than she would have cared to acknowledge to her friend.

About a week afterwards, our fair recluses went to take tea with two widow ladies, sisters, who lived in a pretty cottage, about a mile distant from their home. Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Gilbert were past the prime of life, but cheerful, pleasant women, who liked to see everybody happy around them; and who, though but

recent acquaintances, had already taken the privilege of lecturing their youthful visitors on what they termed their unnatural mode of life.

'It is absurd, my dears,' would they say, 'to fancy that two young hearts can live upon friendship for ever.'

On these occasions Miss Audley would invariably adduce the example of her favourite heroines, Lady Eleanor and her friend.

'Ay, that's all very well to write about,' said the sensible matrons; 'and they may have seemed very happy to the tourists who called upon them, and saw them in their sunny hours; but who knows how often they repented their rash resolution?'

On reaching the cottage, the young ladies found the tea-table ready spread for their reception; and presently they sat down to the social meal with their hostesses, one of whom remarked that they need not wait for their friend, as his return was uncertain.

'You must not be angry, you manhater,' said Mrs. Gilbert, gaily tapping Matilda on the shoulder,' but we have a male friend staying with us-and as after all you are subject to meet these nuisances when you pay visits, we didn't think ourselves obliged to lock him up.'

'Certainly not,' said Miss Audley, disdainfully; our hearts are not made of such inflammable materials as to need the precaution of bolts and bars.'

'Bolts and bars may become very wise precautions, my dear, some two years later,' began Mrs. Brown, when

Here she was interrupted by the entrance of the guest, who had returned sooner than expected, and whom she hastened to introduce as Mr. Edgar Tyrrell, an artist from London, who had come to carry away some of their Monmouthshire views.

'But not to deprive you of them, my dear hostesses,' said he, smiling and taking a hand of each sister affectionately, as he bowed gracefully to the young ladies.

Anna Matilda was provoked at herself on feeling the colour rise to

her cheeks, especially as she perceived a glance exchanged between the sisters. She therefore thought it best to say at once that she had had the pleasure of meeting the gentleman before, and of admiring one of the sketches to which Mrs. Brown alluded. Mr. Tyrrell replied suitably, and the conversation soon became animated and agreeable. Anna Matilda recovered her usual composure, and Georgiana was as gay as a lark.

When the tea-things were removed, the artist brought in his portfolio, at Mrs. Gilbert's request, and its contents were exhibited to the young ladies. The sketch near St. Briavel's, the spot where Miss Audley had first met the young painter, was almost finished since then; but she observed a duplicate of the same scene, in an unfinished state, in which it seemed that the figures of herself and her companion had been sketched in, as well as that of the artist taking the view -only before she had time to satisfy her curiosity on this point, Edgar Tyrrell had dexterously concealed it behind some sheets of blank paper which he laid on one side.

The evening passed very pleasantly, and so rapidly, that the young ladies were surprised when their maid came to fetch them in company with the gardener's son. Mrs. Gilbert observed, 'Such an escort was superfluous for that night, as their friend was too chivalrous by far not to think it a pleasure to see them safely home.' After declaring they should be perfectly safe, even if Georgiana and herself went home quite alone, Miss Audley made no objection to Edgar Tyrrell's walking by their side during the mile that separated them from home, especially as her London maid was now replaced by a country girl, who had neither Martha's prying propensities, nor sufficient quickness to make comments on her young mistress's conduct.

As they walked along in the soft moonlight, Edgar took occasion to remark that there was one scene he regretted not adding to his collection, namely, a little mountain stream leaping down amidst rocks; which

he described so graphically, that Anna Matilda exclaimed incautiously that she knew it well, as she could see it from her garden.

'And why don't you sketch it?' asked Georgiana, archly.

'For the reason Miss Audley has just given,' said the artist. 'I have no right to trespass on her garden, and the view, such as I once saw it on a former visit to this neighbourhood, can only be obtained in perfection from the elevated part of Miss Audley's garden.'

Thus indirectly appealed to, Miss Audley judged that she would only appear afraid to trust herself in the vicinity of a handsome man, if she carried her prudery to the extent of refusing an artist leave to take a sketch from her garden. Accordingly she said politely, but coldly, that she could not think of depriving the world of the fine arts of another gem from his pencil,' and, 'that he was free to come through her garden to obtain the desired point de vue.'

Edgar Tyrrell was not slow in availing himself of the permission; and the very next day he came with his portfolio and camp stool, and established himself on a kind of platform commanding the fall; but he had the good taste and discretion not to ask to see the fair inmates of the cottage, merely telling the gardener that Miss Audley had given him permission to sketch on her premises.

'I think it is rather inhuman of us not to give him luncheon,' observed Georgiana, when the young painter had come and gone after the same discreet fashion, for two or three consecutive mornings.

'You seem to take great interest in him,' said Miss Audley, with more irritation than the case seemed to warrant.

Georgiana began humming an air. She did not relish being continually snubbed by her friend, and to avoid quarrelling, she went out into the garden to look at the beehives. In a few minutes Anna Matilda stood at her elbow.

'Really,' said Georgiana, laughing, 'you remind me of Mentor, who used to provoke me, when learning

French at school, with always running after poor Télémaque, for fear he should misbehave himself amongst the girls.'

'May not I come and look at the beehives as well as you, Georgy?' asked Miss Audley, colouring deeply.

'I wish I could make her jealous of me,' thought Georgiana; ' and that jealousy made her fall in love with Edgar Tyrrell-and then!

Ay!-in that one little word 'then,' which she did not expound any further, even to herself, how many desiderata lay concealed! freedomthe making up of lovers' quarrelsand a host of possibilities that had hitherto appeared sheer impossibilities.

Just three weeks after the wish she had formed, Georgiana, on coming down to breakfast, found a letter directed to herself, in a hand that might not have disgraced a cat; the contents of which ran as follows:

'Dear Miss,

'Eckuse liberty, but Mr. Clifford is breaking is 'art after you, and i think rite to tell you as i ham very 'appy with the perliceman, as we wer married last sunday, and am your umble servant,

'MRS. MARTHA STAMMERS.'

Georgiana read this curious epistle three times over, and then hiding it in her pocket, fell into deep thought. Was Harry repentant after all? Any way it showed a kind feeling in Martha, to give her this hint; and some penetration, Georgiana thought, to have discovered she once cared for Harry Clifford. She was so completely absorbed in her musings, that she did not perceive how long she had sat waiting for Matilda to join her at the breakfast table, till the maid came in to ask whether she should bring in the urn?

'I'll wait for Miss Audley,' said Georgiana.

'Please, miss,' said the maid, 'I think you'll be hungry if you do.' 'Is she gone out?'

'Yes, miss.'

What, for long?' said Georgiana. The maid looked particularly silly

at this question, as she replied: 'Well, I suppose so, miss.'

Georgiana ate her breakfast none the worse, perhaps, for Martha's letter, and then rambled out into the garden. In Mentor's absence she thought she would venture to go and look at Mr. Tyrrell's sketch, which must have become a picture by this time. For, working three weeks on the same subject, either he must have been much dissatisfied with his first two or three attempts, or else have arrived at completion by this time.

'Is Mr. Tyrrell at work up there?' asked she of the gardener's son. 'No, miss, he be gone,' said the lad with a broad grin.

'Gone? What! left the neighbourhood?' cried Georgiana. But when was he here last?"

'He was here this morning, miss,' replied the lad, till Miss Audley came, and they went away together, out by that 'ere gate.' When perceiving Georgiana's look of amazement, he quickly added: La! miss, what didn't you know? Why they've been a-courting every day as the gent came.'

It now flashed across Georgiana's mind that her friend had somehow contrived daily to occupy her with one thing or another, while she disappeared from the room, evidently to superintend the sketch of the waterfall. Not caring to encourage the lad to talk any more, she went back into the house, scarcely knowing whether to laugh or be angry that her companion had gone away without a word of explanation. Yet she somehow experienced a sense of great relief. Late in the day she received a note from Anna Matilda, informing her that she had met with a sincere heart at last; and was about to be united to Edgar Tyrrell. Why she need have run away to do so, was rather problematical; except, perhaps, that she was ashamed to face her friend after changing her mind so soon-besides, being one of those who prefer cutting the Gordian knot to untying it.

Left to herself, Georgiana lost no time in writing home to her family, explaining what had happened, and begging them to come and fetch her