thought how different Margaret must have been before she grew bitter, and became Mrs. Lewis. "When she was in love with Cæsar, for instance;" when she was legitimately sentimental, and did not live on the lukewarm remnants of her feelings. It sometimes strikes one that such fare must be insipid, Those who partake of it do not always follow the natural law of progression from word to deed; which must make the course all the more vapid. They do not take the comfort which sentiment and the French books might perhaps suggest at last; but they are excellent people, and fulfil all the duties of their station.

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Mrs. Lewis was in reality a good woman, so with what she liked our private taste need not interfere. Georgy's reflection was, that matrimony had wrought this change in her. Why could not Margaret, too, have married a Mr. Erskine?" Such a marriage as that would have been Georgy's panacea for all disappointments; and she felt guilty as she thought of the superiority of her lot over that of all other women.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE next morning Mrs. Lewis and Mrs. Lumsden were talking in the drawing-room, and Georgy was idly turning over some books: she was not interested in their conversation, but startled at the words.

"And will Jim Erskine take upon himself to comfort pretty Constance Everett, do you think? She would be a capital match for him now.

"These are early times to speculate, and a poor woman should be allowed breathing-time before she rushes a second time into matrimony."

So they chatted on, and in a short time James and Constance were dismissed. Georgy was greedily scanning a past of which she knew nothing.

"Whom had he loved in his life? More than one person, perhaps. Perhaps! oh! of course, and she was for nothing in all that past.”

But she still confided in her happiness; still felt so secure, that even that name of Constance gave her no real uneasiness.

The next morning Mrs. Erskine went suddenly to Edinburgh, for she had received permission to see

her daughter; and Georgy was disappointed to think that she would not yet meet the mother and the son together, and be set thoroughly at ease.

Letters and luncheon came that day as usual: there were letters for every one; an angry letter from Mr. Sandon, who still refused a reconciliation with Georgy, and another for her from Mr. Erskine, which very soon effaced all recollection of the former Mrs. Everett had two letters also-one was from Miss Stanley; for Sir Hugh had persecuted his sister into corresponding with Mrs. Everett. The good girl complied, and her periodical effusions were rather a demand upon patience, if thought to require

an answer.

Miss Stanley asked Mrs. Everett what she was reading, and named the books which she herself had just finished, stating, moreover, that the books in their club were at present very uninteresting. But Constance, I am sorry to say, did not quite finish the letter; she turned uneasily to the other, which was in her own straight, delicate handwriting: a foreign letter returned to her from Bruxelles.

A short time after the death of her husband, Constance had written again to James Erskine, in answer to his cold, business-like note. Her letter was not cold, for she sincerely repented of her fit of anger against him, and wished to make amends. The letter had never reached him, and Constance,

receiving no answer, had once again tried to nurse herself into an angry fit; but she had never perhaps regretted him more than now, when she had lost her hold upon him. This was the letter now returned. She looked at it, and then a deep shade of vexation passed quickly over her face. She was terribly vexed and discomposed: she seemed as if she could hardly refrain from explaining to some one the cause of her disappointment, and yet she did not speak. She put the letter into her pocket, and began at last to eat her luncheon with a melancholy defiant air: the other letter lay unheeded by her side. Just then, Sir Hugh and his sister were well nigh forgotten; and yet a brilliant position was before her, an immense fortune, with all the pleasure and display which she had ever coveted. She would surely take all this, with so handsome and amiable a man as Sir Hugh, and one who was so completely at her beck. Many of her friends would have thought it no hard task to accept him without these appurtenances. Luncheon was not yet finished ere another incident occurred: Algernon, the eldest boy of Mrs. Lewis, appeared :

"Ma! there's been such a smash on the railroad, and all the people 's killed."

"Algy, child, what do you mean?"

"Thomas says, 'all the people's killed:' they must be, if Thomas says so."

Algy, child!" exclaimed Mrs. Lewis, quickly. How much longer Algy would have tantalized thern was uncertain; he was no lucid expositor, and was dreadfully confused about the matter himself.

Thomas arrived, and explained how a telegraphic message of a dreadful accident had reached Eastham. The butcher had just brought the news; he was in Eastham when it arrived at twelve o'clock, and now it was near three.

"Of course, they always make the worst of such a thing," said Margaret, quietly; but she looked very grave. That train ought to bring her husband, who had been at D, horse-dealing, Mr. Erskine, and Captain James, another guest of Mr. Lewis's. One could not get much out of Thomas or the butcher. At the station near Millthorpe Grange, they knew nothing, and Mrs. Lewis must either wait patiently, or send all the way to Eastham in the hope of hearing more.

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Many people had been killed," Thomas said; " he couldn't say how many: he did not believe the telegraph knew."

Margaret looked grave, but she admitted no gloomy possibilities, and silenced everybody who got frightened, though appearing very much so herself.

Georgy was quiet also: she was not easily upset; but she wished that the evening would come as she never had wished for any evening before.