"This is a rough copy, too much scratched for you to make out."

She read it accordingly, and her father admired it exceedingly--Norman's touches, above all; and Flora's reading had dovetailed all so neatly together that no one knew where the joins were. "I will copy it fairly,"

she said, "if you will show it to Dr. Spencer, and ask whether he thinks it too strong. Mr. Dodsley too; he would be more gratified if he saw it first, in private, and thought himself consulted."

Dr. May was dismayed at seeing her take up her pen, make a desk of her blotting-book, and begin her copy by firelight.

"Flora, my dear," he said, "this must not be. Have I not told you that you must be content to rest?"

"I did not get up till ten o'clock, and have been lying here ever since."

"But what has this head of yours been doing? Has it been resting for ten minutes together? Now I know what I am saying, Flora--I warn you, that if you will not give yourself needful quiet now, you will suffer for it by and by."

Flora smiled, and said, "I thought I had been very good. But, what is to be done when one's wits will work, and there is work for them to do?"

"Is not there work enough for them here?" said Dr. May, looking at the babe. "Your mother used to value such a retirement from care."

Flora was silent for a minute, then said, "Mr. Esdaile should have put off his resignation to suit me. It is an unfortunate time for the election."

"And you can't let the election alone?"

She shook her head, and smiled a negative, as if she would, but that she was under a necessity.

"My dear, if the election cannot go on without you, it had better not go on at all."

She looked very much hurt, and turned away her head.

Her father was grieved. "My dear," he added, "I know you desire to be of use, especially to George; but do you not believe that he would rather fail, than that you, or his child, should suffer?"

No answer.

"Does he stand by his own wish, or yours, Flora?"

"He wishes it. It is his duty," said Flora, collecting her dignity.

"I can say no more, except to beg him not to let you exert yourself."

Accordingly, when George came home, the doctor read him a lecture on his wife's over-busy brain; and was listened to, as usual, with gratitude and deference. He professed that he only wished to do what was best for her, but she never would spare herself; and, going to her side, with his heavy, fond solicitude, he made her promise not to hurt herself, and she laughed and consented.

The promise was easily given, for she did not believe she was hurting herself; and, as to giving up the election, or ceasing secretly to prompt George, that was absolutely out of the question. What could be a greater duty than to incite her husband to usefulness?

Moreover it was but proper to invite Meta's aunt and cousin to see her, and to project a few select dinners for their amusement and the gratification of her neighbours. It was only grateful and cousinly likewise, to ask the "Master of Glenbracken"; and as she saw the thrill of colour on Ethel's cheeks, at the sight of the address to the Honourable Norman Ogilvie, she thought herself the best of sisters. She even talked of Ogilvie as a second Christian name, but Meta observed that old Aunt Dorothy would call it Leonorar Rogilvie Rivers, and thus averted it, somewhat to Ethel's satisfaction.

Ethel scolded herself many times for wondering whether Mr. Ogilvie would come. What was it to her? Suppose he should; suppose the rest. What a predicament! How unreasonable and conceited, even to think of such a thing, when her mind was made up. What could result, save tossings to and fro, a passing gratification set against infinite pain, and strife with her own heart and with her father's unselfishness! Had he but come before Flora's marriage! No; Ethel hated herself for the wish that arose for the moment. Far better he should keep away, if, perhaps, without the slightest inclination towards her, his mere name could stir up such a tumult--all, it might be, founded in vanity. Rebellious feelings and sense of tedium had once been subdued--why should they be roused again?

The answer came. Norman Ogilvie was setting off for Italy, and regretted that he could not take Abbotstoke on his way. He desired his kind remembrances and warm Christmas wishes to all his cousins.

If Ethel breathed more freely, there was a sense that tranquillity is uninteresting. It was, it must be confessed, a flat end to a romance, that all the permanent present effect was a certain softening, and a degree more attention to her appearance; and after all, this might, as Flora averred, be ascribed to the Paris outfit having taught her to wear clothes; as well as to that which had awakened the feminine element, and removed that sense of not being like other women, which sometimes hangs painfully about girls who have learned to think themselves plain or awkward.

There were other causes why it should be a dreary winter to Ethel, under the anxiety that strengthened by duration, and the strain of acting cheerfulness for Margaret's sake. Even Mary was a care. Her round rosy childhood had worn into height and sallowness, and her languor and indifference fretted Miss Bracy, and was hunted down by Ethel, till Margaret convinced her that it was a case for patience and tenderness, which, thenceforth, she heartily gave, even encountering a scene with Miss Bracy, who was much injured by the suggestion that Mary was oppressed by perspective. Poor Mary, no one guessed the tears nightly shed over Harry's photograph.

Nor could Ethel quite fathom Norman. He wore the dispirited, burdened expression that she knew too well, but he would not, as formerly, seek relief in confidence to her, shunning the being alone with her, and far too much occupied to offer to walk to Cocksmoor. When the intelligence came that good old Mr. Wilmot of Settlesham had peacefully gone to his rest, after a short and painless illness, Tom was a good deal affected, in his peculiar silent and ungracious fashion; but Norman did not seek to talk over the event, and the feelings he had entertained two years ago--he avoided the subject, and threw himself into the election matters with an excitement foreign to his nature.

He was almost always at Abbotstoke, or attending George Rivers at the committee-room at the Swan, talking, writing, or consulting, concocting squibs, and perpetrating bons mots, that were the delight of friends and the confusion of foes. Flora was delighted, George adored him, Meta's eyes danced whenever he came near, Dr. Spencer admired him, and Dr.

Hoxton prophesied great things of him; but Ethel did not feel as if he were the veritable Norman, and had an undefined sensation of discomfort, when she heard his brilliant repartees, and the laughter with which he accompanied them, so unlike his natural rare and noiseless laugh. She knew it was false excitement, to drive away the suspense that none dared to avow, but which did not press on them the less heavily for being endured in silence. Indeed, Dr. May could not help now and then giving way to outbursts of despondency, of which his friend, Dr. Spencer, who made it his special charge to try to lighten his troubles, was usually the kind recipient.

And though the bustle of the election was incongruous, and seemed to make the leaden weight the more heavy, there was a compensation in the tone of feeling that it elicited, which gave real and heartfelt pleasure.

Dr. May had undergone numerous fluctuations of popularity. He had always been the same man, excellent in intention, though hasty in action, and heeding neither praise nor censure; and while the main tenor of his course never varied, making many deviations by flying to the reverse of the wrong, most immediately before him, still his personal character gained esteem every year; and though sometimes his merits, and sometimes his failings, gave violent umbrage, he had steadily risen in the estimation of his fellow-townsmen, as much as his own inconsistencies and theirs would allow, and every now and then was the favourite with all, save with the few who abused him for tyranny, because he prevented them from tyrannising.

He was just now on the top of the wave, and his son-in-law had nothing to do but to float in on the tide of his favour. The opposite faction attempted a contest, but only rendered the triumph more complete, and gave the gentlemen the pleasure of canvassing, and hearing, times without number, that the constituents only wished the candidate were Dr. May himself. His sons and daughters were full of exultation--Dr.

Spencer, much struck, rallied "Dick" on his influence--and Dr. May, the drops of warm emotion trembling on his eyelashes, smiled, and bade his friend see him making a church-rate.

The addresses and letters that came from the Grange were so admirable, that Dr. May often embraced Norman's steady opinion that George was a very wise man. If Norman was unconscious how much he contributed to these compositions, he knew far less how much was Flora's. In his ardour, he crammed them both, and conducted George when Flora could not be at his side. George himself was a personable man, wrote a good bold hand, would do as he was desired, and was not easily put out of countenance; he seldom committed himself by talking; and when a speech was required, was brief, and to the purpose. He made a very good figure, and in the glory of victory, Ethel herself began to grow proud of him, and the children's great object in life was to make the jackdaws cry, "Rivers for ever!"

Flora had always declared that she would be at Stoneborough for the nomination. No one believed her, until three days before, she presented herself and her daughter before the astonished Margaret, who was too much delighted to be able to scold. She had come away on her own responsibility, and was full of triumph. To come home in this manner, after having read "Rivers for ever!" on all the dead walls, might be called that for which she had lived. She made no stay--she had only come to show her child, and establish a precedent for driving out, and Margaret had begun to believe the apparition a dream, when the others came in, some from Cocksmoor, others from the committee-room at the Swan.

"So she brought the baby," exclaimed Ethel. "I should have thought she would not have taken her out before her christening."

"Ethel," said Dr. Spencer, "permit me to make a suggestion. When relations live in the same neighbourhood, there is no phrase to be more avoided than 'I should have thought--'"

The nomination-day brought Flora, Meta, baby and all to be very quiet, as was said; but how could that be? when every boy in the house was frantic, and the men scarcely less so. Aubrey and Gertrude, and the two jackdaws, each had a huge blue and orange rosette, and the two former went about roaring "Rivers for ever!" without the least consideration for the baby, who would have been decked in the same manner, if Ethel would have heard of it without indignation, at her wearing any colour before her christening white; as to Jack and Jill, though they could say their lesson, they were too much distressed by their ornaments to do ought but lurk in corners, and strive to peck them off.

Flora comported herself in her usual quiet way, and tried to talk of other things, though a carnation spot in each cheek showed her anxiety and excitement. She went with her sisters to look out from Dr. Spencer's windows towards the Town Hall. Her husband gave her his arm as they went down the garden, and Ethel saw her talking earnestly to him, and pressing his arm with her other hand to enforce her words, but if she did tutor him, it was hardly visible, and he was very glad of whatever counsel she gave.

She spoke not a word after the ladies were left with Aubrey, who was in despair at not being allowed to follow Hector and Tom, but was left, as his prematurely classical mind expressed it, like the Gaulish women with the impedimenta in the marshes--whereas Tom had added insult to injury, by a farewell to "Jack among the maidens."

Meta tried to console him, by persuading him that he was their protector, and he began to think there was need of a guard, when a mighty cheer caused him to take refuge behind Ethel. Even when assured that it was anything but terrific, he gravely declared that he thought Margaret would want him, but he could not cross the garden without Meta to protect him.

She would not allow any one else to relieve her from the doughty champion, and thereby she missed the spectacle. It might be that she did not regret it, for though it would have been unkind to refuse to come in with her brother and sister, her wound was still too fresh for crowds, turmoil, and noisy rejoicing to be congenial. She did not withdraw her hand, which Aubrey squeezed harder at each resounding shout, nor object to his conducting her to see his museum in the dark corner of the attics, most remote from the tumult.

The loss was not great. The others could hear nothing distinctly, and see only a wilderness of heads; but the triumph was complete. Dr. May had been cheered enough to satisfy even Hector; George Rivers had made a very fair speech, and hurrahs had covered all deficiencies; Hector had shouted till he was as hoarse as the jackdaws; the opposite candidate had never come forward at all; Tomkins was hiding his diminished head; and the gentlemen had nothing to report but success, and were in the highest spirits.

By and by Blanche was missing, and Ethel, going in quest of her, spied a hem of blue merino peeping out under all the cloaks in the hall cupboard, and found the poor little girl sobbing in such distress, that it was long before any explanation could be extracted, but at last it was revealed--when the door had been shut, and they stood in the dark, half stifled among the cloaks, that George's spirits had taken his old facetious style with Blanche, and in the very hearing of Hector!

The misery of such jokes to a sensitive child, conscious of not comprehending their scope, is incalculable, and Blanche having been a baby-coquette, was the more susceptible. She hid her face again from the very sound of her own confession, and resisted Ethel's attempts to draw her out of the musty cupboard, declaring that she could never see either of them again. Ethel, in vain, assured her that George was gone to the dinner at the Swan; nothing was effectual but being told that for her to notice what had passed was the sure way to call Hector's attention thereto, when she bridled, emerged, and begged to know whether she looked as if she had been crying. Poor child, she could never again be unconscious, but, at least, she was rendered peculiarly afraid of a style of notice, that might otherwise have been a temptation.

Ethel privately begged Flora to hint to George to alter his style of wit, and the suggestion was received better than the blundering manner deserved; Flora was too exulting to take offence, and her patronage of all the world was as full-blown as her ladylike nature allowed. Ethel, she did not attempt to patronise, but she promised all the sights in London to the children, and masters to Mary and Blanche, and she perfectly overwhelmed Miss Bracy with orphan asylums for her sisters.

She would have liked nothing better than dispersing cards, with Mrs.

Rivers prominent among the recommenders of the case.

"A fine coming-out for you, little lady," said she to her baby, when taking leave that evening. "If it was good luck for you to make your first step in life upwards, what is this?"

"Excelsior?" said Ethel, and Flora smiled, well pleased, but she had not caught half the meaning. "May it be the right excelsior" added Ethel, in a low voice that no one heard, and she was glad they did not. They were all triumphant, and she could not tell why she had a sense of sadness, and thought of Flora's story long ago, of the girl who ascended Mont Blanc, and for what?

All she had to do at present was to listen to Miss Bracy, who was sure that Mrs. Rivers thought Mary and Blanche were not improved, and was afraid she was ungrateful for all the intended kindness to her sister.

Ethel had more sympathy here, for she had thought that Flora was giving herself airs, and she laughed and said her sister was pleased to be in a position to help her friends; and tried to turn it off, but ended by stumbling into allowing that prosperity was apt to make people over-lavish of offers of kindness.

"Dear Miss Ethel, you understand so perfectly. There is no one like you!" cried Miss Bracy, attempting to kiss her hand.