"I certainly had not anticipated such a pleasure. I did not know that you were related to Colonel Ashley, or to any one else in this part of the country."

"Nor am I. Colonel Ashley is Rosalie's great uncle-her mother's uncle. Colonel Ashley's last remaining single daughter was married last year, and Rosalie was invited to take her abdicated place in his household. Physicians recommended the bracing air of the mountains for my delicate girl, and therefore Rosalie has been living here for the last eighteen. months-ever since we left Cashmere, in fact. Last winter, I think, was rather too cold for her here on the mountains. I spent the season in Washington, from whence I have just returned; but next winter I intend to take Rose to Louisiana with me, and make an arrangement by which she can spend all her winters in the south."

"Indeed, mamma, you shall not immolate your happiness upon my ill health. You shall just spend your winters in Washington, where you enjoy life so much, and your summers at the watering-places, where you meet again your gay and brilliant friends. I shall do well enough. You shall visit me in the spring and autumn intervals."

"Oh, a truce, Rosalie! We shall be set down as a model mother and daughter. I know, for one, selfishness is the mainspring of all my acts. I rather think I like you, child, and prefer to see you well. There! I declare there's Robert with the horses already. Put on your cloth habit, Rosalie; the morning is really cold; and don't let him take you far, child; these hearty men have very little instinctive mercy for de

licate girls, and he would not imagine he had tired you to death till you had dropped from your horse."

Rosalie arose, rolled up her work, and left the room, nodding and smiling to a young man who entered as she left. "Mr. Bloomfield," said the lady, presenting him to Mr. Sutherland. Mr. Bloomfield was a sufficiently pleasing specimen of a well-bred, country beau-moderately tall, broad-shouldered, and deep-chested with regular features-fresh, ruddy complexion-clear, merry blue eyes-and lips, whose every curve expressed the good humour and benevolence of a kind, contented heart.

"You mustn't take Rose far, Robert." "I will take her only to mother's."

"And you sha'n't teaze her with any more nonsense! I can't put up with that, you know."

Robert Bloomfield blushed violently, smiled till all his regular white teeth shone, and was stammering out a blundering deprecation, when, to his great relief, Rosalie appeared, attired for the ride. The young man arose, Mrs. Vivian surveyed Rose, to be sure she was well defended from the cold, and finally yielded her in charge of her escort, who bowed and took her

out.

Mrs. Vivian and Mark looked at them through the window, saw him place her in the saddle with more than polite attention-with a careful and tender soli. citude that made her smile. When they had ridden off, she turned to Mark, and said

"I like that good humoured, blundering boy. He has been paying court to Rose ever since she has been here. He is a young man of independent fortune, irreproachable character, fair education, and most ex

cellent disposition, and he has loved Rose for more than a year. Yet, with all, he is not worthy of her! he wants polish-the polish that nothing but intercourse with refined society can give him. He came to see me last winter in Washington, got fitted out by a fashionable tailor, and I good-naturedly took him with me to an evening party. If ever I do such a thing again as long as I live may; but never mind! Just think, when I presented him to a superfine belle, of his holding out his hands to shake hands with her, telling her he was glad to see her, and hoping that if ever she passed through his part of the country, she would pay his mother and sisters a visit, &c. And then, when the elegant Mrs. A. inquired if Mr. Bloomfield waltzed, just fancy him blushing furiously, and saying that he would rather not-that he disapproved of waltzing!"

"Well!" said Mrs. Vivian, looking up, after a pause.

"Yes-well?" inquired her companion, raising his eyebrows.

"You have not made a single comment upon my country beau. I see how it is. You're thinking of your relatives. Mark, you must question me if you want me to tell you anything."

"My mother"-began the young man.

"She is living very comfortably with her husband at Cashmere."

"With her husband!"

"Is it possible you did not know she was married, Mark ?"

"I never knew it-I never dreamed it-I never

thought it possible." He looked shocked-he was shocked.

"And why not?" asked the lady, with a little jealous petulance. "Why may not a widow remarry?"

"Nay-I do not know, I'm sure," said Mr. Sutherland, with his eyebrows still raised, and his eyes fixed upon the floor. "My mother married! Will you please tell me to whom?"

"To whom? Oh, of course you know, Mark. Now, who was it likely to be, but Dr. Wells?" "Our old family physician!"

“ 'Why of course.

with her a long time."

You know he had been pleased

"That my mother should have married!"

"She never would have done so, Mark, had you not left her."

"And she is happy, you say?"

"Comfortable, Mark. Your mother and Dr. Wells make what Tim Linkenwater calls 'a comfortable couple.'"

"I am not so much grieved as surprised," said Mr. Sutherland. And after a short pause he said, "There was another-my cousin."

The face of the lady grew troubled-she did not speak.

"Is India well?" again spake Mark, in a faltering voice.

"India is well, and beautiful as ever. She was the belle of Washington last winter-her beauty the theme of every tongue-the envy of every woman, the madness of every man. No assembly was complete without 'the Pearl of Pearl River!'"

Mark Sutherland grew pale, and shivered-saying, "Of course she"

Among her own sex there was no rival star. She divided public interest and attention only with St. Gerald Ashley, that great new planet on the political horizon."

Mark Sutherland's whole strong frame was convulsed. He started up and paced the floor in extreme agitation-then, seizing his hat, rushed out of the room.

"And I was to prepare him for it, said Rosalie!" exclaimed Mrs. Vivian, looking after him, as the pity of her heart grew strong.

CHAPTER X.

ROSALIE AND HER LOVER.

"She loves, but 'tis not him she loves

Not him on whom she ponders,

When in some dream of tenderness

Her truant fancy wanders.

The forms that flit her vision through
Are like the shapes of old,

Where tales of prince and paladin

On tapestry are told.

Man may not hope her heart to win,

Be his of common mould."-C. F. Hoffman.

In the meantime, the two young riders took their way up a narrow bridle-path, leading up a long crooked pass of the mountain.

The morning was glistening with brightness and