ejaculated Clara. 'The idea of that man of all men being the

first to meet them!'

'He is not a specimen that papa would have selected out of his whole flock, no doubt; a black sheep, in fact, I am afraid we must call him; still, I confess I have rather a sneaking liking for poor Jack.'

'May I ask why?' inquired Clara, with so little of interest in her tone, however, that it seemed probable she only did so to delay the surrender of her opera-glass, through which she was still gazing with eager intentness.

'Well, in the first place he sings so well.';

'He is not in the choir.'

Certainly not,' laughed Lucy; 'I've only heard him in the open air.

"For here's good luck to poaching,
Which I do think is fair;
Good luck to every gentleman
Who wants to buy a hare;

"Bad luck to every gamekeeper
Who will not sell his deer,

For 'tis my delight on a shiny night

In the season of the year.'

The girl sang very sweetly, and if not with so much vigour as the robust vocalist she was imitating, as clearly as the lark. She had finished, when a voice from the hillside near them repeated, in harmonious accents, the refrain of the song:

'For 'tis my delight on a shiny night

In the season of the year."

It was the young gentleman from the travelling carriage, who had overstepped his mark, and climbed higher than he had had need to do. Lucy coloured to her ear-tips, and wished she had a veil to drop. She could hardly understand where this human echo ha come from, but Clara took in the whole situation at a glance.

A thousand pardons,' exclaimed the stranger, removing his wideawake, and in apologetic tones, but I could not resist playing the part of chorus to my favourite ballad. You need not be ashamed of it, young lady,' he added, addressing himself to the embarrassed Lucy, for the Lord Chief Justice himself sang it to the Bar mess only last circuit.'

'Still,' observed Clara, with a smile that mitigated the stiffness of her tone, my sister feels that it is hardly a ditty for the daughter of the Rector of the parish to be caught singing on the high-road in the hearing of a stranger.'

'A stranger!' exclaimed the young fellow quickly, but that I can hardly be called—or need not be called again—if, as I under

stand, I am so fortunate as to be addressing Mr. Thorne's daughters. My name is Trevor. I left my father and mother in the carriage yonder, and ran on on foot.

Clara looked the personification of majestic surprise at this superfluous introduction; Lucy, on the other hand, felt more embarrassed than ever-that it should have been the Squire's son who had caught her singing The Poacher' seemed to her only to add to the seriousness of the catastrophe. As if he understood something of this-for it seemed hardly possible that, other things being equal, he should have thus far neglected the Duchessthe young gentleman applied himself to cover Lucy's confusion. There is nothing like our English ballad,' he said, 'except a Scotch one, to give one an idea of country life. In London, especially at this sime of the year, when we all pine for the woods and fields, there are no songs so popular in the concertroom; for my part, I assure you, you could not have given me -however unintentionally-a more agreeable welcome home.'

'That reminds me that we must be going home ourselves, Lucy,' remarked Clara. The carriage, she calculated, must very soon make its appearance, and she had her reasons for not being found by Sir Richard and his wife in possession, as it were of their son and heir. The sisters slightly inclined their heads in sign of leave-taking.

But is not your way my way, ladies?' pleaded the young fellow. Please to remember I don't know the road home as you do.'

'We are going by a short cut,' observed Clara, moving, as she spoke, towards the footpath.

'Then by all means let me take a short cut too.'

'We are not in a position to prevent you,' answered Clara, smiling, since it is not a private road.'

'If ever I have a "right of way" case, I shall think of this,' murmured the young gentleman; it will give me the eloquence of a Hampden.'

'Suppose, however, that your services should be engaged not by the trespassers, but by the landowner?'

Then I should throw up the case: I am all for trespassers and poachers.'

He laid a stress upon the last word, and with a sly smile threw it, as it were-as one throws a soft ball at a child-at the silent Lucy. A frown flitted across Clara's majestic brow: if a ball was to be thrown, it was to her, she thought, that it ought to have come, and not to her sister.

'There is your carriage, Mr. Trevor,' she observed gravely; 'will not your mother be anxious at not finding you on the road? we have heard that she is rather nervous.'

'She will not be nervous about me,' he answered with a laugh,

that was not, however, without a tinge of bitterness. 'I have been accustomed to find my way about—and alone—for a good many years.'

Neither the observation nor the tone in which it was uttered escaped Clara's notice, but she made no reply; her attention was fixed upon the travelling carriage which had now come fully into view, though they themselves (being on a winding path on the hillside) were unperceived by its inmates. Her eyes instinctively turned to Lady Trevor. Her ladyship's veil was thrown back, and she was gazing eagerly in the direction of her new home, which Sir Richard seemed to be pointing out to her, as they rapidly descended towards the village.

'How charmingly young your mother looks, Mr. Trevor!' observed Clara, as they pursued their way.

'Yes; she is indeed a miracle.'

'Who would ever suppose that you could be her son? You are very unlike one another.'

True; it is my brother, and not I, who inherits, among other things, her good looks,' he answered, laughing.

'Clara was thinking of Lady Trevor's complexion,' put in Lucy quickly; she is a brunette, whereas you here she hesitated and blushed.

'I am a blonde, am I? Well, I have been called all sorts of things, but I have never before been called a blonde;' and again he laughed, this time with great enjoyment.

It is part of your profession as a barrister to put words into other people's mouths for them,' observed Clara drily. 'Have you had much practice?'

'Practice? What a cruel question! Is not your sister cruel to me?' he inquired of Lucy.

Mr. Trevor had shown her a marked attention, which her sister had as plainly resented, as though it were her own proper due; and Lucy had thought this hard. There fell upon her a great temptation. She had it on the tip of her tongue to reply, Clara is only cruel to be kind,' but she restrained herself. 'My sister,' she said, 'has a right to cross-examine a witness who has shown himself contumacious.'

Very good; only mind. I am not going to criminate myself.' You have done it already, sir,' cried Clara, with a judicial air. 'How so?'

'Well, you are here at this moment under false pretences. You would have had us believe you couldn't find your way to your own house, though it lies yonder as plainly to be seen as the church tower: and you are an Englishman, when we expected to find you were half a Frenchman.'

You were at least expecting me, then ?' smiled the young fellow, with a glance at Lucy.

'Not at all, sir.' protested Clara, 'only curious about youlike our neighbours. Indeed, it seems more strange to those of them who had known your father in other days, than to us, that they should be in such ignorance concerning you all.'

เ

That is natural enough,' admitted the young fellow; there is no reason, that I know of, why their curiosity should not be gratified. As for me the blonde-you will judge for your selves. My father, though there is nothing serious the matter with him, I trust, is in ill-health, and has returned to Mirbridge in hopes that his native air may do something for him. My mother, who is not at all nervous, by-the-bye-or at all events you have been the first to tell me of it-is, as you have been rightly informed, a Frenchwoman. Her maiden name was Nanette Langlet. Voilà tout.'

'But you have a brother, have you not?'

'True; for the moment I was thinking only of the three of us who have arrived. Oh yes, I have, without doubt, a brother; he will join us, however, in a day or two. It will be betterand, indeed, I know he would prefer it-to let him speak for himself,'

CHAPTER V.

A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION.

THERE were several things in Mr. Trevor's very concise epitome of his family affairs which Clara Thorne would have liked to have had explained to her. The laughing air with which he had expressed himself took away from his words much of their cynicism, but there still remained a flavour of bitterness. She somehow gathered from them that he was not a favourite with his mother, and that his brother was not a favourite with him. Considering, indeed, the brevity of the information accorded to her, it was full of significance, and promised to be very useful as a map of the country; but she could not conceal from herself that it had cost her something that the young man had rather resented being subjected to her cross-examination. This he showed, however, not in his manner, which remained unaltered, but in the persistence with which he addressed his conversation to to Lucy. There was plenty of it, for though every step of their way was down hill, their progress was slow. Perhaps, on the part of two out of three, designedly so, though it seemed natural enough that at the many coigns of valtage on the hillpath the new-comer should linger over the scene, and have its beauties pointed out to him.

'It is all so different,' he said, 'from our home landscape at Minard, where we have no trees but poplars, and all the roads are straight.'

'But perhaps you have the sea,' observed Lucy.

'We are not far from it, and that, as you suggest, is a source of consolation. When one hears it, even when it is in a passion, one 'says to one's self, "There speaks the silver streak, on the other side of which is dear England." "

You are patriotic, then,' said Clara, smiling.

'If patriotism means preference for one's own country, I certainly am; so are all Englishmen who live abroad, because they are in a position to make a comparison.'

'Yet how all our people rave about the Continent!' remarked Clara.

'You may well say "rave." They see it in their holidays, and when it is itself en fête for their reception. No Englishman lives there, unless for his pocket's sake (though he saves but little by it), or his health (which would generally be quite as good at home), or because he has reasons best known to himself for being an exile.'

There was an uncomfortable silence, which the young man himself put an end to by a burst of laughter.

Now you are thinking, after that tirade of mine, to which of those three causes our own exile from our native land is due. Well, upon my word, I fear it's the last; at least I never could discover what my father-though no doubt, he had some reason both good and wise-could see in Minard that he should prefer it to his own home-and such a home!' and he waved his hand over the landscape admiringly in a very Continental

manner.

I am so glad you like what you have seen of Mirbridge,' observed Clara.

'Like it! Of course I like it. The place and its inhabitants' -here he took off his hat-'are alike charming. Only I wish your sister had not laughed at me when I threw my arms about. I shall get out of it in time,' he added apologetically; but there is so much grimace and gesture in the Pas de Calais, and an is a creature or imitation,'

I was only smiling at your enthusiasm, Mr. Trevor,' said Lucy; not in ridicule of it, I do assure you, for, indeed, my sister and I both share it.'

He looked at her as though he would have liked to share it with her alone, but answered nothing.

'We have heard, however, that both you and your brother have been long-or at least often-in England,' remarked Clara.

My brother has only crossed the Channel occasionally; but it is quite true that I have been long enough in London to have worn off, had I been a more sensible fellow, my French gaucheries.'

'I did not know there was such a thing as French gaucherie,'