"You approve him then," she said, with a very earnest glance. "I knew but little of him, and that little speaks of him as a wilful young man does not speak well of him, in short; yet I have a strange desire to see him. You approve him, sir?”

"I do, madam, indeed," said Mr. Wilmott, warmly. "He appeared to me to be a most interesting young man, modest, unassuming, and yet, from the few words he said, I judged him to be of no common character."

Miss Grant still kept her eyes earnestly and searchingly fixed on his face; it was evident that the conversation interested her in no common degree, and with less of formality and more of curiosity than she usually evinced, she said "Is he handsome, sir? Describe Claude Hastings to me; I have a strange desire to see the young man."

"He resembles yourself, madam-strongly resembles yourself-especially about the eyes and the upper part of the face."

"Like me!" said Miss Grant, and something, faint as it was, that resembled a blush passed over her face. Why should he be

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like me?" She sate for a few moments in a musing attitude, then hastily looked round the room, as if she feared that her unusual interest had been observed. "Letitia Williams, ring the bell. Why is luncheon late? Ready, do you say?—then, why, child did you not announce it? Lead the way into the diningroom. Henry Bruce, take the head of the table. Letitia, place yourself opposite to him. Young ladies, you will excuse me. Let me wish you all a good appetite. Letitia Williams," the girl came back "behave yourself, child; don't speak unless you are spoken to."

"You and Mr. Bruce seem to be great friends already, my dear Miss Margaret,” said Mr. Wilmott, smilingly, as they parted from Henry at the lodge gate on their way home. He had again walked by her side, and the earnestness of his manner and conversation had attracted Mr. Wilmott's attention.

Margaret slightly blushed, but glanced with an expression of pain at her sister. Henry's decided preference was far from giving her

pleasure; she was continually trying to avoid the appearance of it, for, even already, she fancied that she saw a deeper shade of sadness on Sara's countenance.

"He is very easy to get on with," she said, carelessly..

"Very, my dear-a remarkably pleasing young man and I am very glad that you should like him; it is a nice change for you to have somebody of your own age to speak to-of your own time of life, I mean. There is a natural sympathy, my dear, in youth, do you know that? Youth turns to youth, as the flower to the sun,' so I have read somewhere, but I forget where it was. Where could it be? The idea struck me at the time."

"Yes, I think I feel it, too. I like to talk to him, except... She paused, then went hastily round to Sara's side. "I wish you would speak, too, Sara-it is no pleasure to me-nothing gives me real pleasure when you are so silent."

A bitter and angry expression clouded Sara's countenance; but before the words

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that seemed about to accompany it-words, perhaps, of haughty scorn or indifferencecould burst from her lips, it changed to one rather of sadness than of anger. Why should I speak?-what inducement have I to speak, Margaret?-why should I force myself on those who so evidently avoid and hate me?"

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My dear, my dear!..." began Mr. Wilmott. Oh, Sara! how can you say so?" said her sister.

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"Is it not the truth?" she said, in some excitement. "Who cares for me?- who wishes to care for me? But it is no matter; happily," she continued, with the cold, hard pride which was no part of her character, but which she often put on to conceal the anguish of her feelings-"happily, I have learned to live without love, and to be indifferent to hatred !" And climbing up a bank which would separate her from her companions, she walked home alone.

CHAPTER X.

Hast thou some charm, which draws about thee thus
The hearts of all our house?

Roderick, the Last of the Goths.

About three weeks after the date of his last letter, Henry Bruce wrote again to Claude Hastings.

My dear Claude,

The Moat, May 4.

I write to-day to press you to come instantly; if I have not done so lately, it was in obedience to my aunt's wishes, who made me promise that I would say no more on the subject; but she now recalls the promise, and desires me to write once more. Really, Claude, you must come. She was very ill last night, and, though she is quite well again to-day, I fancy that the seizure shows a very uncertain state of health, and I think that she knows it herself.