heart almost as warmly as if she had been Phoebe, and Dorothea bent her cheek to his lips with a sensation of tenderness she rarely experienced. Prissie came forward from her distant post when she saw him rise to depart, but for her there was not even the hand, and he abruptly ran out of the room without a word or a glance. The hand she had extended fell back ungrasped to her side, and a convulsion of pain passed over her face, but she drew herself erect without a word, and pursued him with a look of scorn that fell on the insensible door through which he had vanished.

'Must it be broken off?" Dorothea sighed, influenced by the strong compassion which at the moment she was feeling for him. 'Prissie, I do not like it. Can it be right?'

'Right!' Prissie exclaimed, of course it is. Think of what we know of the family. Fancy a Winshaw with their extravagant habits living upon a couple of hundreds per annum. I thought we agreed in our opinion of the undesirableness of the connexion. There will be no sav ing Frederick from the Winshaw influence if Phœbe marries William.'

And embittered by the way in which he had neglected her at parting, she vindictively revived all the story of their father's ruin, until Dorothea lost sight of right and justice, and was brought cordially to agree in breaking off the engagement if it could be done without making Phabe permanently miserable.

'One thing more, Prissie, I must say,' Dorothea continued. 'I believe you are right in your view of the matter, but supposing Phoebe will not consent to it. Is it possible that Lord Crauften could get some small appointment for his son?'

'Possibly in the course of the next ten years,' Prissie replied drily; 'not that he has any more political influnce than you or I with the present government, and for

generations the Winshaws have not married in a way likely to increase their importance. Their connexions

are scarcely as good as our own, so there is no one to help him. And then I should like to know what sort of appointment Master William is fit for. It must be one made on purpose if he is to fulfil its duties.'

"That has nothing to do with it,' Dorothea replied quickly. He would not be the first or the last man to hold an office for which he is not fit; but as you say, fear the chance of his getting one is so small, that it is wisest to consider it impossible.'

And so Dorothea yielded, trying to console herself by believing that Phoebe really had no depth to love, to suffer from. She had so often seen her shed torrents of tears for some foolish attachment, and then recover her spirits, and form some fresh affection, that she believed her ready to be in love all her life, no matter with whom. Even since her engagement had she not trifled with Mr. Winshaw?

'Yes,' said Aunt Phoebe, as she paused in her narrative, 'I do believe that if Dorothea had thought I had any constancy, she would have stood my friend. And after all they were my best friends. I do not complain. She and Prissie were right.'

But how often do we see that even a stern, upright character can be warped aside by one more violent and more malignant when pride is brought into play!

(To be continued.)

AN OBJECT IN LIFE.

CHAPTER IV.

ANSTACE was beginning a reply, when Mrs. Mayo interrupted her

'Stay,' she said, 'I want to speak to this girl for a moment.'

They were passing a cottage, at the door of which stood a girl with no amiable look on her face.

'Not at school to-day, Martha, how is that?" Mrs. Mayo asked.

'Mother kept me at home, Ma'am,' she answered, rather sullenly.

'She wanted you, I suppose. Is your mother at home now ?'

And while she spoke, the mother, hearing Mrs. Mayo's voice, came to the door.

'Why, Ma'am, you see I was washing to-day,' she said, in answer to Mrs. Mayo's question; and I kept Martha to nurse the baby; she would not have stayed of her own will, for she is very fond of her school; I find it a hard matter to get her to stop at home for a day, if I want her ever so much.'

'I hope she is always willing to be useful to you,' said Mrs. Mayo. 'I am afraid, Martha, your learning at school will not do you much good, if it does not teach you to do your duty to your mother at home.'

'So I sometimes tell her, Ma'am,' said the woman, encouraged to speak her mind by seeing that Mrs. Mayo did not take the girl's part; 'and I am glad she should hear you say the same. I am always willing she should have all the learning we can afford to give her, but I can't say she seems much the better for it at home. She is

never willing to help me, if I am ever so hard pressed; it's always, "do let me go to school, Mother;" and when I keep her at home, as to-day, she is so cross that the baby won't be quiet with her.'

There was no knowing how long the good woman might continue to talk on, her words came pouring out so fast; so Mrs. Mayo here interrupted her, and after a few words of admonition to Martha, went on her way with Anstace.

Here, too, we must stop a little while,' she said, knocking at the door of a cottage a few steps farther on; then, lifting up the latch, they went in together.

How is little Henry, to-day, Mrs. Castle? Edith asked, while the woman placed chairs for her visitors.

'Thank you, Ma'am, he is a deal better to-day. See how nicely he is sleeping,' and she drew Mrs. Mayo's attention to the little bed in the corner, where the little boy lay fast asleep.

'Yes, that must be a happy sight for you, indeed,' Mrs. Mayo said; 'I little thought yesterday to find him so comfortable.'

'No, indeed, Ma'am, I thought I should lose him, but there was a change for the better in the night, and the doctor says he'll do well now.'

"I hope he may, for your sake,' Mrs. Mayo answered. 'You must feel very thankful that he is spared to you.'

The woman only said 'Yes, Ma'am,' as she stood looking fondly at the little sleeper.

'It should make us think more seriously when death comes so very near, almost within our doors,' Mrs. Mayo said; it should remind us that there is another life, another world after this."'

Again Mrs. Castle answered, 'Yes, Ma'am,' and after a few more words Mrs. Mayo took leave.

'What a nice, clean, tidy house!' said Anstace, as they

walked on; 'and everything looked so nice and clean, too, about the woman and her little one.'

'Yes, and yet I always leave that house with a melancholy dissatisfied feeling,' Mrs. Mayo said. 'I know it is not for us to judge one another, but I can't help knowing that this woman is living only for this world. There is little that one can find fault with; she is always clean, tidy, and respectful, yet I always feel that "the one thing needful" is wanting there.'

'It is very sad,' Anstace said; 'when there is so much good, one feels so sorry to see it tending in a wrong direction.'

Mrs. Mayo did not answer, but after a minute's silence she said,

'I think we have just seen two instances of a mistaken Object in Life (to use your favourite phrase, Anstace). To distinguish herself at school is Martha Reade's present object, and to keep her house and children clean, tidy, and respectable, is Mrs. Castle's; both good objects, you see, yet both falling short of what ought to be their aim. One feels at once that there is something of far higher value and importance neglected by each.'

'It is a common case I suppose,' Anstace said.

'Yes, these two instances are more common than perhaps you think, among the poor, but you may meet with the same in every class of life. Money-making, getting on in the world, learning, amusement, and many more such things are the main Objects in Life of multitudes. But all this is common-place enough. I am half ashamed of uttering such truisms.'

'I am glad I came with you to-day,' remarked Anstace, presently; for the sake of seeing the Flemings.'

'Yes, I suppose one may learn more from the example of such a woman as Mrs. Fleming, than from any amount of pondering and wondering about one's-self. She gives