verley," he said in conclusion; "but it seems the Doctor has decreed, I am instead to be your guest."

"We

"Dining within four walls is quite too civilized a proceeding for this lovely autumn weather," rejoined Geraldine with graceful tact. rather seek the triumph of converting you to the delights of Primitive Barbarianism.'

"You will find me a ready convert," answered the recluse, whose hospitality, although sincere and generous, would have been sorely taxed, owing to the slender resources of the lonely parsonage, together with the absence of its mistress at Penzance.

"May Bird," said Lilian, "Mr. Mortimer has duplicates of several volumes in the lending library, and as that is also our own case, he has been proposing an exchange. I have, however, told him that is not my province, and referred him to you as librarian in chief."

"How very nice that will be for us both!" cried Mabel, eagerly addressing Mr. Mortimer. "I can give you Bishop Kip' on the Catacombs of Rome,' and 'Laneton Parsonage,' and a book of Allegories,' and my favourite Christian Ballads,' by a clergyman of the Church in America."

1

"That bartering system shares the trans-Atlantic origin of the Ballads, does it not?" asked Dr. Lawson, with a glance of sly humour at Mabel.

"Possibly," rejoined Lilian, seeking in her matter-of-fact quiet way, to interpose between the two belligerents. Mabel's peculiar veneration for the Missionary Church of the United States, her delight in its unexampled growth, and steady increase of Catholic teaching and discipline had long furnished a fertile theme for the teazing propensities of Dr. Lawson. He was placidly indifferent with regard to the real questions at issue, caring little for the spread of the American Episcopate, or for the welfare of his Western brethren, and the land to which they owed allegiance; but he found amusement in casting playful reflections upon each in turn, which Mabel on her part refused to tolerate, and thence arose a series of perpetual skirmishes, in which both combatants were ready on the smallest pretext to engage.

There was a truce, however, upon this occasion, to the usual passageat-arms, and as they all wound slowly down the spiral staircase, Mr. Mortimer reverted to the theme of more immediate practical importance. "My contributions have been placed aside for your inspection, Miss

1 Now Bishop of Western New York.

Mabel. Will you come into the study and see whether you think them worth your acceptance ?"

Mabel agreed, and the remainder of the party were obliged to follow, not without sundry remonstrances from Dr. Lawson, who declared he had no leisure to bestow upon the claims of liberal education, or philanthropy in any form, except feeding the hungry. Farewell to any hope of exercising that essential virtue, if those two were once allowed to plunge into discussions on the vital interests of their ancestors, contemporaries, and descendants.

"They must be contented with the second head, this afternoon,” said Lilian. "May Bird, see what a treat is here provided for our boys and girls!" and she held up several stray volumes of the “ Churchman's Companion."

Mabel seized eagerly on her pet periodical, to which had been added, "Lent Legends," "Ivo and Verena," and a prettily-bound copy of "Hymns for Little Children."

"Miss Gordon has chosen for you a work of reference from among my standard authors," pursued Mr. Mortimer. "I regret to say, Miss Mabel, I have no books on the Eastern Church, except a few translations from the Greek Fathers. They are quite at your service, but I fancy Mr. Harland's collection is more extensive than my own."

"Oh! if the Greek and Latin Fathers are to be convened in general council, I shall call an assembly of the Druids," exclaimed Dr. Lawson, moving towards the door.

Mr. Mortimer and Mabel promised to adjourn Patristic debates till a more convenient season, and meanwhile all set out for Wringletaing Moor, which, with its bold rock-masses forms the one wild feature in the landscape of the island. The Punch Bowl did not meet Geraldine's expectations. It was formerly a Logan stone, but of late years has lost the mystic property which it possessed in by-gone ages. The repast held under its shadow was a merry one however, and before embarking Geraldine enriched her album with a spirited sketch of the revellers, and the scene of their festivities, while Dr. Lawson wrote beneath in quaint old Gothic characters, "The Banquet of the Elves of Wringletaing."

CHAPTER XIII.

It was a half-holiday at the parish school, and a wild gusty afternoon near the close of November. The change of temperature, severe

and sudden in proportion to its tardiness, exhausted Miss Lane's feeble frame, and when her pupils were dismissed she sank upon a sofa with no conscious wish except the longing for repose. That tranquil mood however was of short duration; the hushed stillness for which she had craved amid the din and bustle of the schoolroom, seemed to crush with its leaden weight the overwrought and jaded brain. Society, or its best substitute, light literature, would have been the most effectual remedies, but the one was beyond her reach, and despite Mr. Harland's eloquence she could not overcome her prejudice against the other. She took up a new treatise on Natural Science, but a nervous headache soon by its sick throbbing warned her to desist. Upon a table near her lay a History of the Anglo-Saxon kings. This would have proved to Mabel when in studious mood a picturegallery of the era portrayed; fresh, life-like, warm in colouring, minute and vivid, if not accurate, in grouping; or if pondered over in more dreamy moments, at the least a vast mental kaleidoscope, gorgeous, however dim, amid its shifting scenes and characters. Miss Lane however perused history with the one definite object of amassing facts, and drawing from them logical deductions. Upon this afternoon her memory refused to yield up its accumulated stores, far less to be burdened with a fresh increase, and the chronicle was replaced beside the lecture on Geology, after a listless glance over the opening chapter. The very sighing of the wind, and the hoarse moaning of the sea distracted her attention as she vainly struggled to use the tedious hours preceding a November twilight. Religious earnestness impressed her with a sense of the unspeakable value of time, while physical debility forbade any employment which involved fatigue. The yearning for some fellow-being, with whom to exchange a friendly word, grew meanwhile till it reached a point which in a different nature would have bordered upon wild excitement, while in her case it settled deep into a heavy brooding pain. If only she might have gone out to make a round of visits among the fever-stricken cottages at Old Town! But there was no alternative excepting to remain within doors, since she knew it would be a presumptuous tempting of Providence for her to face all the inclement influences of a wintry wind and sky.

Yet the mere fact of having momentarily mingled with others even in imagination, the desire of ministering to their needs and soothing their infirmities, seemed to have brought that blessing which crowns the most faint endeavour to attain forgetfulness of self. Miss Lane

felt calmed without exactly knowing why, and began to consider if there were no act of kindness even then within her power to render. In a world like ours such an inquiry is seldom fruitless, and she presently discerned an outlet for the gentle offices of charity. A great effort would be required to summon energy for its performance, but she had long trained herself never to shrink from duties because they might chance to be distasteful, and she now prepared to meet this claim with the silent determination which formed an integral part of her character.

It was a letter to a friend who had been bedridden for several years, and who watched for the daily post with almost childish eagerness and expectation, although seldom did it bear to her the treasure of a kind remembrance from the loved and absent. She was a middle-aged lady of restricted fortune, who having outlived her family and her most cherished ties, was now reduced to the care of dependents, amid all the changes of a lingering and incurable disease. Miss Lane was in the habit of despatching a long missive to her every fortnight, and the invalid hailed its arrival as the most marked epoch which relieved the sameness of her lot. Some persons have a peculiar gift for correspondence; they can adapt themselves to individual minds, and weave a varied tissue out of the most commonplace and scanty of materials. This faculty Miss Lane did not possess, but systematic forethought stood her in its stead. She could deal only in plain facts, not in reflections springing from them, and in the even tenour of her life at Scilly there was little which deserved to be recorded; that little was however faithfully preserved. Each trifling event was noted down as it occurred, and thus when one missive had been despatched began the work of preparation for the next. Now it was some stray item of intelligence respecting mutual friends in the North Country, then an abstract of Mr. Harland's sermon, or a criticism on some recent publication, or a thought suggested by the lesson at the Bible Class, or perhaps some unusual experience among the children. On this day Miss Lane drew out her list of memoranda, and had just commenced her task, when a tap at the door was followed by the entrance of Millicent Lacy.

"I am glad to see you, dear," said Miss Lane kindly, come and take this seat beside the fire. You have not looked happy for the last few weeks; have you been feeling more poorly than usual ?"

Millicent's soft eyes overflowed, but she forced back the tears,

and opening the basket which hung on her arm, said rather incoherently,

"I am quite well now, thank you, ma'am, and mother hopes you will accept some fresh eggs and a pot of cream.'

Miss Lane warmly expressed her gratitude for the inviting farmhouse delicacies, and with the consciousness of giving pleasure, Milly's spirits rallied. She was a generous, open-handed child, requiring only to be drawn out of herself, and put into the way of serving others. Miss Lane wisely forbore recurrence to unpleasant themes which seemed awhile forgotten, and soon nestling on a low bench at her teacher's feet, Millicent was dilating merrily on the joys of the harvest feast at Longstone, when a sound of sweet musical laughter heard without brought the quick flush of wounded feeling to her cheek.

Miss Lane also stopped to listen, and a sadder shade rested on her meek forehead. She joined Milly at the window, and stood with one arm encircling the little girl, from an instinctive sense that both needed support. Mabel and Geraldine were fighting their way step by step against the boisterous sea-gale which swept around them, almost threatening to impede their further progress. They were young and healthy, and appeared only exhilarated by this warfare with the elements. As they passed close beneath the window, Geraldine's brilliant smile flashed for an instant upon Milly and Miss Lane, while Mabel gave no sign of recognition, so entirely was she engrossed with her companion. Soon the two slight figures were lost to sight; they had just turned the corner leading to the vicarage, and the Parade was again left grey, cheerless, and deserted.

"Miss Beverley has gone to spend the evening with Miss May Bird," began Milly, struggling against the sobs which choked her utterance. They see each other nearly every afternoon, and when they part arrange to meet as early the next day as possible. They read, and write, and practise music; walk, sketch, visit in the parish, and do everything together."

"Yes," replied Miss Lane cheerfully, regardless of Milly's emotion, "Miss Beverley is such a sweet young lady that it must do every one good to be with her, and Miss Mabel seems a different being since she has had a friend near her own age."

"I love her more than all the world," cried Milly passionately, "and she used to care for me before Miss Beverley arrived. Now I can scarcely even speak to her, and she never asks me to walk with