"Yes, she was, at first, a little. She said she had always thought you preferred her sister Fanny."

but it called evidently for consideration. am afraid your niece must have been surThirty-two and seven-eighths, and rising prised." still! Yes, rising still; and that at Frankfort! Could the Frankfort Rothschild be in it? Was their London house taking it up? Should that be so, there was no knowing what a figure it might touch. That offer to repurchase! Were Gurkenheim and Humpel operating on their own account, or were there bigger men behind!

He had almost let the word escape his lips which should have done right and truth. But the greed of gold shifted suddenly the thought of his first success into the other scale again. Had not Miss Dav

"Oh dear! I wish I could run up to enant said something of an immediate settletown." ment upon Sophy? With such means in

He spoke, unconsciously, aloud; his hand, in the present state of the share marmother heard him and rejoined,—

"I wish you could,, my dear; shouldn't you?"

ket, what might not be done? He was why silent, Miss Davenant chirruped on.

"Why shouldn't I what, mother ? "Run up to town. I thought I heard you say you wished to. Do you want to pay the Sherbrookes a visit again ?"

"I set that right, my dear, and told her how the truth stood. I said if ever you had showed her sister little attentions, it must have been for her sake. That you had kept your secret close; but that my little keen

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Keane smiled, amused at her true conjec-eyes had read it.” ture. His mood being such, she ventured for the first time,

May I venture to ask how Miss Sophy Davenant received your intimation ?

"Here, ask for yourself;" and the brisk little woman opened a folding-door into the inner drawing-room.

"Why Fanny, to be sure, dear-Fanny Keane's. "Well," he bethought him, "she Davenant."

was always the better looking of the two."

"Here, Sophy," said her aunt, "here's Mr. Burkitt wants to make you understand that he never did like your sister Fanny half as well as you, you know. But that kind of explanation is given best in private."

She closed the folding-door upon them, and went back to look for cracks in her china cups again.

"Nonsense!" he cried, half-startled by the word, which recalled him from his calculations. He looked at his watch; the morning was creeping on towards noon. He felt that the little impatient aunt would be fretting at his non-arrival. What on earth should he do? He had not made up his mind, his thirty-two and seven-eighths had so excited him. But he must be moving; sa, without further communication to his mother, he went out and made for Mr. Davenant's. There, he was shown up into the front drawing-room, where little Miss Davenant was alone, holding up to the light, and narrowly scrutinizing the quality of some tiny china cups brought from a curi-ites, Miss Davenant hurried matters on. osity shop for her approval.

"At last! What a laggard, to be sure! But I don't let grass grow under my feet, Master Keane. I have spoken to brother George, and he is well pleased it should be so. What's more, I've spoken to Sophy."

This was confounding. However, he made shift to say, "Did you, Miss Davenant? I

When Keane Burkitt left the house, he had sacrificed Fanny Davenant and sold himself. Time was not given him to repent or draw back when the deed was done. Exulting in her own acumen, and in its easy securing of the happiness of her two favor

Her brother and his wife, amazed to find how much she had it in her power to do for both their daughters, submitted with becoming meekness to her impatient dictation.

""Tis often the successful rival keeps the grudge the longest. Isabella won your father from me, but seems as if she couldn't quite forgive me now. I do believe she's vexed and out of sorts to see you marry a niece of mine, I do."

CHAPTER XXI.

THE first year of his marriage and other speculations was very prosperous for Keane. Sophy was, after all, the wife to suit him. In the mould of her character were none of those deep places which want more of the metal of strong affection to run into them and fill up what else would be dismal holes, than such husbands as he keep molten in their hearts' crucible. She.shared his liking of small personal pleasures, and in surrounding herself with such, contrived to minister them in delightful abundance to him. She had withal sufficient spirit and sense of the importance of her own contributions to the elegance and luxury of the household not to spoil Keane in petting him as his mother had at last sunk into doing. She disciplined him into a gradual sense that pleasantness is easiest secured by being pleasant. Every one allowed that Sophy Davenant had "done wonders for that young man." She thus put upon him a polish of popularity which was the only thing hitherto wanting to his posi tion in Freshet. Magnified of course by common report, her own wealth appeared to justify what otherwise might have been thought extravagant, the purchase and handsome fitting of a new house before the year was out. Not the most close-fisted or close

"Well, he was always very good friends | It was a cheerful wedding, spite of dear with Sophy," she answered, which indeed Fan's absence; spite of the presence also of had so much truth in it as almost to justify sorrow on his mother's face. Little Miss her failure of perception in the time bygone. Davenant noted that, and even spoke of it In fairness also to Sophy, Fanny herself al- to Keane. lowed that she had kept a closer reserve than is sometimes kept between sisters. Neither now did her wounded and indignant heart give sign. A return of the indisposition she had already experienced in the autumn, pleaded her excuse for not coming home at once; and Sophy's protestations that she would not be married till dear Fan would be well enough to take her place among the bridesmaids, gave way before the peremptory temper of her aunt. That eager little orderer of nuptial rites had no further reason to complain of apathy on Keane's part. Once the plunge taken he swam with vigorous strokes. Legal delays were by his legal knowledge forced within their most restricted limits. What fortune Sophy was to receive from her own parents they, not unreasonably, tied up tightly for herself; but they could not with good grace, had they been so disposed, interfere in that sense with arrangements which depended upon the sole good pleasure of her aunt. Keane, by her kind confidence, would have his elbows free, and was impatient for the hour when he might strike out for the share market. His Lahn-Mosels were gone up to forty-five! But Sophy had no fairer ground of complaint against his attentiveness than her aunt against his expedition. If he had no depth of devotion to offer to any bride elect, of his own or another's election, he was wishful, for his own ease and pleasure then and thereafter, to win from her what devotion to himself he might. He did what he could to make her fond of him, and in so doing made himself, after a sort, fond of her. He had a knack of shelving unpleas-minded client of "Burkitt and Goring" inant subjects of thought and feeling; and would have been comfortably rid altogether of any compunctions about Fanny, had it not been for his mother's looks. They kitt's new drawing-rooms, seemed to denote wrought punctures, however, rather than compunction,-fretting, not grieving him. He came to think himself ill-used by her, and even then by Fanny. What right had they to dash with bitters his loving cup? Foolish fellow! This very dash gave "tonic" to the draught which got its sparkle from the bride's bright eyes.

timated that the young couple were launching out imprudently. If any thing, such as the costly knick-knacks of young Mrs. Bur

a lavish disregard of expense, were not these things the doings of Miss Davenant of Lanercost? Two portly jars of almost priceless crockery sat swelling with continual affirmation of the exculpatory truth. Indeed, it was very much to young Burkitt's credit that neither the smiles of such a pretty wife as Sophy, nor the cushioned chairs of such

a luxurious home, could seduce him from nothing by reason of his conduct towards assiduous attendance at his office. It got the elder of the Davenants. Mrs. Locksley about, of course, likewise, that Lord Roys- was utterly ignorant of any such episode in ton's affairs were in his hands entirely. And his career. She was not unobservant, howLord Royston was "not one of your scatter-ever, of the estrangement which circumbrain young nobles, sir, but a man of increasing weight and authority, sir; a man of whose confidence any firm of solicitors might be proud, sir; a man whose connection might come to have political importance one day for young Burkitt, sir; whom we shouldn't be surprised to find nominated for Cawsley some of these fine mornings, sir. Snug little borough, Cawsley, sir, spared by the Reform Bill; completely under Rookenham influence, my dear sir."

Keane's business, therefore, increased; more, indeed, than they knew that brought it to him. For the good folks of Freshet knew nothing of his increasing association with the business of his friends the Sherbrookes. With them, also, he stood, or rather kept on climbing higher and higher in the scale of esteem. He was not only successful, but deserved success, "for his happy audacity," said Walter; "for his wise caution," said Walter's father. The Sherbrooke girls had frowned at first a little on his marriage; for people have a way of floating on enchanted rivers, or treading on enchanted grounds, which betrays them, fairystruck, to Ninas and Isabellas. Nevertheless, they, too, like good-natured girls as they were, came round to the charitable interpretation that Keane, after all, had only been paying due devoirs, by proxy, under the stately trees of Hampton and among the flowery tents of Chiswick. "Only remember, Nina, should any such nonsense take place with one of us, you know, it will be better, to prevent misunderstandings, that the queen regnant hold her own drawingroom, and courtesies be proffered to the sovereign alone in person."

Keane's countenance, the first time they saw him after the event itself, betrayed no embarrassment; so when, the next time, he brought up Sophy with him to Twickenham, and they saw the prosperous sunshine on her pretty face as well, they could no longer, in reason, think it treachery to Fanny, whom they loved rather the better, to shower congratulations and cousinly kindnesses upon her sister.

stances seemed to be working gradually between his mother and himself. The working was subtle; but, perhaps, the more unavoidable. Keane was, apparently, not in fault. He certainly had not said it in so many words; but he had given her to understand that it was entirely by her own choice that Mrs. Burkitt, senior, remained in the old house, when Mr. and young Mrs. Burkitt removed into the new. Though the younger lady's bearing towards the elder was unimpeachable, as all Freshet admitted, one could always understand that two mistresses make the easiest of households difficult. And, though age and widowhood had wonderfully softened her sister-in-law, Lucy could remember when there had been an imperious element in her character. Indeed, her brother himself-if her memory did not do injustice to Isabella-had hinted at an excess of that ingredient in it occasionally. Doubtless, all things considered, it was as well that mother and daughter-in-law should be spared all possibility of domestic collision. Yet, little by little, the conviction grew that Keane in his new house, not twice five hundred yards from his old home on the Marine-parade, lived farther from his mother than did her own dear Ned from her across those thousand weary leagues of land and sea. She was ashamed to think how often her mind would turn to such a thought, and speculate upon the truth or falsehood of it, and upon the causes of the fact, if fact it were. There may be sometimes lurking malice of a very venomous kind in studying the comparative anatomy of our blessings and those of others. An exultation born of envy, rather than of true thankfulness, creeps over us.

Yet there was a consolation which seemed to distil kindly from the contrast, with no need of any fire of envy, hatred, malice, or uncharitableness, to quicken its production. However it might be between her nephew and his mother, she need not hide from her own eyes what might have been between herself and her own son.

Supposing Lady Constance had returned With his Aunt Lucy, Keane could lose his love. Supposing she had been a few

years younger, or he a few years older than the case had been. Supposing that no difference of rank or wealth had parted them. What then? They would have gone out, hand in hand, into a world which was not hers. Or else, absorbed in love for one another, they might have rounded out a life for their own selves, which might, like other round things, have touched hers at some one point alone.

Whereas, whatever tenderness was in her son's heart, it nestled down in her. The manner of his ripening into manhood now was such as made him, after truer childlike sort than ever, still her child. Who goes from home may keep it heart's home more heartily than even he who stays.

Lady Cransdale also came to sense of this. In her delicate nobleness she determined to let Lucy read her thought and feeling if she would. Not thrusting her own heart's book agape under the soul's eyes of her friend, as a less graceful generosity might do; but letting the leaves flutter open in the soft breath of motherly talk.

Phil was doing well in the Guards. Very popular, very gay; not so very reckless of expense, though just a little extravagant. She heard from the colonel of his battalion, -for he himself didn't tell her much of his military matters, that there were many youngsters of his standing as ready as he to shirk tedious duties; not that he was considered a model young officer by martinet adjutants. She couldn't make out that he read any thing except a few sporting novels, though he drew a good deal and had some talent, rather a dangerous one, for caricature. She had heard something of a flirtation with a Lady Maude Cassilis; but not from Phil himself, who was discreet, if desultory, in such little affairs. Not that she thought there was any thing serious in it. The Cassilis people were not of her own intimates. Constance, who met them oftener, was not much taken with her.

"Prickly plants of disappointment spring up in so many shapes! Yet some have flowers of sweet after-scent,so sweet, one is content to lay them in one's bosom, thorns and all."

"Dear Con is well and happy. Do you know I sometimes feel," said Lady Cransdale, with an effort, as if I had to crave your pardon, Lucy, still, for the delight that marriage gives me; but indeed ”.

"Indeed, dear Lady Cransdale, it reproaches me deservedly to hear you say so. It was to make and snatch an opportunity that I brought in your dear daughter's name."

"An opportunity for what?"

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Redeeming a promise which there should have been no need to make; which made, should have been long since redeemed." "Riddles, my dear, dark riddles ! "

"You shall read them. Do you remember that bright sunshiny day, now nearly two years gone, when you came in there, at that very window, bringing in for me the prickly bough? You understand me ? " She nodded.

"The thorns pricked as I took it. At the smart I turned upon you; rebelling, indeed, against another than this dear hand."

She took her old friend's into hers, as they sat on the same sofa there, and raised it to her lips.

"I was unjust, abrupt, and rude; but, before you went, I made a promise to beg your pardon some time more explicitly. And I have failed to do so till to-day. forgive me?"

Will you

"Hardly; for having spoken thus," clasping the hand which held hers.

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Well, then, I demand a pledge. Ill-disciplined hearts like mine are often unbelievers." "Whatever pledge you please, dear Lucy." "This, then; that henceforward you speak as freely to me of your daughter as your son. I have noticed a constraint-which showed your kindness - but also my little deserving it."

For her rebellion against that other gracious Hand, Lucy, long since, had humbled her own soul in secret. After this open conLucy caught her meaning and was not un- fession, she seemed to be returned in truth grateful. into her own true self. She was again meek"Tell me something about Lady Con-hearted Lucy, perhaps more truly than before.

She thus regained the blessing of the meek- the compassionate rather than the sufferer. spirited, of whom it is written that "they shall Wounds will not always bear the balm of pity. possess the earth." It was a repossession of it Its first drops, especially, require the spare once more to think, to speak, to feel, to act dropping of a sensitive hand. There is an inheart to heart with her old friend again. The flammation of resentful pride soon heated by space between the Lodge and Cransdale. their smart. Mrs. Burkitt's schooling in the House shrunk back into some hundred yards craft of charity was not yet deep enough to of daisy dight green lawn. The sandy waste make her know this well. Else she would which had been intervening disappeared, not have said, one day, after Keane and his and, happily, before the bones of loving mem-wife had but just left her drawing-room

ories lay bleaching on it.

ness.

"I thought it had been you, dear Fanny, not your sister. I still think it should have been. I am so sorry for you."

Towards the end of that same year Robert Locksley had a sharp fit of illness; not such as put his life in any danger, but such as, Happily these words were spoken after, happening just when it did, might have not before, that soothing time at Cransdale. wrought much confusion in the accounts of The flush, indeed, could not but glow upon the estate, and some delay in necessary busi- the poor girl's cheek, the tears but tremble His nephew was at hand, however, and on her eyelashes. Yet she found the rare could be trusted, as no stranger could, to act grace, even whilst wincing at the pain, to by his directions and in his stead. Ned, out pardon the ignorant cruelty of her would-be in India, felt something like self-reproach comforter. That rare grace gifted her likewhen news reached him that his father needed wise with a singular spirit of discernment. help of such sort; but he consoled himself by She divined what manner of hope had drawn thinking how much more fit his cousin must the widow's heart towards herself. She dibe to supply it-by virtue of his calling-than vined how the travail of that heart had been he could have been himself, even had he been in vain. Keane's wife was to it as a stillfollowing a university career. He wrote to born daughter. Divining this, she learned to Keane a letter of hearty thankfulness, ex-pity her own pitier, and bent her mind with pressing a hope that not only he, but his bride, subtle delicacy to minister some consolawould play son and daughter's part by the tion. Noble task ever: and sweet task at dear ones whom he had left, as it were, child- the last! Yet often difficult, often tedious, less. sometimes repugnant, sometimes almost desperate. Bodily life is precious, and ministering to it often costly. Spiritual life is priceless and ministering by so much costlier. Whoso shall reckon acts of spiritual mercy cheaper to be done than bodily, shall most times grievously misreckon the true cost of either.

Lucy, notwithstanding, could not and did not invest Keane's wife with the same favorable prejudice as himself. Though she knew nothing of her sister-in-law's disappointment, she shared it after a fashion. Fanny Davenant was much more to her mind than Sophy. In virtue of the new connection between their families she cultivated more intimate acquaintance with her, persuading her, nothing loath, to spend some months at Cransdale. Strange power even of unconscious sympathy stored in true gracious hearts! The countess took to Fanny, as her friend Lucy did. From these two women, over whose daily lives the thorny sprigs laid in their bosoms shed such sweet perfume, she seemed to learn insensibly the secret of disembittered resignation. For resignation, also, has varieties. The quality of Fanny Davenant's might have been imperilled, at the first, even by one who felt for her so heartily as did Keane's mother. Benevolence is sometimes selfish, no less than indifference. Compassion may overflow to ease

Robert Locksley was hale and active again before the passing months brought the birthday of an heir to Rookenham. It was an event for the whole countryside, and the christening was a grand affair. Keane and Sophy, herself not long after to become a mother, received and accepted an invitation to the festivities. Fanny, though pressed by Mrs. Locksley to come on the great occasion to Cransdale, refused, and spent the time chiefly in company with Keane's lonely mother. It was just then that, to her surprise, she received and, without hesitation, refused, a very different invitation. Far greater would that surprise have been, had she known that Walter Sherbrooke's offer