character, and had been left to flourish even after that final clearing a few years ago, by means of which Mr. Wort had lightened the burdens on Sir Francis's estate.

Grace was somewhat silent, answering absently when Mr. Walgrave spoke to her- paler too than when they had begun their expedition. Her companion looked at her curiously, wondering what had caused the change, she had been so full of life and gaiety a quarter of an hour ago.

'So you are very fond of your father, Grace ?' he said presently.

Fond of my father?' she answered quickly, with a tremulous voice, and flashing a bright sudden look upon him which made her irresistibly beautiful. 'Why there is no one in the world I love but him. I don't mean to say anything unkind or ungrateful about uncle James and aunt Hannah. They are very, very good to me, and I like them-love them even, with a kind of love. But my father-I love him with all my heart and soul. Why, do you know there was never a

that for a year after he left us

night that I did not see him in my dreams-hear the sound of his voice-feel the touch of his hand; never a morning that I did not wake disappointed to

find he was so far away. The dreams have faded a little now, it is so long-so long since he left us, but I do not regret him less.'

'Have you any idea when he will return ?'

'O, no. It may be a very long time, or a very short time. He promised not to stay longer than three years at the most; but I know he will not come back till he has succeeded in doing what he went to do.'

To make a fortune, I suppose ?'

'To earn enough money to pay every shilling he owes.'

'I wish him all prosperity, and I rather envy him his opportunities. Upon my word, if I thought gold were to be had for digging, I think I would buy a spade and go in for the same kind of thing. A professional career is such a slow road to fortune; and as to fame-if a man stops short of the woolsack, I doubt if there is anything he can do that will render him interesting to posterity. To be less than Lord Thurlow is to be nothing—and I don't suppose you ever heard of Thurlow. A poet now, be he ever so poor a creature, let him achieve but the smallest modicum of fame, has a place in the hearts of women for everlasting. I'll wager if you were asked which

was the greater man, Kirke White or Brougham, you would swear by Kirke White, and you would think Letitia Landon a finer writer than Junius.'

'I am very fond of poetry,' Grace answered simply.

'Well, child, go on educating yourself by means of good solid reading, and you shall be a poet some day, like Miss Procter-a poet of the affections—all tenderness and sweetness and music. But you remember what Shelley says, "They learn in suffering what they teach in song." You will have to undergo that educational process in some way or other, I daresay-first girlish fancies wasted on an unworthy object-blighted affection, and that sort of thing.'

The girl looked at him with another of those sudden flashes-this time all anger.

'Why do you talk to me like that?' she asked indignantly; as if I were the silliest creature in the world, and must needs fall in love with-with what you call an unworthy object. I never mean to love any one but my father. If all the books I have read are true-or half of them-love hardly ever brings anything but sorrow.'

'O yes, it does, Grace; gladness unspeakable sometimes—a renewal of youth-a sweet surprise—a

revelation of a new world-the beginning of a fresh life,' said Mr. Walgrave, with an entire change of tone, and an earnestness that was very rare in him. 'Don't be angry with me for what I said just now, I was only half serious.'

CHAPTER VI.

GRACE DISCOVERS A LIKENESS.

THEY were nearly at the house by this time, and had emerged from the neglected woodland on to a wide lawn separated from the park by a ha-ha and a light iron fence. The rest of the party were waiting for them here, wiping their faces with voluminous pocket-handkerchiefs, and altogether in a melting condition. The old house stood before them; a noble building with a massive centre, wings spreading right and left, and at the end of each wing a short colonnade running at right angles with the building. Over the principal door, which was low and broad, there was a great oriel window, a window which was in itself a picture. The roof was masked by a cornice of delicate stonework, open and light, and rich in variety of design as old point-lace, and above this rose innumerable pinnacles of the flamboyant order.

'A fine old place,' said Mr. Walgrave, a noble

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