"Yes, my lord, I think she can manage it, as there will be no company."

All right; then you can hunt up a tidy little slavy of all work, and we shall be complete. I don't intend to give dinner parties to either ghosts or substantial beings you know, up there, so the smoking den will be quite sufficient. And Johnson, don't allow the slavy to gossip on any account. My stay at the Haunted Tower will only be for a few months, or a year, so I hope you will not mind a little inconvenience ?"

"It is not I shall mind it, if your lordship is happy and comfortable. But there's a quantity of old furniture stowed away in the back part of the Castle, here, that might do quite well."

"All right," quoth St. Erle, a little impatiently; "don't bother me though, with any details. I hate bother of that sort. If you find any of the turrets fit, rig them up too. Now reach me my desk, and send Patrick to me. I've not frightened you with my ghosts, have I?" he asked, feeling he had been somewhat ungracious.

"Law no, your lordship," and Johnson reached the desk, and departed with the tray, in high good humour.

218

CHAPTER XXIII.

Let thy life be sincere.

ECCLESIASTICUS.

"My dear, you think you are very wise, but you are a comparative infant."

Thus spoke Mrs. Granton to her eldest daughter as they sat working one morning in the drawing-room.

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A comparative infant," continued the lady, with infinite contempt in her tone: "those theatrical performances, which you are so fond of attending, are just so many pretty shows, all very well to amuse children with, but utterly beneath the dignity of a spiritual worship."

"I cannot expect you to understand, mamma- began Augusta, calmly.

"No, indeed you cannot," interrupted Mrs. Granton, indignantly; "if you were an honest Roman Catholic at once, I should respect your doctrines more. I am aware that there are many good Romanists, and no doubt they will be saved," added the lady charitably, with an air of concession, "but this hateful compromise called High Churchism-bah!"

"You forget, mamma, that—"

"I forget nothing. I have no patience with you, Augusta. All this running after priests, and going to confession, and matins, and doing ecclesiastical fancy work, is only so much spiritual flirtation, and that is a mild term to apply to it. All that it does for you, is to render you insufferably haughty, self-opinionated, and unsociable."

"This is exaggeration, mamma," said Augusta; "I do not think the fault lies altogether on my shoulders."

Oh, dear!" cried a pretty, petted voice, and Lucy entered, bearing a vase of flowers in her hands; "are you two having another High Church argument? Take care, mamma, what you say about Father Forryst," and Lucy laughed her light, silvery laugh.

"What do you mean?" asked Augusta.

"I mean this-that you are falling in love with Mr. Forryst," said Lucy, merrily; "and that I am very glad."

"It is an entire mistake-quite an hallucination on your part," said Augusta, allowing herself to look amused: "I never mean to marry; but we will close this unprofitable conversation. I am sorry, mamma, if I have unintentionally offended you, but I cannot help my belief," and Augusta rose with a half smile on her fine lips, and quietly left the room.

"Well!" uttered Mrs. Granton looking at Lucy, as the door closed.

"You must not bother Augusta, mammy dear," said Lucy, setting down her vase, and stealing her arm round her mother's neck: "she is a perfect devotee,―quite gone, utterly irreclaimable."

"It is all my anxiety for her," replied Mrs. Granton, with a motherly intonation in her voice; "but the signs of the times are obvious."

"She is too proud to be bothered," continued Lucy. "Not that I agree with her one bit. This excess of ritual

is so much mummery in my opinion. I have no sympathy with it, whatever, but Augusta has, and as we cannot understand her feelings, it would be better to let them alone. It makes me quite cross to see Father Nigel and little Tom Hewitt dancing about in the chancel, and making curtseys

to that pretty mass of finery they call the Altar. But I must say, mamma, that the compilers of the present Prayer Book have left some of its doctrines in a very doubtful condition. So if Mr. Maxwell likes to dance, he may, and if I don't, I needn't. Oh, mamma, I wanted to ask you about that striped grenadine-is it to be trimmed with pink or blue ?"

'Pink, my dear,-it suits your complexion better." "Very well; then I'll go and tell Mrs. Benson. Dear! there goes Augusta. Her matins and evensong have taught her one thing, mamma-the art of dressing quickly; yet she is always neat and nice."

Augusta walked along, with the peculiar air of energy and determination in her gait and manner which usually characterises" High Church" young ladies. "I am bent on good mission," it said; "hinder me not." She took her course on the road towards the Rectory.

She was not disappointed in the new rector. Every thing about him seemed promising his sermons were most practical, excellent, and well delivered-perhaps a little deficient in dogmatism, and, in charity of feeling, verging a little too dangerously on latitudinarianism. His voice was deep, and strong-his face ugly-an excellent thing in Augusta's judgment-his pronunciation clear and distinct, his language simple and correct. The poor were well visited, the schools in first-rate order, and every member of the Culcrowthie community received his, her, and its due share of attention, from Miss Maxwell and Lady Coatham, down to the old man with the wooden leg who resided in an almshouse, the poor idiot who wandered about the village, supported by the public charity, and the babies who were cutting double teeth, or undergoing the afflictions of vaccination or whooping cough.

Even the once obnoxious Charlotte Forryst, with all that mystery of iniquity still gathered round her, was to be tolerated, and Hyacinth, albeit guilty of some lightness, frivolity, and vanity, was a sweet, pretty, engaging sort of creature, and would pass life very usefully in her small way as some rich man's plaything. In short, Augusta approved of the family in general, and it was with an unusually benign expression on her haughty face that she opened the Rectory gate, and advanced to greet Lottie. Here at least was some Catholic feeling, although it did not exactly coincide with her own.

There seemed no end to those autumn leaves shed by the old elms and beeches surrounding the Rectory. It was Lottie's noon task to sweep them up, and in this task she took a peculiar pleasure and delight. Dead leaves were all very well in the lanes and woods, but not on garden walks, and the dead leaves were something like her own sorrowthey must be carefully put away out of everybody's sight, that all, without, might be straight and fair. She was busily at work, now, with Meg to help or hinder, as the case might be. Master Tony, to his infinite disgust, had been packed off to Rugby, James determining, that during the short remaining period of his sojourn on shore, the young gentleman should have the full benefit of a good education.

"It's awfully jolly;" said Meg, as Augusta drew near; and she commenced a wild dance in the middle of the heap of leaves which Lottie had collected with much exertion. "What have you come for?"

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Meg, Meg, how rude you are!" exclaimed Lottie colouring: "run away directly, and post me that letter; you will find it in the study. I hope you will excuse her," she added, turning to Augusta, as Meg readily decamped, "she keeps me on pins and needles, constantly."