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Philip came home that night safe ever felt for any man. Were he my and well, but not happy. A most own brother, I could not feel more extraordinary and painful thing,' he keenly any possible disgrace which told Flora, had occurred. Horace may attach, though undeservedly, to Greville is accused openly of all the name of Horace Greville.' sorts of things that you can't under * But how would you feel,' she stand, my darling; and, poor fellow, persisted, 'if such a thing could be poor fellow, I suppose he knew what that you were deceived in him? was coming, and couldn't face it; Could you forgive-like him still ?' for no one has seen anything of him * Flora,' he said, rather sternly, since the race, when it came out she thought, poor trembling woman that a horse, that had been thought that she was, do you know me so a good deal of all along, but that did little? I never suspect anybody, darnot even win a place, belonged to ling,' he added, more lightly--but him.'

oh! how the words cut home to her Flora could only say, 'Oh, in heart!-- but when I know myself deed;' and Philip, who would have deceived, everything is at an end.' sacrificed half his fortune, or the Philip!' she exclaimed, energetiwhole of it, for that matter, to clear cally, you frighten me. Don't say the character of the man he believed that-it sounds harsh, unforgiving in, and liked, from this stain that --everything that is most unlike my had fallen upon it, felt annoyed that husband.' in this one thing Flora's sympathy 'I dare say it does to a woman, should fail him.

my pet,' he replied, 'it being rather * Has he ever done anything to a feminine habit to fight and drink annoy you, Flora ? he asked, gravely tea with one another alternately.

- anything that would warrant She could give no outward sign, your invariable coldness and indif but mentally she was wringing her ference to him, and about him, in hands and biting the dust. disregard of his claims as my friend 'Such a trifle as it was,' she on you as my wife?'

groaned, also mentally, and I have What should he have done, Phi made it, by concealment, so grave a lip?' she answered, evasively. 'I fault.' have an idea-a general idea-that That Philip Morton sought far and he is not worthy of the warm feel near for tidings of his friend's fate I ings you lavish on him; that's all.' need not say. He was not one to

Was that all? How she scorned give the hand of fellowship to a man herself as she said it-how her heart one day, and forget his existence the ached for that she, Philip Morton's next. He inserted wonderful adwife, should be such a coward ? vertisements, framed cleverly to Philip Morton sat silent and thought- catch Greville's eye, and appeal ful for some time: he had almost for to his intelligence alone, and gotten Flora's coolness about Horace, they were of none effect. Whether in all-absorbing anxiety as regarded that gentleman saw them not, or Horace himself.

whether he saw them and looked “He should have told me he upon them as traps alluringly baited should have confided in me,' he mut by the enemy, did not appear; but tered, after a time.

time rolled on, and no Horace GrePhilip,' said Flora, going up to ville responded in any way. He him, and putting her arms around tried quietly to trace him, but the his neck, keeping her face turned track ended where it began-by the away from him the while, Philip, if side of Lady St. Clair's carriage on you could think Mr. Greville had the Derby-day; and so, after a pe deceived you at all, how would you riod, he was fain to give up the feel ?'

search in soreness of heart and 'I have no reason to think so, anxiety of spirits. And through it Flo. He has been rash, poor fellow all Flora was a silent, unhappy-I

-rash and unfortunate, and I can- allow it, deservedly unhappy-coward. not withdraw from him, on that ac Mrs. Forrester was great-nay, count, the warmest friendship I have more grand on the subject of Horace

Greville's defalcations, which were into nothing by his side—so said now spoken of' publicly enough. little Charlie's aunt, who was, never'She had known him for what he theless, very fond of the latter, but was all along,' she said, '& worth who was driven into making the less, idle, upstart puppy.' The only remark by 'some most absurd comone of Horace's former lady friends parisons' which Kate would make who had a good word for him now between the two. The scion of the that he was down — for Flora's house of Morton was a fine, tall, tongue was tied—was Kate Elton: straight boy, with huge eyes ever she never lost an opportunity of re laughing, and open mouth ever procording her opinion that he wasn't vocative of damp kisses, and a wonall bad.' As to Lady Lyster, it was derful power of chuckling. His a marvel that her ladyship's tongue cheeks were not like 'July peaches, should not have been blistered by for they were dark, smooth, firm, the hot words she poured out about and polished as a berry; but he was this man, for whom once, before gifted with many of the attractions that visit to Kempstowe, before she so deliciously set forth by the auhad grown so cynical and sharp, thor of 'Baby May. Little Charlie, she would have sold her soul. All on the contrary, who had quite outthe feelings he had outraged long grown his impish ugliness, was a years before, when, after winning pale, fair, small, clear creature-& her, he had thrown her over with sort of mixture of baby-and-water ill-concealed scorn, now flashed up in texture. He had the large blue into her face, and sharpened her eyes of his father, and, judging from words, and made her add fuel to the their expression and that of his alflame of popular resentment that ready pensive brow, he had already was seeking to devour him. And known more care and sorrow than not only vindictive women, but had happily been the portion of his grave, conscientious men spoke ill sire. Such as he was, he was a and bitterly of the outcast who had great pet with everybody in general, been an idol; and through it all, and with Kate Elton in particular, publicly and privately, in voice and though that lady still preserved the heart, Philip Morton was loyal to coldest and most reserved of dehis friend.

meanours to his father. That Greville had been faultily In truth, she had found it very weak, he was ready to admit; that hard to think with anything like he had been aught that verged on charity of the brave dragoon's conthe fraudulent or dishonest, he re duct to herself: he had been wantpudiated from his soul. And this ing in everything-in honour, to a came to be so well understood, that certain degree-in kindness-in conin all public assemblies when Philip sideration-and, worst want of all Morton was present, the name of for a woman to get over, in pluck. the man who had gone out from He would be at her feet readily amongst them was not mentioned at enough now, she knew, but she all, or else mentioned with respect. wanted to cure herself of caring for

him, if she could. So she always

iced her words and manner to him, CHAPTER XII. (AND LAST.)

and made it up by heaping caresses Philip Morton was acknowledged on his little son when he was abby all his friends to be the finest child sent. of six months old that the sun had She had, till that day when his ever irradiated-of course I am al mother's avowal had crushed all the luding to Philip Morton the younger. joys out of her life, and all the love He had passed through the trials of out of her heart, believed in him so early babyhood admirably, and had thoroughly; she had so prayed that now arrived at the dignity of short he might be worthy of what she felt frocks, kid impossibilities, denomi was no worthless love on her part; nated shoes' by the initiated, and and he had failed miserably and the widest sashes that money could contemptibly. She had vowed that procure. His little cousin dwindled love should henceforth be to her an

idle dream, and she tried hard to hangs-visible to you alone, but keep her unnatural vow.

painfully visible to you, I knowThis being her desire, it was an between your husband and yourself unwise move on her part to come on account of one who lives no and stay so frequently as she did longer.' with his sister, thus keeping up a Oh, Charlie! Charlie!' she cried, constant communication, if not with lifting up her hands in horrorhim, with his son; for the air of the stricken amazement, 'how-where heavy mansion in the fashionable did he die ? square was considered unsuitable How, I do not know. I have for little Charlie, so his aunt had heard of it from Paris—of fever, it carried him away for the better is said. I am going now to Philip superintendence of his diet and to tell him about it; and, Flo, don't modes of exercise.

be frightened, dear, but I must tell Whether her heart got softened him of the other affair.' again in time through thinking He left them on his mission; and what a terrible thing it would be if she sat there with happy beaming he should ever give little Charlie a Kate for an hour in silence nearly; stern, horrible stepmother—a pic- for she was frightened, horribly ture Flora delighted in portraying frightened, and anxious, and unvividly-or whether she was actu happy-of course she had deserved ated by desires of revenge upon it all; but what she suffered during Mrs. Forrester, or whether, which that hour would have been atoneis the more probable, she deemed it ment for a graver fault than the wiser to sacrifice a small bit of dig- poor girl had ever committed. At nity to her yearning heart, I do not the end of that time she could bear know. Certain it is, however, that it no longer, so she rose, and, taking one morning the pair, Charles and her boy in her arms, she went into Kate, presented themselves before her husband's room-into the little Flora, and made a communication room that had been poor Horace to the same effect as Kate had made Greville's. Her brother passed her long ago weepingly in her bed-room on the threshold, but she did not at Kempstowe: they looked remark look at his reassuring face. Her ably sheepish, but far from un husband sat at the table, his hand happy.

closed, and supporting his chin: he After all, Flora, I believe it's looked grave and cold, she thought; your doing, though I can hardly and with a gasping sigh she held tell how,' said Kate; 'but I have a his child down to him as a mute general idea that such is the case.' intercessor, and faltered out, Philip,

So have I,' said Charles; 'and, will you ever forgive me?' as I am very well satisfied to owe 'My darling, my poor darling,' my present and future happiness, in was his quick response as he held a measure, to my sister, we will de both mother and child in no unforcide that it is so. Flora, you must giving embrace. let me repay you in my own way.' 'If he had been alive, what would

'Any way you please,' she an you have said, Philip ?' swered cheeriiy. What do you ‘Horsewhipped him for frightenpropose to do? give my boy a ing you so.' golden rattle? for you know baby But as he is dead, Philip?' she must be associated in all my re said, interrogatively. wards.'

• As he is dead, I would rather 'Not exactly that,' he replied not talk about him, if you please, gravely; 'but I shall now insist on dear. See how you're holding the making you happier than you are child, Flo: in your agitation you ay, even against your will, perhaps, are utterly disregarding the comfort by clearing up that little cloud that of Master Philip Morton.'

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ON THE RIVER.

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IDE by side in our tiny skiff,

Floated along by the tide,
My love and I watched the fading light
Of the summer eve die into the night,

And the moon through her queendom glide.
Floating along where flexile trees

To the brink of the river had grown,
And with drooping branches its waters brushed,
As in mimic rapids they brawled and rushed

O'er a fallen trunk, or a stone.
Then I gazed by the chastened light

In the light of my dear one's eyes;
But they met not mine in their calm repose,
For a troubled gleam from their depths arose,

And her smiles had vanished in sighs.

Then she clung to my side, and told

Those haunting fears on my breast: • Beneath these waters that ripple and play, The tangled weed and the darkzess stay,

And the dead in its bosom rest.

*Side by side we may float a while,

Calm waters and peaceful skies--
Yet the waves of life, like this river, gleam
But to merge our fate in the darker stream

That under the surface lies.'

Then I raised the drooping face of my love

Till the moonbeams fell on her brow-
Till the gloomy shade of the trees on the shore,
And the haze of the night she saw no more,

Nor the treach'rous current below.

And the light of a trusting heart came back

To dwell in her radiant eyes,-
Now her hand clasps mine as borne by the tide,
Wherever it listeth, through life we glide,
With our gaze on the changeless skies.

L. C.

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