south wind, or by the low murmur of the forest river stealing on its stealthy course under overarching boughs, mysterious as that wondrous river in Kubla Khan's dream, and anon breaking suddenly out into a clamor loud enough to startle Arion as the waters came leaping and bawling over the shining moss-green bowlders? Where were these happy comrades going as they rode side by as they rode side by side under the glancing lights and waving shadows? Everybody knows what became of Lancelot and Guinevere after that famous ride of theirs. What of these two who rode together day after day in sun and shower, who loitered and lingered in every loveliest nook in the forest, who had the same tastes, the same ideas, the same loves, the same dislikes? Neither dared ask that question. They took the happiness fate gave them, and sought not to lift the veil of the future. Each was utterly and unreasonably happy, and each knew very well this deep and entire happiness was to last no longer than the long summer days and the dangling balls of blossoms on the beechen boughs. Before the new tufts on the fir branches had lost their early green this midsummer dream would be over. It was to be brief as a schoolboy's holiday.

What was the good of being so happy happy only to be so much the more miserable afterward? A sensible young woman might have asked herself that question, but Violet Tempest did not. Her intentions were pure as the innocent light shining out of her hazel eyes-a gaze frank, direct and fearless as a child's. She had no idea of tempting Roderick to be false to his vows. Had Lady Mabel, with her orchids and Greek plays, been alone in question, Violet might have

thought of the matter more lightly, but filial duty was involved in Rorie's fidelity to his betrothed. He had promised his mother on her deathbed. That was a promise not to be broken.

One day--a day for ever to be remembered by Vixen and Rorie, a day that stood out in the foreground of memory's picture awfully distinct from the dreamy happiness that went before it these two old friends prolonged their ride even later than usual. The weather was the loveliest that ever blessed their journeyings, the sky Italian, the west wind just fresh enough to fan their cheeks and faintly stir the green feathers of the ferns that grew breast-high on each side of the narrow track. The earth gave forth her subtlest perfumes under the fire of the midsummer sun. From Boldrewood the distant heights and valleys had an Alpine look in the clear bright air, the woods rising line above line in the far distance, in every shade of color, from deepest umber to emerald-green, from darkest purple to translucent azure, yonder where the farthest line of azure met the sunlit sky. From Stony Cross the vast stretch of wood and moor lay basking in the warm vivid light, the yellow of the dwarf furze flashing in golden patches amidst the first bloom of the crimson heather. The southern corner of Hampshire was a glorious world to live in on such a day as this. Violet and her cavalier thought so as their horses cantered up and down the smooth stretch of turf in front of the Forester's Inn.

"I don't know what has come to Arion," said Vixen as she checked her eager horse in his endeavor to break into a mad gallop. "I think he must be what Scotch people call 'fey.'"

Just at this moment the dinner-bell rang. The captain gave his wife his arm, and the two passed Vixen without a word. She followed them to the dining-room, wondering what was coming.

The dinner began in silence, and then Mrs. Carmichael began to falter forth small remarks feeble as the twittering of birds before the coming storm. How very warm it had been all day! almost oppressive; day! almost oppressive; and yet it had been a remarkably fine day. There was a fair at Emery Down-at least, not exactly a fair, but a barrow of nuts and some horrid pistols and a swing. Violet answered, as in duty bound, but the captain maintained his ominous silence. Not a word was said about Violet's long ride. It seemed hardly necessary to apologize for her absence, since her mother made no complaint. Yet she felt that there was a storm coming. "Perhaps he is going to sell Arion," she thought, "and that is why the dear thing was 'fey.'"

་

And then that rebellious spirit of hers arose within her, ready for war:

"No, I would not endure that; I would not part with my father's last gift. I shall be rich seven years hence, if I live so long. I'll do what the young spendthrifts do: I'll go to the Jews. I will not be Captain Carmichael's helot. One slave is enough for him, I should think. He has enslaved poor mamma. Look at her now, poor soul! She sits in bodily fear of him, crumbing her bread with her pretty fingers shining and sparkling with rings. Poor mamma! it is a bad day for her when fine dresses and handsome jewels cannot make her happy."

It was a miserable dinner. Those three were not wont to be gay when they sat at

meat together, but the dinner of to-day was of a gloomier pattern than usual. The strawberries and cherries were carried round solemnly; the captain filled his glass with claret; Mrs. Carmichael dipped the ends of her fingers into the turquoise-colored glass and disseminated a faint odor of roses.

"I think I'll go and sit in the garden, Conrad," she said, when she had dried those. tapering fingers on her fringed doyley. "It's so warm in the house."

"Do, dear; I'll come and smoke my cigar on the lawn presently," answered the captain.

"Can't you come at once, love?"

"I've a little bit of business to settle first. I won't be long."

Mrs. Carmichael kissed her hand to her husband and left the room, followed by Vixen.

Violet," she said, when they were outside, "how could you stay out so long? Conrad is dreadfully angry."

"Your husband angry because I rode a few miles farther to-day than usual? Dear mother, that is too absurd.. I was sorry not to be at home in time to give you your afternoon tea, and I apologize to you with all my heart; but what can it matter to Captain Carmichael?"

"My dearest Violet, when will you understand that Conrad stands in the place of your dear father?"

ous father. I recognize no duty that I owe to Captain Carmichael."

"You are

a very cruel girl," wailed Pamela, "and your obstinacy is making my life miserable."

"Dear mother, how do I interfere with your happiness? You live your life, and I mine. You and Captain Carmichael take your own way, I mine. Is it a crime to be out riding a little longer than usual, that you should look so pale and the captain so black when I come home?"

"It is worse than a crime, Violet: it is an impropriety."

Vixen blushed crimson and turned upon her mother with an expression that was half startled, half indignant:

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'What do you mean, mamma?”’

Had you been riding about the Forest all those hours alone, it would have been eccentric, unladylike-masculine even. You know that your habit of passing half your existence on horseback has always been a grief to me. But you were not alone."

"No, mamma; I was not alone. I had my oldest friend with me-one of the few people in this big world who care for me." "You were riding about with Roderick Vawdrey, Lady Mabel Ashbourne's future husband."

"Why do you remind me of his engagement, mamma? Do you think that Roderick and I have ever forgotten it? Can he not be my friend as well as Lady Mabel's husband? Am I to forget that he and I played together as children, that we have always thought of each other and cared for each other as brother and sister, only because he is engaged to Lady Mabel Ashbourne?"

Violet, you must know that all talk about

Which everybody?"

"Colonel Carteret, to begin with."

"Colonel Carteret slanders everybody; it is his only intellectual resource. Dearest mother, be your own sweet easy-tempered self, not a speaking-tube for Captain Carmichael. Pray leave me my liberty. I am not particularly happy; you might at least let me be free.'

Violet left her mother with these words. They had reached the lawn before the drawing-room windows. Mrs. Carmichael sank into a low basket-chair like a hall-porter's, which a friend had sent her from the sands of Trouville, and Vixen ran off to the stables to see if Arion was in any way the worse for his long round.

The horses had been littered down for the night and the stable-yard was empty. The faithful Bates, who was usually to be found at this hour smoking his evening pipe on a stone bench beside the stable pump, was nowhere in sight. Vixen went into Arion's loose box, where that animal was nibbling clover lazily, standing knee-deep in freshly spread straw, his fine legs carefully bandaged. He gave his mistress the usual grunt of friendly greeting, allowed her to

feed him with the choicest bits of clover, and licked her hands in token of gratitude. "I don't think you're any the worse for our canter over the grass, old pet," she cried, cheerily, as she caressed his sleek head," and Captain Carmichael's black looks can't hurt.

you.

As she left the stable she saw Bates, who was walking slowly across the court-yard, wiping his honest old eyes with the cuff of his drab coat and hanging his grizzled head dejectedly.

Vixen ran to him with her cheeks aflame, divining mischief. The captain had been wreaking his spite upon this lowly head.

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What's the matter, Bates?"

"I've lived in this house, Miss Voylet, man and boy, forty year come Michaelmas, and I've never wronged my master by so much as the worth o' a handful o' wuts or a carriage candle. I was stable-boy in your grandfeyther's time, miss, as is well beknown to you, and I remember your feyther when he was the finest and handsomest young squire within fifty mile. I've loved you and yours better than I ever better than I ever loved my own flesh and blood, and to go and pluck me up by the roots and chuck me out amongst strangers in my old age is crueller than it would be to tear up the old cedar on the lawn, which I've heard Joe the gardener say be as old as the day when such-like trees were fust beknown in England. It's crueller, Miss Voylet, for the cedar ain't got no feelings, but I feel it down to the deepest fibres in me. The lawn ud look ugly and empty without the cedar and mayhap nobody'll miss me, but I've got the heart of a man, miss, and it bleeds."

with this burst of eloquence. He was a man who, although silent in his normal condition, had a great deal to say when he felt aggrieved. In his present state of mind his only solace was in only solace was in many words.

"I don't know what you mean, Bates," cried Vixen, very pale now, divining the truth in part, if not wholly. "Don't cry, dear old fellow; it's too dreadful to see you. You don't mean-you can't mean-that my mother has sent you away?"

"Not your ma, miss, bless her heart! She wouldn't sack the servant that saddled her husband's horse, fair weather and foul, for twenty year. No, Miss Voylet, it's Captain Carmichael that's given me the sack. He's master here now, you know, miss."

"But for what reason? What have you

done to offend him?"

you.”

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