began by pitying him, and ended by -well, they generally ended by falling in love with him, which was to be regretted, for he did not fall in love with them in return.

Besides his many fascinations of person and manner, he had position, and every one knows what a trump card position is. He was the Hon. Reginald Fairfax, eldest son of Lord Wimburne, of Wimburne Priory, near W--, one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the shire. A good catch in every sense of the word, and as such of course, caressed and fêted and made much of; all which attentions, he received in the most condescending manner, just as if he considered them simply his due. And now, having "done" the London season, having flirted openly with "fast" Lady Sarah in the park, and at the Opera, and having gazed with those tender beseeching eyes of his at gentle Lady Lucy across the breadth of a crowded ballroom, until she blushed, and trembled with a vague pleasure, he had come down to rusticate at Wimburne, and not having anything particular to do, he thought a flirtation with pretty innocent little Rachel Scott would be a very charming pastime indeed.

It would have been all very well, if languishing glances and soft words to highborn beauties were the only sins which could be laid to the charge of Mr. Fairfax; but there was another and a heavier

one. During his gallop in the ride every morning during the summer, which was just now over, he used to see a pretty little figure hurrying along, always at the same hour, and always in the same direction. The little figure was poorly, but neatly dressed, a governess, evidently, on her way to her daily routine of hard work.

Mr. Fairfax after a while began to watch for her, and he would have given a great deal for an ex

cuse to speak to her. He more than once thought of pretending to ride over her at a crossing, that he might be obliged to stop, and beg her pardon. But fortune favoured him, as she often does favour such men as he. Just as he was passing her one day-perhaps the admiring gaze which the girl caught from those dark melancholy brown eyes, was too much for her-she let fall a roll of music which she was carrying, and he sprang from his horse and picked it up, literally before she could stoop for it herself. Of course she had to thank him, and for the first time, he got a satisfactory view of the pretty young face, with its full hazel eyes, and its framework of soft brown hair; and, equally of course, he did not remount his "prancing steed "-the Park hack was a "prancing steed" to the foolish girl, whose ideas were all borrowed from third-rate novels -but walked by her side, talking, she thought as the "Giaour," or the "Corsair" would have talked, until they reached a point beyond which, for cogent reasons, he did not choose to go; and then he shook hands, and he held hers in its shabby, but well-fitting glove, while he assured her that his slight service more than repaid by the pleasure of her acquaintance, and she believed him, and the melancholy brown eyes came between her and the dull routine with her pupils, on that day, and for many a day afterwards.

was

She

I am sorry to have to tell it, but it was in the end the saddest version of the old old story. was not ill-principled, poor girl; she was only very weak, and fairly bewitched by the tempter with the dark brown eyes. It was very pleasant for him to see the soft light coming into her face at his approach, and to watch how, one by one, her doubts and scruples vanished beneath his sophistries, and --well,

at length the ranks of daily governesses were thinned by one, and that one under the name of Mrs. Villiers, took possession of a pretty villa at Richmond.

Mrs. Villiers knew nothing whatever about Reginald, except that he was handsome rich generous, and apparently devoted to her. She believed that Villiers was his name, and she firmly believed him when he swore that he would marry her when he was his own master.

And now you know more about Mr. Fairfax than did any of the Bishop's guests-I mean the lady guests to whom he, Mr. Fairfax, made himself so agreeable that August afternoon. But Rachel Scott had attracted him, and to Rachel Scott he must be introduced.

But he did not rashly commit himself by asking any one "who that pretty girl was ?" He merely sauntered up to the second Miss Rokeby, who was not playing croquet, and asked, "who the young lady was, who seemed bent upon roqueting-didn't they call that knocking of the balls about roqueting? everybody so unmercifully; " and when he heard the name, Scott, he remembered a fact which would almost give him the claim of old acquaintanceship with the girl whom he admired. Her aunt, Miss Conway, and his mother were very old and intimate friends, and as a child Rachel had often spent a day at Wimburne Priory with his sisters. So by-and-by he went up to her, took off his hat, and claimed acquaintance with her in the most graceful manner, and Rachel, pleased, and flattered at the goodness of his memory, blushed very prettily, and felt quite penitent at the badness of her own, when Mr. Fairfax told her how well he remembered the happy days they had all spent together as children.

Then he must find his mother and

sisters. They had all been abroad for so long, that they were almost strangers in W--, but he hoped they would all be very intimate

now.

So Lady Wimburne and the

girls were found, and the former, a good-natured kind-hearted woman, kissed Rachel at once, and told her that she was charmed to see her, and the girls shook hands with her, and wondered how it was that she was so pretty, and stylish looking when she had always lived in the country.

With great satisfaction to himself Mr. Fairfax would, if possible, have induced Rachel to forego any more croquet that afternoon, and to stroll with him instead, up and down one of the shady walks which abounded in the Palace pleasure grounds, but, Rachel, not caring for a tête-à-tête with a man with whom she was not yet quite at her ease, said she was not in the least tired of croquet, and just at the moment Harry Vaughan came up and asked her to play with him. She hesitated, but Fairfax did not. He hated croquet mortally, but he had no idea of seeing the girl whom he had singled out for his own special amusement, carried off by that "tremendous young warrior," as he mentally styled Vaughan, so he said—

"Miss Scott has honoured me by selecting me for her partner," and giving Rachel his arm, he turned to the croquet ground, leaving Harry very well inclined to knock him down.

"Your young Hercules looks injured," Reginald continued, with a scarcely perceptible pressure of the little grey gloved hand upon his arm, "but I think I can endure even his enmity rather than give you up."

"I suppose he did not think you looked like a croquet player," Rachel returned, feeling rather aggrieved on Vaughan's account, but wonderfully flattered wonderfully flattered upon her own.

"Which ball will you have? I have got white."

"I shall have blue. I like blue in everything," he said, looking into Rachel's violet eyes with a wistful melancholy glance, which made her long to ask him why he looked so sad. And so it went on, and by the time the game was finished, Rachel no longer made any objection to walk up and down one of the shady walks with her partner, and presently they sat down to rest upon one of the rustic seats out of sight of those dreadfully energetic people, as he called the apparently, indefatigable croquet players.

There was always music at the Palace after the "high tea," which followed the croquet on the lawn, so when the party came out of the dining-room, having partaken of the good things provided for them, the Misses Rokeby sat down to the grand piano, and performed an Italian duet. It is very much to be hoped that none of the good churchmen present understood the soft Southern tongue, or they must have been horrified at the strong language that issued from the lips of the fair vocalists; but as Miss Betty Fudge says, "Things do not sound half so naughty in French."

Then Mr. Ruthven sat down, and sang, "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep," and Miss Rokeby as she looked at, and listened to him, again thought of certain passages which had taken place in London, and felt a thrill of pleasure. I hope there is nothing wrong in saying this. Why should not bishops' daughters feel happy, when handsome young men who have spoken soft words to them, sing sweet songs?

Rachel, who was sitting rather away from the group round the piano, listening with intense pleasure to every note, was next called upon, and she obeyed the call at once. The song she chose was Schubert's exquisite " Passing Bell," which she

sang and played as she alone, in that room, could have done. When the first notes of her magnificent voice were heard, every other voice became mute, while many actually held their breath to listen; and when she ceased, and the last chords were dying away, there was still silence for a moment, then rapturous applause.

Poor Rachel was almost overpowered. She had forgotten her audience altogether, and now they were crowding about her, begging for just one more.

"What shall I sing?" she asked, balf laughing at their importunity. "Anything you please," they said.

"Will you sing something to please me?" said a voice she had missed in the general approbation, and Fairfax placed a book upon the desk before her. "I cannot even try to tell you now what I think of your song," he whispered, as he fumbled very unnecessarily with the little brass hooks which kept the leaves of the music steady.

The song he had selected was Moore's "Last Rose of Summer," and if Rachel's rich voice and perfect taste had done justice to the difficult German music, her rendering of the simple Irish melody was absolute perfection.

When she rose from the piano, blushing and confused with the praises which were lavished upon her, Fairfax offered her his arm to lead her back to her seat, or to a seat rather, for he took her quite to the other end of the long drawing-room, and then more duets, and more solos followed, and no one, except perhaps Miss Russel, remarked that Fairfax drew a low chair to Rachel's side, and remained talking to her for the rest of the evening.

Yes, and he talked to her as no man had ever talked to her before, and ever and anon the dark melancholy eyes rested upon her face, as though

they were world-weary, and that to look at her was peace. He talked to her of music, and praised her voice and her singing with the most subtle flattery; then he drew her on to speak of herself, and listened with profound attention to her innocent chatter about her school days, and her school friends. Then he spoke of himself, told her of his life-it was a mere fancy sketch, of course, which he called "vapid and aimless," and when he had maundered on for a long time, he suddenly pulled up, wondering why he had been tempted to tell to her what he had never cared to tell to any one before! It must be because she had been his little child friend long ago, and he hoped she would be his woman friend now. "Would

she take pity on him sometimes and 'charm away the evil spirit' by singing?" And Rachel allowed him to take her little hand, and pitied him from the bottom of her foolish loving heart, for having an "evil spirit," and it never occurred to her that the demon might be a myth, nor did she hear Vaughan singing in a sweet well-trained tenor, to his own accompaniment, "When other lips, and other hearts."

And then it was time to go away, and Rachel wished, as so many of us have wished before her turn came, that pleasant days would never end, and as Fairfax drove back to Wimburne Priory with his mother and sisters, he smiled to himself over the new conquest he had made.

CHAPTER IV.

"In the court of Cupid fancies are
Just as valid as affidavits,
And the vaguest illusions quite
As much evidence, as testimony
Taken upon oath!"

As a matter of course Rachel was at The Lodge the following afternoon to talk over the croquet party.

Not that she had much to say about her own share in it, except that she had enjoyed it very much! She felt that she could not, even to Miss Russel, tell all that Mr. Fairfax had said to her. "How very nice he was," she thought, and "how much she liked that gentle kind manner of his! Could he be unhappy about anything? She feared he must be, he looked so sad sometimes. Perhaps he was in love with some one who did not care for him." But Rachel dismissed that idea at once-surely any one for whom he cared, must care for him." Then she began to wonder if Lady Wimburne would call upon her aunt Conway, as she had said she hoped to do very soon.

These thoughts, and many other thoughts of a like nature, passed through Miss Scott's mind as she sat at the piano idly getting over the forenoon until it was time to go to The Lodge. She was trying some songs which Mr. Fairfax had told her he particularly admired, and hoping that he would hear her sing them some day-he had such good taste in music! How she wished she could hear all those operas he spoke of Faust and Don Giovanni; she must get the Jewel Song from Faust; he s said it would suit her voice admirably.

She was looking prettier than Miss Russel had ever seen her when she came into the drawing-room at The Lodge about three o'clock, and told her dear old Granny that she had come to dine with her. "Aunt Conway said I might come," she said, "and I hope you are glad to see me, Granny. And, oh! don't you wish that we were going to another croquet party todav?"

Miss Russel could not say with truth that she did wish it, but then Mr. Fairfax had not been making himself agreeable to her.

"I was so dreadfully frightened

when they all began to applaud my song," Rachel began, when she had taken off her hat and scarf, and opened her little workbag, "for just at first every one was so silent, I was sure they did not like it."

"And I don't think you heard your friend Mr. Vaughan sing at all," said Miss Russel. "Indeed, I suspect poor Sword and poor Gown were both forgotten."

"Did he sing?" cried Rachel, blushing, as she remembered why it was she had not heard him.

"Yes, and most beautifully. I like his singing better than Mr. Ruthven's. If I could have ventured to disturb your téte-à-téte with Mr. Fairfax, I might have got you back to the piano. I suppose you found him agreeable."

"Agreeable is no word for what he is," cried Rachel, enthusiastically, "he is charming! There is something about him so-so-oh, so unlike every one."

"And you like that! Well, I prefer Mr. Vaughan, although I have met many men like him. There is something you will be shocked, Rachel, I know-to my mind sly about Mr. Fairfax. I cannot help thinking when I look at him, that I do not see the real man."

"Real?" echoed Rachel, who had considered the Honourable Reginald candour itself. "Indeed, Granny, you are wrong; he told me a great deal about himself last night."

"To you, did he? And what did he tell you? I suppose you are not bound to secrecy.

"Oh, I don't know; he told me little things," replied Rachel, puzzled, now that the plain question had been put, to remember what Mr. Fairfax had actually told her of himself. "I don't think he is happy," she concluded, falling back into her old idea.

"Oh, ridiculous! What in the world can he have to make him unhappy? He has everything he can

possibly wish for. I'm afraid he is a little bit of a humbug, Rachel, and I repeat, I like Mr. Vaughan far better."

"Talk of an angel" laughed Rachel, "there is Mr. Vaughan coming up the avenue."

Miss Russel went to the window, and called to him to come across the flower beds. "You have leave to come in this way by the window always, remember," she said, giving him her hand; "and if you do not find me in this room, I am almost certain not to be at home-come in, here is Miss Scott; we have been talking over the croquet party yesterday. I hope you enjoyed your first specimen of our W-- festivities."

"Beyond everything! I never spent so jolly a day, and all our fellows were delighted. Such a lot of pretty girls; and the Bishop's awfully good-natured, isn't he? But, Miss Scott, your songs have been haunting me ever since. You won't think I am flattering you, will you? when I tell you that I hav'n't heard such singing I don't know when. By Jove! that Irish melody was enough to make a fool of a fellow."

Vaughan's praise was, like himself, honest and out-spoken. Rachel laughed merrily. " I shall be quite spoiled," she said; " but I am very glad you were pleased."

"You will think I am going to haunt you," Vaughan went on, turning to Miss Russel, "but I had a long letter from my father this morning, with no end of messages to you, and I thought you would like to hear them. There," handing her the letter, " you may read it all for yourself."

"Oh, thank you! You are very kind," she replied, and Vaughan noticed the bright glow of pleasure that passed over her face, as her eyes fell upon the familiar handwriting unseen for years. "You