CHAPTER XXIII.

JOYS AND SORROWS.

"Complaint was heard on every part
Of something disarranged."

THE next day, Sunday, was one of the most marked in Lily's life. It was the first time she saw Mr. Devereux after his illness, and though Claude had told her he was going to Church, it gave her a sudden thrill of joy to see him there once more, and perhaps she never felt more thankful than when his name was read before the Thanksgiving. After the service, there was an exchange of greetings, but Lily spoke no word, she felt too happy and too awestruck, to say anything, and she walked back to the New Court in silence.

In the afternoon, she had hopes that a blessing would be granted to her, for which at one time, she had scarcely dared to hope; and she felt convinced that so it would be when she saw that Mr. Devereux wore his surplice, although, as in the morning, his friend read the service.

After the Second

Lesson there was a pause, and then Mr. Devereux left the chair by the Altar, walked along the aisle, and took his stand on the step of the Font. Lily's heart beat high as she saw who were gathering round him—Mrs. Eden, Andrew Grey, James Harrington, and Mrs. Naylor, who held in her arms a healthy rosy-cheeked boy of a year old.

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She could not have described the feelings which made her eyes overflow with tears, as she saw Mr. Devereux's thin hand sprinkle the drops over the brow of the child, and heard him say, Robert, I baptize thee," words which she had heard in dreams, and then awakened to remember that the parish was at enmity with the Pastor, the child unbaptized, and herself, in part, the cause.

The name of the little boy was an additional pledge of reconciliation, and at the same time, it made her feel again, what had been the price of his Baptism. When she looked back upon the dreary feelings which she had so lately experienced, it seemed to her as if she might believe that this christening was, as it were, a pledge of pardon, and an earnest of better things.

Naylor, who had recovered much more slowly than Mr. Devereux, was at Church for the first time, and after the service, Mr. Mohun sought him out in the Churchyard, and heartily shook hands with him. Lily would gladly have followed his example, but she only stood by Eleanor and Mrs. Weston, who were speaking to Mrs. Eden and Mrs. Naylor, admiring the little boy, and praising him for his good behaviour in Church.

Love of babies was a strong bond between Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Hawkesworth, who seemed to become well acquainted from the first moment that little Henry was mentioned, and Lily was well pleased to see that in Jane's phrase, Eleanor took to her friends so well.

And yet this day brought with it some annoyances, which once would have fretted her so much as to interfere even with such joy as she now felt. The song, with which she had taken so much pains, ought to have been sent home a week before, but owing to the delay caused by Emily's carelessness, it had been burnt in the fire in the school-room, and Lily could not feel herself forgiven, till she had talked the disaster over in private with her friend, and this was out of her power throughout the day, for something always prevented her from getting Alethea alone. In the morning, Jane stuck close to her, and in the afternoon, William walked to the school gate with them. But Alethea's manner was kinder towards her than ever, and she was quite satisfied about her.

It gave her more pain to perceive that Emily in every possible manner avoided being alone with her. It was by her desire that Phyllis came to sleep in their room; she would keep Jane talking there, give Esther some employment which kept her in their presence, linger in the drawing-room while Lilias was dressing, and at bed-time be too sleepy to say any thing but good-night.

That Sunday was a sorrowful one to Eleanor, for in the course of the conversation with Ada, which

Mr. Mohun had desired her to hold, she became conscious of the little girl's double-dealing ways. It was only by a very close cross-examination, that she was able to extract from her a true account of the disaster, and though Ada never went so far as actually to tell a falsehood, it was evident that she was willing to conceal as much as possible, and to throw the blame on other people. And when the real facts were confessed, she did not seem able to comprehend why she was regarded with displeasure; her instinct of truth and obedience was lost for the time, and Eleanor saw it with the utmost pain. Adeline had been her especial darling, and cold as her manner had often been towards the others, it ever was warm towards the motherless little one, whom she had tended and cherished with most anxious care from her earliest infancy. She had left her gentle, candid, and affectionate, a lovely engaging little creature, and how did she find her now? Her fair bright face disfigured, her caresses affected, her mind turned to deceit and prevarication! Well might Eleanor feel it more than ever painful to leave her own little Henry to the care of others; and well it was for her, that she had learned to find comfort in the consciousness that her duty was clear.

The next morning, Emily learned what was Henry's destination.

"Oh! Eleanor," said she, "why do you not leave him here? We should be so rejoiced to have him.” "Thank you, I am afraid it is out of the question," answered Eleanor, quietly.

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"Why, dear Eleanor? You know how glad we

should be. I should have thought," proceeded Emily, a little hurt, "that you would have wished him to live in your own home."

Eleanor did not speak, and Emily, who had the little boy in her arms, went on talking to him. "Come, baby, let us persuade Mamma to let you stay with aunt Emily. Ask Papa, Henry, won't you? Seriously, Eleanor, has Frank considered how much better it would be to have him in the country?”" “He has, Emily, he once wished much to leave him here."

“I am sure Grandpapa would like it," said Emily. “Do you observe, Eleanor, how fond he is of baby, always calling him Harry too, as if he liked the sound of the name?"

"It has all been talked over, Emily, and it cannot be."

"With Papa?" asked Emily in surprise.

"No, with Lily."

"With Lily!" exclaimed Emily. "Did not aunt Lily wish to keep you, Harry, I thought she was very fond of you."

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"You had better enquire no further," said Eleanor, except of your own conscience.”

"Did Lily think us unfit to take care of him?" asked Emily, in surprise.

As she spoke, Lily herself came in, the key of the store-room in her hand, and looks of consternation on her face. She came to announce a terrible deficiency in the preserved quinces, which she herself had carefully put aside on a shelf in the store-room, and which Emily said she had not touched in her absence.