minor arrangements they and Mr. Carlyle were opposed, but the latter declined to give way. During his absence at Castle Marling, news had arrived from them-that they acceded to all his terms, and would enter upon East Lynne as soon as was convenient. Miss Carlyle was full of congratulation; it was off their hands, she said: but the first letter Mr. Carlyle wrote was-to decline them. He did not tell this to Miss Carlyle. The final touches to the house were given, preparatory to the reception of its inhabitants, three maid and two men servants hired and sent there, upon board wages, until the family should arrive.

One evening, three weeks subsequent to Mr. Carlyle's visit to Castle Marling, Barbara Hare called at Miss Carlyle's, and found them going to tea, much earlier than usual.

"We dined earlier," said Miss Corny, "and I ordered tea in as soon as the dinner went away. Otherwise Archibald would have taken none." "I am as well without tea," said he. "And I have a mass of business to get through yet."

"You are not as well without it," cried Miss Corny, "and I don't choose that you should go without it. Take off your bonnet, Barbara. He does things like nobody else: he is off to Castle Marling to-morrow, and never could open his lips till just now that he was going."

"Is that invalid-Brewster, or what his name is-laid up at Castle Marling still?" exclaimed Barbara.

"He is there still," said Mr. Carlyle.

Barbara sat down to the tea-table, though protesting that she ought not to remain, for she had told her mamma she should be home to make tea. Miss Carlyle interrupted what she was saying, by telling her brother she should go presently and pack his things.

"Oh no," returned he, with alarming quickness, "I will pack them myself, thank you. Peter, you can put the portmanteau in my room. The large one.'

"The large one!" echoed Miss Corny, who never could let anything pass without her interference, "why, it's as big as a house. What in the world can you want, dragging that with you?"

"I have papers and things to take, besides clothes."

"I am sure I could pack all your things in the small one," persisted Miss Corny. "I'll try. You only tell me what you want put in. Take the small portmanteau to your master's room, Peter."

Mr. Carlyle glanced at Peter, and Peter glanced back again with an imperceptible nod. "I prefer to pack my things myself, Cornelia. What you done now?"

have

"A stupid trick," she answered-for, in fidgeting with a knife, Miss Corny had cut her finger. "Have you any sticking-plaster, Archibald ?" He opened his pocket-book, and laid it on the table while he took from it some black plaster. Miss Carlyle's inquisitive eyes caught sight of a letter lying there; sans cérémonie, she stretched out her hand, caught it up, and opened it.

"Who is this from? It is a lady's writing."

Mr. Carlyle laid his hand flat upon it, as if to hide it from her view. "Excuse me, Cornelia; that is a private letter."

"Private nonsense!" retorted Miss Corny; "I am sure you get no letters that I may not read. It bears yesterday's postmark."

"Oblige me with the letter," he returned; and Miss Carlyle, in her astonishment at the calmly authoritative tone, yielded it to him. "Archibald, what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing," answered he, shutting the letter in the pocket-book, and returning it to his pocket, leaving out the sticking-plaster for Miss Corny's benefit. "It's not fair to look into a man's private letters, is it, Barbara ?"

He laughed good humouredly as he looked at Barbara. But she had seen with surprise that a deep flush of emotion had risen to his face-he, so calm a man! Miss Carlyle was not one to be put down easily, and she returned to the charge.

"Archibald, if ever I saw the Vane crest, it is on the seal of that

letter."

"Whether it is the Vane crest on the letter, or any other, the contents of it were written for my eye alone," he rejoined. And, somehow, Miss Carlyle did not like the firm tone. Barbara broke the silence.

"Shall you call on the Mount Severns this time?"

"Probably," he answered.

"Do they talk yet of Lady Isabel's marrying?" pursued Barbara. "Did you hear anything of it?"

"I cannot charge my memory with all I heard or did not hear, Barbara. Your tea wants more sugar, does it not?"

"A little,” she answered, and Mr. Carlyle drew the sugar-basin towards her cup, and dropped four or five large lumps in, before anybody could stop him.

"What's that for ?" asked Miss Corny. He burst out laughing.

I beg your tea's pardon.

"I forgot what I was doing. Really, Barbara, Cornelia will give you another cup." "But it's a cup of tea and so much good sugar wasted," tartly responded Miss Corny.

Barbara sprang up the moment tea was over. "I don't know what mamma will say to me. And it is beginning to grow dusk ! She will think it is late for me to be out alone."

"Archibald can walk with you," said Miss Carlyle.

"I don't know that," cried he, in his plain, open way.

"Dill is wait

ing for me in the office, and I have some hours' work before me. However-I suppose you won't care to put up with Peter's attendance; so make haste with your bonnet, Barbara."

No need to tell Barbara that, when the choice between him and Peter depended on the speed she should make. She wished good evening to Miss Carlyle, and went out with him, he taking her parasol from her hand. It was a calm, lovely night, very light yet, and they took the field

way.

Barbara could not forget Isabel Vane. She never had forgotten her, or the jealous feeling that arose in her heart at Mr. Carlyle's constant visits to East Lynne when she inhabited it. She returned to the subject

now.

"I asked you, Archibald, whether you had heard that Lady Isabel was likely to marry.'

I

"And I answered may have heard."

you, Barbara: that my memory

could not carry all

"But did you?" persisted Barbara.

"You are persevering," he smiled. "I believe Lady Isabel is likely to marry."

Barbara drew a relieved sigh.

"To whom ?”

The same amused smile played on his lips. "Do you suppose I could put premature questions? I may be able to tell you more about it after my next return from Castle Marling."

"Do try and find out," said she. "Perhaps it is to Lord Vane. Who is it says that more marriages arise from habitual association than

She stopped, for Mr. Carlyle had turned his eyes upon her, and was laughing.

"You are a clever guesser, Barbara. Lord Vane is a little shaver, five or six years old."

"Oh," returned Barbara, considerably discomfited.

"And the nicest child," he warmly continued: "open tempered, generous hearted, earnest spirited. Should I have children of my own," he added, switching the hedge with the parasol, and speaking in an abstracted manner, as if forgetful of his companion, "I could wish them to be like William Vane."

"After con

"A very important confession," gaily returned Barbara. triving to impress West Lynne with the conviction that you were to be an old bachelor.'

"I don't know that I ever promised West Lynne anything of the sort," cried Mr. Carlyle.

Barbara laughed now. "I suppose West Lynne judges by appearances. When a man owns to thirty years

"Which I don't do," interrupted Mr. Carlyle, considerably damaging the hedge and the parasol. "I may be an old married man before. I count thirty the chances are, that I shall be."

:

"Then you must have fixed upon your wife," she quickly cried.

"I do not say I have not, Barbara. All in good time to proclaim it, though."

Barbara withdrew her arm from Mr. Carlyle's, under pretence of repinning her shawl. Her heart was beating, her whole frame trembling, and she feared he might detect her emotion. She never thought he could allude to any one but herself. Poor Barbara!

"How flushed you look, Barbara!" he exclaimed. too fast?"

"Have I walked

She seemed not to hear, intent upon her shawl. Then she took his arm again, and they walked on, Mr. Carlyle striking the hedge and the grass more industriously than ever. Another minute, and-the handle

was in two.

I thought you would do it," said Barbara, while he was regarding the parasol with ludicrous dismay. "Never mind; it is an old one." "I will bring you another to replace it. What is the colour? Brown. I won't forget. Hold the relics a minute, Barbara."

He put the pieces in her hand, and taking out a note-case, made a note in pencil.

"What's that for?" she inquired.

He held it close to her eyes that she might discern what he had

Barbara's eye detected another item or two, already entered in the note-case. "Piano." "Plate." "I jot down the things, as they occur "Otherwise I should

to me, that I must get in London," he explained. forget half." "In London! I thought you were going in an opposite direction : to Castle Marling."

It was a slip of the tongue, but Mr. Carlyle repaired it. "I may probably have to visit London as well as Castle Marling. How bright the moon looks, rising there, Barbara !"

"So bright-that, or the sky—that I saw your secrets," answered she. "Piano! Plate! What can you want with either, Archibald ?” "They are for East Lynne," he quietly replied.

"Oh, for the Carews." And Barbara's interest in the items was gone. They turned into the road just below the Grove, and reached it. Mr. Carlyle held the gate open for Barbara.

"You will come in and say good night to mamma. She was saying to-day what a stranger you have made of yourself lately."

"I have been busy. And I really have not the time to-night. You must remember me to her instead."

He closed the gate again. But Barbara leaned over it, unwilling to let him go.

"Shall you be away a week?”

"I dare say I may. Here, take the wreck of the parasol, Barbara: I was about to carry it off with me. I can buy you a new one without stealing the old one."

"Archibald, I have long wished to ask you something," said she, in a tone of suppressed agitation, as she took the pieces and flung them on the path by the thick trees. "You will not deem me foolish ?"

"What is it?"

"When you gave me the gold chain and locket a year ago—you remember?"

"I put some of that hair of Richard's in it, and a bit of Anne's, and of mamma's: a little tiny bit of each. And there is room for more, you

see."

She held it to him as she spoke, for she always wore it round her neck, attached to the chain.

"I cannot see well by this light, Barbara. If there is room for more, what of that?"

"I like to think that I possess a memento of my best friends, or of those who were dear to me. I wish you to give me a bit of your hair to put with the rest-as it was you who gave me the locket."

"My hair!" returned Mr. Carlyle, in a tone of as much astonishment as if she had asked for his head. "What good would that do you, or the locket either, Barbara ?"

Her face flushed painfully in the uncertain light: her heart beat far more so. "I like to have a remembrance of the friends I-I care for," she stammered. 66 Nothing more, Archibald.”

He detected neither the emotion nor the depth of feeling, the sort of feeling that had prompted the request, and he met it with good-natured ridicule.

"What a pity you did not tell me yesterday, Barbara! I had my hair operated upon and might have sent you the snippings. Don't be a goose, child, and exalt me into a Wellington, to bestow hair and autographs. I can't stop a minute longer. Good night."

He hastened away with quick strides, and Barbara covered her face with her hands. "What have I done? what have I done ?" she reiterated aloud. "Is it in his nature to be thus indifferent-matter of fact? Has he no sentiment? But it will come. Oh, the bliss this night has brought forth! there was truth in his tone beneath its vein of mockery, when he spoke of his chosen wife. I need not go far to guess who it is -he has told no one else, and he pays attention to none but me. Archibald, my darling! when once I am your wife you shall know how fondly I love you: you cannot know till then."

She lifted her fair young face, beautiful in its radiance, and gazed at the deepening moonlight; then turned away and pursued her path up the garden-walk, unconscious that something, wearing a bonnet, pushed its head beyond the trees to steal a look after her. Barbara had said less, could she have divined there was a third party to the in

terview.

It was two or three mornings after the departure of Mr. Carlyle that Mr. Dill appeared before Miss Carlyle, bearing a letter. She was busy regarding the effect of some new muslin curtains, just put up, and did not pay attention to him.

"Will you please take the letter, Miss Cornelia. The postman left it in the office with ours.

It is from Mr. Archibald."

"Why, what has he got to write to me about ?" retorted Miss Corny. "Does he say when he is coming home?"

"You had better see, Miss Cornelia. Mine does not."

She opened the letter, glanced at it, and sank down on a chair: more overcome, more stupified than she had felt in her whole life.

"Castle Marling, May 1st.

"MY DEAR CORNELIA,—I was married this morning to Lady Isabel Vane, and hasten briefly to acquaint you with the fact. I will write you more fully to-morrow or the next day, and explain all things.

"Ever your affectionate brother,

"ARCHIBALD CARLYLE."

"It is a hoax," were the first guttural sounds that escaped from Miss Carlyle's throat, when speech came to her.

Mr. Dill only stood like a stone image.

"It is a hoax, I say," raved Miss Carlyle. "What are you standing there for, like a gander, on one leg?" she reiterated, venting her anger upon the unoffending man. "Is it a hoax, or not ?"

"I am overdone with amazement, Miss Corny. It is not a hoax: I have had a letter too."

"It can't be true; it can't be true. He had no more thought of being married when he left here, three days ago, than I have."