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Chapter IV.
CLERICAL RECREATIONS.

JAMEs was indefatigable in his exertions to get his sister suited with a horse. He was at the Paddock every day for a fortnight; and he would not be satisfied without Fanny's going there too, to try one and another horse in the fields behind the stables. Sometimes the girls came out, curtseying to the young lady, and giving an opinion when asked. Fanny delighted her brother by a spontaneous exclamation about their beauty, the first time she saw them : but she presently vexed him by being extremely amused at their perfect likeness. If it had not been that a young greyhound was for ever in attendance upon one, Fanny could not have pretended to distinguish them. James told her she had no eyes. “They are all stupid alike,” muttered he. “That greyhound has more sense than any of them. It is only three days since I gave him to her, and he never mistakes Anne for her, in the dusk or in the daylight. To talk of their eyes being alike as if colour was everything in eyes! Anne’s are pretty enough; but they never had such a light in them as Sarah's. And then the blush—I thought Fanny had been fond enough of her garden to know the difference between a folded convolvulus (which is a graceful thing enough in its way) and one that is glowing in dew when the sun has just expanded it.”.

A very short dialogue showed Fanny which it was that James preferred, It would not have been necessary, if she had known how Sarah came by the greyhound. “What a pretty creature Anne is "observed Fanny, when, with a smile, Anne opened the ate, for her horse to pass into the field. “Beautiful,” cried James, with enthusiasm. “O, she is a beautiful creature l’” “You think her the prettiest,-you like her the best of the two 7" “No,” said he, with sudden quietness; “I admire Sarah the most.” This made Fanny turn her head to take another look; but it was Anne who gazed after them. Sarah was busy with her dog Fido. James was not wrong in his observations on eyes. A new light had fixed itself in Sarah's ; and if he did not perceive something of the same kind in Anne's, it was perhaps owing to the light being often troubled, and sometimes dimmed. The serenity of both was gone. Sarah did not wish it back again. Anne did; every hour between rising and rest. They had ceased to move together,-unavoidably, when one had a dog and the other had mot, —but neither was yet awake to the fact that they no longer thought and felt alike. One morning they sat, like the reflection of each other, on either side of a work-table: each making herself a frill of the same material; each with her footstool : and that the left foot of the one, and the right of the other was advanced, only made the resem

blance more complete. The difference was that Anne attended to her work, while Sarah peered anxiously through the glass door which communicated with the office, where her father might be seem reading a letter. After a while, Anne reared her chin to try on the frill. “Let me see how yours looks,” said she. “Sarah here is mine finished; and yours is not done !” - . . Sarah began to ply her needle, uneasy at being left behind. Anne amused herself with stroking and coaxing the greyhound. She did not think of beginning any other employment till Sarah should be ready. “I wonder why Mr. Cranston did not give me a greyhound!” observed Anne. -“I dare say my father will,” replied Sarah. “But I had rather Mr. Cranston had. I am afraid, I am pretty sure, Mr. Cranston does not like me.” “O yes, he does.” “How do you know 2 Did he tell you so?— Why did not he tell me? He never told me that he liked you.” * A deep blush spread itself over Sarah's cheeks. “I never saw anybody like Mr. Cranston,” o Anne. “None of the gentlemen that ave passed through A have been the least like him.” “O, no: nor ever will.” “His manner is so—I don't know what. And his voice—” * “You may know it among a hundred;—as far off as you can hear it.” *

“It goes through one's heart.—How dull the day is now when he does not come !” “But he does come every day.” “No : not last Wednesday.” *- “O yes! he did. But he did not stay very long; and you were in the field with George, looking after the foal. He has never once missed a day yet.” Anne’s face was crimson while she asked why she had not seen him; why she had not been told: why—she stopped because she could not go on, and Sarah had nothing more to say than that she did not see that there was any particular occasion for telling. “Where did he come 2" demanded Anne. “Was he in this room, or in the paddock, or where ?” “I had my bonnet on, just coming to you in the field,” replied Sarah:—“my bonnet was on ; and so I went with him ;-he wanted to show me something in the park.” - “Why did not you call me? I could have come in a moment.” Sarah did not raise her eyes while she said in a low voice that Mr. Cranston did not wish it. She was not very much taken by surprise when she saw Anne, an instant after, in a passion of tears. Her own were streaming immediately, while she hoped Anne was not very angry with her. Indeed she could not help it.—Whatever might be the mixture of feelings which embittered Anne's tears, she spoke only of her sister's reserve. Her reproaches were very grievous, till Sarah's patient sorrow softened her in spite of herself. She had had no comfort of her life, for some time past, she declared. There was always something to expect and be afraid of. She could not help wishing Mr. Cranston to come, and yet she was often glad when he went away. He never came but something disagreeable passed. She did not think he would have been so careful to give her back her thimble, that he had got from the turnpike-house. It had prevented her daring to give him anything, for fear he should refuse it; and yet he had seemed to be very much pleased with the purse Sarah had netted for him. She supposed Sarah had found out that she had felt mortified often lately; for nobody could help seeing that Sarah had taken a great deal upon her lately ;-more than anybody could have expected that had always known them. Sarah tried to speak calmly while she answered that she had never intended to take more upon her than she should. She could truly say she had been more sorry for Anne than she had ever been for any one in her life. She had hoped, every time that Miss Cranston came, that either the eldest Mr. Cranston or Mr. Wallace would come with her, instead of the one that did come :—she was so certain that either of them must like Anne quite as well as the one that did come liked her. Anne saw that all was over. She declared she did not want to be liked by anybody, sent the dog away from her knee with a rebuke, and left the room. It was not long before Sarah was again by her G.

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