of doubt and self-disapproval, came pressing close to her mother's side, with a kind of dumb overture of confidence. But Mrs. Mountford could not understand that there was anything to tell. If there had been a lover at hand, if Heathcote had shown his former admiration (as she understood it) for Rose, or even if he had been coming daily to visit them, she might have been curious, interested, roused to the possibility that there was a secret to tell. But what could Rose find

of a nature to be confidential about in Hunston? The thing was incredible. So Mrs. Mountford had said with a little impatience, 'Can't you find a seat; my dear? I want my footstool to myself,' when the child came to her feet as girls are in the habit of doing. Rose felt herself rejected and pushed aside: and Anne's serious countenance repulsed her still more completely. It frightened her to think that she had been venturing to interfere in her sister's affairs. What would Anne say? Her panic when she thought of this was inconceivable. It was not a passion of fright like that with which her own possible loss had filled her, but it was a terror that put wings to her feet, that gave her that impulse of instant flight and self-concealment which is the first thought of terror. Thus the poor little undeveloped nature became the plaything of desperate emotions, while yet all incapable of bearing them, and not understanding what they She was capable of doing deadly harm to others on one side, and almost of doing deadly harm to herself on the other, out of her extremity of fear.

were.

Cosmo's letter, however, was as a dash of cold water in Rose's face. Its momentary effect was one of relief. He would not do what she wanted, therefore he never, never, was likely to betray to Anne that she had interfered, and at the same time his refusal eased her sense of wrong-doing: but after the first momentary relief other sensations much less agreeable came into her mind. Her property! her property! Thus she stood, a prey to all the uncertainties-nay, more than this, almost sure that there was no uncertainty, that danger was over for Anne, that she herself was the victim, the deceived one, cruelly betrayed and deserted by her father who had raised her so high only to abase her the lower-and even by Anne, who had-what had Anne done? Was it certain, Rose asked herself, that Anne had not herself privately read that fatal letter, and acted upon it, though she had pretended to be so much shocked when Rose touched it? That must have been at the bottom of it all. Yes, no doubt that was how it was; most likely it was all a plot-a conspiracy! Anne knew: and had put Cosmo aside-ordered him, perhaps, to pretend to like Rose best!-bound him to wait till the three years were over, and Rose despoiled, and all secure, when the whole thing would come on again, and they would marry, and cheat poor papa in his grave, and rob Rose of her fortune! She became wild with passion as this gradually rose upon her as the thing most likely-nay, more than likely, certain! Only this could have warranted the tone in which Cosmo wrote.

His letter was

entirely unimportant to her if only it could stop the danger, forestall the approaching crisis. In the letter which she had surreptitiously read it was stipulated that in a certain case her inheritance was to be absolutely secure, and it had immediately become all-important to Rose to bring about the forbidden thing against which her father had made so violent a stand. She took her measures instantly, with the cunning of ignorance and simplicity and the cruel directness of a childish mind. That there was some difficulty between her sister and Cosmo her quick observation had early divined. Perhaps her vanity had whispered that it was because he liked her best: but, on the other hand, Rose understood the power of pecuniary obstacles, and could feel the want of money in a much more reasonable way than her sister, though so much her superior, ever had done. And in either case her appeal to Cosmo would be sovereign, she thought, in the first heat of her panic. If he had liked her best, he would perceive that it was hopeless. If he had been afraid, because of the want of fortune, her letter would reassure him. And if she could but bring it aboutmake Anne unpardonable secure her own 'rights!'-With a passion of hostility against everybody who could injure her, this was what Rose thought.

But when the letter was fairly gone, and the machinery set in motion, a little chill crept over that first energy of passionate selfdefence. Other thoughts began to steal in. The strength of the savage and of the child lies in their singleness of vision. As long as you can perceive only what you want and how it is to be had, or tried for, everything is possible; but when a cold breath steals upon you from here and there, suggesting perhaps the hurt of another whom you have really no desire to hurt, perhaps the actual wickedness which you have no desire to perpetrate, what chills come upon the heat of action, what creeping doubts even of the first headlong step already taken! Rose had three days to reflect upon what she had done, and those three days were not happy. She disguised her discomposure as much as she could, avoiding the society of her mother and sister. Anne, though she was absorbed in occupations much more important than anything that was likely to be involved in the varying looks of Rose, perceived her little sister's flightiness and petulance with a grieved consciousness that her position as heiress and principal personage of the family group was, now that they were in their own country and better able to realise what it meant, doing Rose harm. While Mrs. Mountford set it down to the girl's unreasonable fancy for little Keziah, whose company she seemed to seek on all occasions, and whose confidences and preparations were not the kind of things for a young girl to share.

'No good ever comes of making intimates of your servants,' her mother said, disturbed by Rose's uncertain spirits, her excitedness and agitation. What was there to be agitated about? Once or twice the girl, so wildly stirred in her own limited being, so full of ignorant

of doubt and self-disapproval, came pressing close to her mother's side, with a kind of dumb overture of confidence. But Mrs. Mountford could not understand that there was anything to tell. If there had been a lover at hand, if Heathcote had shown his former admiration (as she understood it) for Rose, or even if he had been coming daily to visit them, she might have been curious, interested, roused to the possibility that there was a secret to tell. But what could Rose find of a nature to be confidential about in Hunston? The thing was incredible. So Mrs. Mountford had said with a little impatience, Can't you find a seat, my dear? I want my footstool to myself,' when the child came to her feet as girls are in the habit of doing. Rose felt herself rejected and pushed aside: and Anne's serious countenance repulsed her still more completely. It frightened her to think that she had been venturing to interfere in her sister's affairs. What would Anne say? Her panic when she thought of this was inconceivable. It was not a passion of fright like that with which her own possible loss had filled her, but it was a terror that put wings to her feet, that gave her that impulse of instant flight and self-concealment which is the first thought of terror. Thus the poor little undeveloped nature became the plaything of desperate emotions, while yet all incapable of bearing them, and not understanding what they were. She was capable of doing deadly harm to others on one side, and almost of doing deadly harm to herself on the other, out of her extremity of fear.

Cosmo's letter, however, was as a dash of cold water in Rose's face. Its momentary effect was one of relief. He would not do what she wanted, therefore he never, never, was likely to betray to Anne that she had interfered, and at the same time his refusal eased her sense of wrong-doing: but after the first momentary relief other sensations much less agreeable came into her mind. Her property! her property! Thus she stood, a prey to all the uncertainties-nay, more than this, almost sure that there was no uncertainty, that danger was over for Anne, that she herself was the victim, the deceived one, cruelly betrayed and deserted by her father who had raised her so high only to abase her the lower-and even by Anne, who had-what had Anne done? Was it certain, Rose asked herself, that Anne had not herself privately read that fatal letter, and acted upon it, though she had pretended to be so much shocked when Rose touched it? That must have been at the bottom of it all. Yes, no doubt that was how it was; most likely it was all a plot-a conspiracy! Anne knew: and had put Cosmo aside-ordered him, perhaps, to pretend to like Rose best!-bound him to wait till the three years were over, and Rose despoiled, and all secure, when the whole thing would come on again, and they would marry, and cheat poor papa in his grave, and rob Rose of her fortune! She became wild with passion as this gradually rose upon her as the thing most likely-nay, more than likely, certain! Only this could have warranted the tone in which Cosmo wrote.

His letter was

dreadful: it was unkind, it was mocking, it was insolent. Yes! that was the word-insolent! insulting! was what it was. Why, he pretended to propose to her!-to her! Rose! after being engaged to her sister! When Rose read it over again and perceived what even her somewhat obtuse faculties could not miss the contemptuous mockery of Cosmo's letter, she stamped her feet with rage and despite. Her passion was too much for her. She clenched her hands tight, and cried for anger, her cheeks flaming, her little feet stamping in fury. And this was the sight which Keziah saw when she came into the room-a sight very alarming to that poor little woman ; and, indeed, dangerous in the state of health in which she was.

Oh! Miss Rose! Miss Rose!' she said, with a violent start (which was so bad for her); 'what is it? what is the matter?'

Rose was in some degree brought to herself by the appearance of a spectator; and, at the same time, it was a comfort to relieve her burdened soul by speaking to some one.

'Keziah,' she said, in a great flush of agitation and resentment; 'it is-it is a gentleman that has been uncivil to me!'

'Oh! Miss Rose!' old Saymore's wife cried out with excitement, attaching a much more practical meaning to the words than Rose had any insight into. Oh! Miss Rose! in our house! Who is it? who is it? Only tell me, and Mr. Saymore will turn him out of doors if it was the best customer we have!'

This rapid acceptance of her complaint, and swift determination to avenge it, brought Rose still more thoroughly to herself.

6

Oh! it is not anyone here. It is a gentleman in-a letter,' Rose said; and this subdued her. It is not anything Saymore can help me about, nor you, nor anyone.'

'We are only poor folks, Miss Rose,' said Keziah, but for a real interest, and wishing you well, there's none, if it was the Queen herself

The ludicrousness of the comparison struck Rose, but struck her not mirthfully-dolefully.

'Anne was

What was I

6 It is not much that the Queen can care,' she said. presented, but I was never presented. Nobody cares! when Anne was there? Always the little one-the one that was nobody!'

'But, Miss Rose! Miss Rose!'

Keziah did not know how to put the consolation she wished to give, for indeed she, like everybody else, had mourned the injustice to Anne, which she must condone and accept if she adopted the first suggestion of her sympathy.

'You know,' she said, with a little gasp over the renegade nature of the speech; 'you know that Miss Anne is nobody now, and you are the one that everybody thinks of

'

Keziah drew her breath hard after this, and stopped short, more ashamed of her own turncoat utterance than could have been sup

ness of reasoning, though Miss Anne was the one that every body thought of, she herself had always thought most of Miss Rose, who was not a bit proud, but always ready to talk and tell you anything, and had liked her best.

"Ah!' cried Rose, shaking her head, if that were always to last!' and then she stopped herself suddenly, and looked at Keziah as if there was something to tell, as if considering whether she should tell something. But Rose was not without prudence, and she was able to restrain herself.

'It does not matter. It does not matter, Keziah,' she cried, with that air of injured superiority which is always so congenial to youth. There are some people who never get justice, whatever they

may do.'

Little Mrs. Saymore was more bewildered than words could say. If there was a fortunate person in the world, was it not Miss Rose? So suddenly enriched, chosen, instead of Miss Anne, to have Miss Anne's fortune, and all the world at her feet! Keziah did not know what to make of it. But Rose, who had no foolish consideration for other people's feelings, left her little time for consideration.

'You may go now,' she said, with a little wave of her hand; 'I don't want anything. I want only to be left alone.'

'I am sure, Miss Rose,' said Keziah, offended, 'I didn't mean to intrude upon you. I wanted to say as all the things has come home, and if you would like to look at them—I've laid them all out in the best room, and they do look sweet,' said the little expectant mother.

Rose had taken a great deal of interest in the things, and even had aided in various small pieces of needlework-a condescension which Mrs. Mountford did not approve. But to-day she was in no mood for this inspection. She shook her head and waved her hand with a mixture of majesty and despondency.

'Not to-day. I have other things to think of, Keziah. I couldn't look at them to-day.'

This made Keziah take an abrupt leave, with offence which swallowed up her sympathy. Afterwards sympathy had the better of her resentment. She went and reviewed her little show by herself, and felt sorry for Miss Rose. It must be a trouble indeed which could not be consoled by a sight of the things, with all their little frills goffered, and little laces so neatly ironed, laid out in sets upon the best bed.

When, however, Keziah had withdrawn, the want of anyone to speak to became intolerable to Rose. She was not used to be shut up within the limits of her own small being; and though she could keep her little secrets as well as anyone, yet the possession of this big secret, now that there was no longer anything to do-now that her initiative had failed, and produced her nothing but Cosmo's insolent letter, with its mock proposal-was more than she could contain. She dared not speak to Anne, and her mother had unwittingly re