"This morning as we sat at breakfast there came by the window, from a child's voice, a cry of 'Wallflowers.' There had just been a shower; sunshine had followed it; and the rain, the sun, the boy's voice, and the flowers came all so prettily together, that in taking one of his roots, we could not help fancying we had received a present from nature itself—with a penny for the bearer. There were thirty clumps of buds on this penny root; their beauty was yet to come; but the promise was there the new life-the spring-and the raindrops were on them, as if the sweet goddess had dipped her hand in some fountain and sprinkled them for us, by way of message, ' April and I are coming.""

-

DULCIBELLA did feel that she and her fellow-guardian were too far apart when the second Hereford post brought her, the next morning, Dorothea's announcement of her engagement to Mark Saville; the young girl wrote quietly and with much good sense as well as feeling, and added that Mr. Saville was himself writing to George. Finally Dulcibella determined only to write a few lines to this brother enclosing their sister's note; and, asking for his early opinion on the matter, gave but little of her own.

George, to whom Mr. Saville's fellow-letter happened to come in the midst of a very busy day, acted in much the same manner by herself; enclosing Diana's letter, as well as Mark Saville's, to Dulcibella; adding he thought it a pity Dorothea should have engaged herself, and so young; and her lover be in such haste to consummate her engagement

by marriage; but really, with Amy's fate before his eyes, he dared not take the responsibility of saying nay to either wish, were Dulcibella herself not of a contrary opinion. Or did she fear Dorothea had pledged her troth in hot haste, only to repent at leisure? if so, it had so far better be before marriage than after it that they should do well to insist on, at least, a year's probation.

But Dorothea's few lines, "I have never seen any one else whom I even could have loved. And I have always felt I could love and honour (and trust myself to behave properly to!) Mr. Saville from the very first day I saw him," rang with the unmistakable ring of truth. "If we allow the engagement to be considered to date from yesterday, you must have the girl home,-not leave her with the Savilles," George also wrote. And happily this tallied with Dorothea's own little concluding cry, "Come and fetch me home, Dulcie, I want to

come home. I can't stay here."

So within ten days even this wish of the spoilt girl's was gratified. Dulcibella went up to Queen Anne's Gardens on the Saturday, when Mr. Saville was to return from Graselby in time for the late dinner. This time he and his man did put up at the Grosvenor; but he was with them by half-past seven, and, in fact, shown in to only Diana and Dulcibella. In the past four days how much had been done; he had been to Newcastle, and had a long talk with George; lunched with him in his little lodgings, and won the young man's esteem, as he seldom failed to do of those who but once had been admitted to know his true inner self: had received his ageing parents' delighted congratulations and most generous proposals in every way to facilitate all his or his future bride's possible wishes; and was made the bearer of an urgent written request to Miss Erle that she would bring her sister to stay a few days at Graselby before taking her back to Hereford.

"Oh, I can't! I should be frightened," said Dorothea, shrinking back when shown this letter later in the evening.

"Of what? Of whom?" asked Mr. Saville, tenderly.

"Of your father! he is so very grand an old man, so dignified! I should shock him! I should be sure to do something silly-"

"And I am very sure that you will not !—And they are longing to see you and welcome you as one soon to be so very dear to them.— My mother, especially, will be most truly disappointed.”

"And you already know them, dear," said Diana.

"Yes!-But I want to go home! to Hereford !-Don't go and say 'Yes,' Dulcie," and she clung to her sister. "You won't? will you ?" "I think that you ought to go, dear."

"But you don't think I ought, Mark, do you?" and she turned eagerly to him.

"I believe that I do. That we juniors must give the elder generation all the pleasure, and always, that lies within our power."

"Then you ought not to have gone away to America last winter." "Too true!-But the more reason that I should do my best to avert from them this fresh disappointment.-You will go, love, won't you?" and he took her hand.

It still cost Dorothea an effort to give up her own wayward will. But she meant to do it, and waited till she could look up and say, without any petulance in tone or manner, 'Yes, as you think it right."

"Thank you," he answered fervently; which meant, thank you for being content to incur three days of lovely scenery, glorious views, incessant love and care, and intimate acquaintance with the grey historic walls that must at no very distant date become your daily home surroundings. Of course she charmed both host and hostess; and, if she did say or do an unconsidered word or action, mis-said or did with such a grace she only seemed the more bewitching. Dulcibella watched her with full heart and dewy eyes, thinking often of the dead father who would so have rejoiced to see the prospect of happiness opening before the most beautiful of all his daughters; and sighing as she realised the far more fitting adviser and companion he would have made than she herself, to this pet child of his later days in this crisis of her life.

But Dorothea was still unfeignedly delighted to be journeying to Hereford, although she had shed tears at parting with Lucius; and would not herself have been, at last, unwilling to accept the invitation to double the intended length of their stay at the once dreaded Graselby. But Dulcibella had been ten days away from her home duties, and felt the object of their visit accomplished, and so had not yielded. George had been kindly asked to spend a day and night with them, and thus the two guardians had met, and talked many little matters out; and George had frankly owned that to himself it was an immense relief that Dorothea had made her choice so early and so fittingly, and thus put an end to the ever present fear that

she would some day do something very rash and very silly, and expose them all to much trouble and mortification, if only from her very fickleness.

"But Mark Saville, I can see, really has her heart, and will know how to keep it."

Now, now, I can be a child again!" cried Dorothea, as she flung herself upon Molly in the doorway of the White House. Oh, you dear little tiny, tiny thing, I could eat you up! but how nice it is everything being so small, after that great big place! - Queen Anne's Gardens are bad enough, but Graselby is a kind of Escurial! Must be dreadful in wintry weather.—Oh, and there's Kitty! violin-playing as ever, but you've hardly room to draw your bow in this funny little room, your own, is it?-Oh, and there's Rosina,-Oh, and some of the dear, dear Brayscombe roses; let me have some instead of these Graselby ones, all smutched and faded-"

"But if Mr. Saville-" began Molly, rather shocked.

Oh, you needn't call him 'Mr. Saville' in that respectful tone! except that Mark is such an ugly name!-And he didn't give me those, I gathered them myself, so there is no sentiment about them! -Tea nearly ready, Dulcie? Yes, I sha'nt be long; come up with me, Molly, and tell me all you have been doing since you wrote yesterday." Molly complied. "Is this my room? Oh, delicious! opening out of yours, and you between me and Dulcibella. Won't we keep you safe! And Kitty!-Oh, of course, in that old great-grandmother's maiden chamber.-I like little houses! I will get Mark to take a little house, not quite so small as Arthur's, but something between that and Queen Anne's Gardens. Oh, it is sweet to see the Cathedral again, and hear all the birds, just as one did at the dear Canonry."

Mr. Saville passed the second anniversary of his Lucy's death alone, near her old home, now no longer even let to strangers, but, as it happened, standing empty. But when, a month after Dorothea's arrival at Hereford, he came down to spend a week at the Green Dragon-and most of his days at the White House, or Canonry, or Great House, or Brayscombe Rectory-the same fancy for a small country house was still upon her. And then a thoroughly country home was seriously discussed; for not only was his former married home at Chiswick irrecoverably let for the remainder of the seven years for which he had originally taken it, but both he and Dulcibella were thankful that it happened so. There was a touch of melancholy