catastrophe, it would be well to give her nephew some other object of interest. This was the ground-work of her course of action, and no fault could be found with it. With regard to Mr. Verney's character-'What the eye did not see the heart was not likely to grieve.' Report said that he had been wild and extravagant; but no doubt experience had done its work; and at his age, and with his good sense, he was likely to settle down into a very steady estimable man, Moreover-and this was a strong argument-Rosamond was not likely to know or care much about his antecedents. She had no particular principles; she was simply a very pretty, good-tempered, fashionable girl, who would be glad to be married, and might as well marry Charles Verney as any one else. Health, indeed, was one objection; for if Mr. Verney could not return to India, his income would be most materially diminished, and Mrs. Verney had been so far conscientious upon this point that, although she had passively encouraged the intimacy, she had never taken any very active steps to promote it, until the probability that Rosamond would inherit her aunt's fortune seemed likely to remove out of the way this-in her eyes-only important obstacle. Rosamond, with two thousand a year of her own, would really be a most desirable wife for a man thrown out of an Indian appointment; and then, too, all old associations would be broken off, and Mr. Verney's life might, as it were, be begun anew. With a natural delight in match-making, the temptation to interfere more definitely became too strong to be resisted; and before he went abroad Mr. Verney had received suggestions and hints and encouragements whichif only his affections had been engaged to the extent which his aunt chose to imagine-must long since have had the effect of bringing affairs to a climax. But-most unaccountable it appeared to Mrs. Verney-from some unknown cause the crisis never occurred. Mr. Verney flirted with Rosamond publicly, and expressed his admiration of her privately; he even went so far as to make her presents, and to receive drawings and guard-chains and purses in return; but he could never be brought to the point of proposal. Mrs.

Verney became uneasy. Like other manoeuvrers, she cared less for the object than for the fact of success.

Rosamond

and Mr. Verney might or might not be likely to make each other happy; but if Mrs. Verney had determined they should marry, they must; and therefore she set herself sedulously to find out what hidden obstacles lay in the path. In the course of this inquiry-which was carried on with great skill and profound secrecy-the possibility of what she chose to call an Indian entanglement was suggested, and although no certain evidence was produced-for the information only came from friends' friends who had known Mr. Verney in India-it gave her a stimulus to exertion and a clue to her nephew's conduct that she was far too well practised in the work which she had undertaken not to use with skill for the attainment of her own purposes. Within the last fortnight a letter had been written to Mr. Verney, suggesting, in the most insinuating manner, the danger of his prolonging his foreign intercourse with the Camerons. The world, Mrs. Verney said, was beginning to talk. Rosamond Cameron was a most attractive girl, and was already looked upon as an heiress. She had been much admired in London; and Mr. Verney knew that on her return she would be likely to have many and most desirable offers if she were considered disengaged. But even before she left England, persons were held back by the reports of an attachment-even an engagement-between her and Mr. Verney. This was very unfair. Mrs. Verney put it to her nephew, as a man of honour, whether it was right that such a state of things should continue. If he had no serious intentions he had no right to feign them. He ought at once to leave the family. True, it might be too late. Mrs. Verney would on no account betray confidence; yet she could not but fear, from what she had seen and heard, that Rosamond's feelings had already been excited to a degree which might be very dangerous to her happiness. She was upon the surface a sweet, bright—some might even say a thoughtless-young girl; but such apparent buoyancy of spirits often concealed great capacities of suffering. Mrs. Verney entreated her nephew no longer to trifle in this

matter. He might possibly have been influenced in his delay by the very advantages which a marriage with Rosamond Cameron offered. A wife, beautiful, accomplished, perfect in temper, fascinating in society, a member of a good family, and having the almost certainty of two thousand a year of her own, was certainly not to be met with every day; and a man of very refined feeling might well hesitate before he ventured to ask for such a treasure. But morbid scruples would, in the end, be injurious to all parties. And it was due to Rosamond, and due also to her parents, and to Mr. Verney's own character-that attentions without meaning should no longer be suffered to stand in the way of her prospects for life. Mrs. Verney concluded with ardent wishes for her nephew's happiness, and an assurance that, whatever might be his decision, she should always be most affectionately interested in his welfare.

The letter was written and despatched; but it lay rather heavy on Mrs. Verney's mind-perhaps it a little burdened her conscience. One thing was certain-she shrank from mentioning the subject to which it referred to her husband. Colonel Verney had great and very serious faults, but they were of a less insidious character than his wife's. He was more honest-hearted, more true and Christian in his principles. Mr. Verney not being a man whom he could approve of for his own daughter, he would have scorned the thought of encouraging his attentions to Rosamond; and this his wife perfectly well knew. Again and again in life her schemes had been interfered with by her husband's blunt and sometimes very rough and awkward honesty. But, in this instance, his sense of the undesirableness of such a marriage for Rosamond would be strengthened by his own prejudices. He might bear with Mr. Cameron socially, but an actual connection would be entirely opposed to his views and interests. Yet he must be prepared for the contingency; and this could only be done by accustoming him to the idea gradually. A sudden announcement of Mr. Verney's engagement (supposing it to exist) would almost inevitably produce an outbreak of incautious anger and surprise, the consequences of which it

would be impossible to foresee. Mrs. Verney had pondered this matter well for several days; and the result was the conversation which had just passed, and which had been much more favourable to her wishes than she could have ventured to anticipate. The Colonel was never a very reasonable or reasoning being. His one great weakness-violent temper— put him continually at a disadvantage with persons who could be cool and bide their time; and Mrs. Verney knew full well that if she could excite his indignation at the prospect of being connected with the 'quack doctor,' he would accept whatever might be suggested in its stead, without pausing to weigh objections which, in calmer moments, might seriously interfere with her projects. She had calculated well and wisely. The Colonel sat in his arm-chair and drank his port wine and stormed mentally at 'Old Miss Medley;' and when he thought of Rosamond felt only-as his wife intended he should feel that it would be a great gain for them all to have nothing worse than a Cameron instead.

CHAPTER XXXI.

WHEN Myra drove back to Ischl, in compliance with the order she had received, it was in a spirit of no very perfect submission or good temper. Principles sometimes change suddenly, but practice follows but slowly after them. Everything had gone wrong on that particular day. She disliked the upsetting of her plans; she was very sorry to leave St. Wolfgang; she was disappointed at not seeing more of Miss Stuart; and, more than all, she dreaded on every account travelling without Mr. Verney's help and companionship. As a climax, instead of having a pleasant drive in an open carriage with Colonel and Mrs. Hensman, she was told at the last minute that they were excessively sorry, but that most unexpectedly they were compelled to go in another direction to see a friend who was taken suddenly ill, and that the only mode of conveyance they could find for her would be a little country vehicle, half chaise, half cart, which would be driven by their servant. So Myra jolted over the rough road, and had scarcely heart to admire the scenery, even when after a drive of seven miles they came to the summit of a hill, at the foot of which lay the small town of Ischl, encircled by mountains and forests near and distant, a torrent-river rushing by it, and trees and cliffs breaking the outline of the foreground.

Sorrow may be soothed by the beauty of nature, for sorrow, like nature, comes from God, and is sacred; but temper is human, and refuses to submit to its influence. Myra suffered at that moment from a fit of discontent, which might have suited the days gone by; and, in order to indulge it, conjured up every possible form of disagreeableness which might be expected to await her at the Hotel Baur-her mother's complaining illness, her father's cold strictness, Rosamond's utter want of comprehension and sympathy, and Mr. Verney's moodiness. The first words she heard from Conyers, who