"Of course, I don't mean less good, only, less grave," said Ethel, "and certainly less nervous. But, perhaps, it is a good thing; dear mamma thought his talents would have been a greater temptation than they seem to be, subdued as he has been. I only meant that you must not condemn all that Norman does not do. Now, goodnight."

Very different were the feelings with which those two young girls stretched themselves in their beds that night. Margaret Rivers's innocent, happy little heart was taken up in one contemplation.

Admiration, sympathy, and the exultation for him, which he would not feel for himself, drew little Meta entirely out of herself--a self that never held her much. She was proud of the slender thread of connection between them; she was confident that his vague fancies were but the scruples of a sensitive mind, and, as she fell sound asleep, she murmured broken lines of Decius, mixed with promises not to look.

Etheldred heard them, for there was no sleep for her. She had a parley to hold with herself, and to accuse her own feelings of having been unkind, ungrateful, undutiful towards her father. What had a fit of vanity brought her to? that she should have been teased by what would naturally have been her greatest delight! her father's pleasure in being with her. Was this the girl who had lately vowed within herself that her father should be her first earthly object?

At first, Ethel blamed herself for her secret impatience, but another conviction crossed her, and not an unpleasing one, though it made her cheeks tingle with maidenly shame, at having called it up. Throughout this week, Norman Ogilvie had certainly sought her out. He had looked disappointed this evening--there was no doubt that he was attracted by her--by her, plain, awkward Ethel! Such a perception assuredly never gave so much pleasure to a beauty as it did to Ethel, who had always believed herself far less good-looking than she really was. It was a gleam of delight, and, though she set herself to scold it down, the conviction was elastic, and always leaped up again.

That resolution came before her, but it had been unspoken; it could not be binding, and, if her notion were really right, the misty brilliant future of mutual joy dazzled her! But there was another side: her father oppressed and lonely, Margaret ill and pining, Mary, neither companion nor authority, the children running wild; and she, who had mentally vowed never to forsake her father, far away, enjoying her own happiness.

"Ah! that resolve had seemed easy enough when it was made, when,"

thought Ethel, "I fancied no one could care for me! Shame on me! Now is the time to test it! I must go home with papa."

It was a great struggle--on one side there was the deceitful guise of modesty, telling her it was absurd to give so much importance to the kindness of the first cousin with whom she had ever been thrown; there was the dislike to vex Flora to make a discussion, and break up the party. There was the desire to hear the concert, to go to the breakfast at ---- College, to return round by Warwick Castle, and Kenilworth, as designed. Should she lose all this for a mere flattering fancy? She, who had laughed at Miss Boulder, for imagining every one who spoke to her was smitten. What reason could she assign? It would be simply ridiculous, and unkind--and it was so very pleasant. Mr. Ogilvie would be too wise to think of so incongruous a connection, which would be so sure to displease his parents. It was more absurd than ever to think of it. The heir of Glenbracken, and a country physician's daughter!

That was a candid heart which owned that its own repugnance to accept this disparity as an objection, was an additional evidence that she ought to flee from further intercourse. She believed that no harm was done yet; she was sure that she loved her father better than anything else in the world, and whilst she did so, it was best to preserve her heart for him. Widowed as he was, she knew that he would sorely miss her, and that for years to come, she should be necessary at home. She had better come away while it would cost only a slight pang, for that it was pain to leave Norman Ogilvie, was symptom enough of the need of not letting her own silly heart go further. However it might be with him, another week would only make it worse with her.

"I will go home with papa!" was the ultimatum reached by each chain of mental reasonings, and borne in after each short prayer for guidance, as Ethel tossed about listening to the perpetual striking of all the Oxford clocks, until daylight had begun to shine in; when she fell asleep, and was only waked by Meta, standing over her with a sponge, looking very mischievous, as she reminded her of their appointment with Dr. May, to go to the early service in New College Chapel.

The world looked different that morning with Ethel, but the determination was fixed, and the service strengthened it. She was so silent during the walk, that her companions rallied her, and they both supposed she was anxious about Norman; but taking her opportunity, when Meta was gone to prepare for breakfast, she rushed, in her usual way, into the subject. "Papa! if you please, I should like to go home to-morrow with you."

"Eh?" said the doctor, amazed. "How is this? I told you that Miss Bracy and Mary are doing famously."

"Yes, but I had rather go back."

"Indeed!" and Dr. May looked at the door, and spoke low. "They make you welcome, I hope--"

"Oh, yes! nothing can be kinder."

"I am glad to hear it. This Rivers is such a lout, that I could not tell how it might be. I did not look to see you turn homesick all at once."

Ethel smiled. "Yes, I have been very happy; but please, papa, ask no questions--only take me home."

"Come! it is all a homesick fit, Ethel--never fear the ball. Think of the concert. If it were not for that poor baby of Mrs. Larkins, I should stay myself to hear Sonntag again. You won't have such another chance."

"I know, but I think I ought to go--"

George came in, and they could say no more. Both were silent on the subject at breakfast, but when afterwards Flora seized on Ethel, to array her for the theatre, she was able to say, "Flora, please don't be angry with me--you have been very kind to me, but I mean to go home with papa to-morrow."

"I declare!" said Flora composedly, "you are as bad as the children at the infant school, crying to go home the instant they see their mothers!"

"No, Flora, but I must go. Thank you for all this pleasure, but I shall have heard Norman's poem, and then I must go."

Flora turned her round, looked in her face kindly, kissed her, and said, "My dear, never mind, it will all come right again--only, don't run away."

"What will come right?"

"Any little misunderstanding with Norman Ogilvie."

"I don't know what you mean," said Ethel, becoming scarlet.

"My dear, you need not try to hide it. I see that you have got into a fright. You have made a discovery, but that is no reason for running away."

"Yes it is!" said Ethel firmly, not denying the charge, though reddening more than ever at finding her impression confirmed.

"Poor child! she is afraid!" said Flora tenderly; "but I will take care of you, Ethel. It is everything delightful. You are the very girl for such a heros de Roman, and it has embellished you more than all my Paris fineries."

"Hush, Flora! We ought not to talk in this way, as if--"

"As if he had done more than walk with, and talk with, nobody else! How he did hate papa last night. I had a great mind to call papa off, in pity to him."

"Don't, Flora. If there were anything in it, it would not be proper to think of it, so I am going home to prevent it." The words were spoken with averted face and heaving breath.

"Proper?" said Flora. "The Mays are a good old family, and our own grandmother was an honourable Ogilvie herself. A Scottish baron, very poor too, has no right to look down--"

"They shall not look down. Flora, it is of no use to talk. I cannot be spared from home, and I will not put myself in the way of being tempted to forsake them all."

"Tempted!" said Flora, laughing. "Is it such a wicked thing?"

"Not in others, but it would be wrong in me, with such a state of things as there is at home."

"I do not suppose he would want you for some years to come. He is only two-and-twenty. Mary will grow older."

"Margaret will either be married, or want constant care. Flora, I will not let myself be drawn from them."

"You may think so now; but it would be for their real good to relieve papa of any of us. If we were all to think as you do, how should we live? I don't know--for papa told me there will be barely ten thousand pounds, besides the houses, and what will that be among ten? I am not talking of yourself, but think of the others!"

"I know papa will not be happy without me, and I will not leave him,"

repeated Ethel, not answering the argument.

Flora changed her ground, and laughed. "We are getting into the heroics," she said, "when it would be very foolish to break up our plans, only because we have found a pleasant cousin. There is nothing serious in it, I dare say. How silly of us to argue on such an idea!"

Meta came in before Flora could say more, but Ethel, with burning cheeks, repeated, "It will be safer!"

Ethel had, meantime, been dressed by her sister; and, as Bellairs came to adorn Meta, and she could have no solitude, she went downstairs, thinking she heard Norman's step, and hoping to judge of his mood.

She entered the room with an exclamation, "Oh, Norman!"

"At your service!" said the wrong Norman, looking merrily up from behind a newspaper.

"Oh, I beg your pardon; I thought--"

"Your thoughts were quite right," he said, smiling. "Your brother desires me to present his respects to his honoured family, and to inform them that his stock of assurance is likely to be diminished by the pleasure of their company this morning."

"How is he?" asked Ethel anxiously.

"Pretty fair. He has blue saucers round his eyes, as he had before he went up for his little go."

"Oh, I know them," said Ethel.