If Ethel had not spoken rightly of her sister, she was sufficiently punished.

What she did was to burst into a laugh, and exclaim, "Miss Bracy! Miss Bracy! I can't have you sentimental. I am the worst person in the world for it."

"I have offended. You cannot feel with me!"

"Yes, I can, when it is sense; but please don't treat me like a heroine.

I am sure there is quite enough in the world that is worrying, without picking shades of manner to pieces. It is the sure way to make an old crab of me, and so I am going off. Only, one parting piece of advice, Miss Bracy--read 'Frank Fairlegh', and put everybody out of your head."

And, thinking she had been savage about her hand, Ethel turned back, and kissed the little governess's forehead, wished her goodnight, and ran away.

She had learned that, to be rough and merry, was the best way of doing Miss Bracy good in the end; and so she often gave herself the present pain of knowing that she was being supposed careless and hard-hearted; but the violent affection for her proved that the feeling did not last.

Ethel was glad to sit by the fire at bed-time, and think over the day, outwardly so gay, inwardly so fretting and perplexing.

It was the first time that she had seen much of her little niece. She was no great baby-handler, nor had she any of the phrases adapted to the infant mind; but that pretty little serene blue-eyed girl had been her chief thought all day, and she was abashed by recollecting how little she had dwelt on her own duties as her sponsor, in the agitations excited by the doubts about her coadjutor.

She took out her Prayer-book, and read the Service for Baptism, recollecting the thoughts that had accompanied her youngest sister's orphaned christening, "The vain pomp and glory of the world, and all covetous desires of the same." They seemed far enough off then, and now--poor little Leonora!

Ethel knew that she judged her sister hardly; yet she could not help picturing to herself the future--a young lady, trained for fashionable life, serious teaching not omitted, but right made the means of rising in the world; taught to strive secretly, but not openly, for admiration--a scheming for her marriage--a career like Flora's own.

Ethel could scarcely feel that it would not be a mockery to declare, on her behalf, that she renounced the world. But, alas! where was not the world? Ethel blushed at having censured others, when, so lately, she had herself been oblivious of the higher duty. She thought of the prayer, including every Christian in holy and loving intercession--"I pray not that Thou wouldest take them out of the world, but that Thou wouldest keep them from the evil."

"Keep her from the evil--that shall be my prayer for my poor little Leonora. His grace can save her, were the surrounding evil far worse than ever it is likely to be. The intermixture with good is the trial, and is it not so everywhere--ever since the world and the Church have seemed fused together? But she will soon be the child of a Father who guards His own; and, at least, I can pray for her, and her dear mother.

May I only live better, that so I may pray better, and act better, if ever I should have to act."

There was a happy family gathering on the New Year's Day, and Flora, who had kindly felt her way with Meta, finding her not yet ready to enjoy a public festivity for the village, added a supplement to the Christmas beef, that a second dinner might be eaten at home, in honour of Miss Leonora Rivers.

Lady Leonora was highly satisfied with her visit, which impressed her far more in favour of the Abbotstoke neighbourhood than in the days of poor old Mr. Rivers. Flora knew every one, and gave little select dinner-parties, which, by her good management, even George, at the bottom of the table, could not make heavy. Dr. Spencer enjoyed them greatly, and was an unfailing resource for conversation; and as to the Hoxtons, Flora felt herself amply repaying the kindness she had received in her young lady days, when she walked down to the dining-room with the portly headmaster, or saw his good lady sit serenely admiring the handsome rooms. "A very superior person, extremely pleasing and agreeable," was the universal verdict on Mrs. Rivers. Lady Leonora struck up a great friendship with her, and was delighted that she meant to take Meta to London. The only fault that could be found with her was that she had so many brothers; and Flora, recollecting that her ladyship mistrusted those brothers, avoided encouraging their presence at the Grange, and took every precaution against any opening for the suspicion that she threw them in the way of her little sister-in-law.

Nor had Flora forgotten the Ladies' Committee, or Cocksmoor. As to the muses, they gave no trouble at all. Exemplary civilities about the chair passed between the Member's lady and Mrs. Ledwich, ending in Flora's insisting that priority in office should prevail, feeling that she could well afford to yield the post of honour, since anywhere she was the leader. She did not know how much more conformable the ladies had been ever since they had known Dr. Spencer's opinion; and yet he only believed that they were grateful for good advice, and went about among them, easy, good-natured, and utterly unconscious that for him sparkled Mrs. Ledwich's bugles, and for him waved every spinster's ribbon, from Miss Rich down to Miss Boulder.

The point carried by their united influence was Charity Elwood's being sent for six months' finish at the Diocesan Training School; while a favourite pupil-teacher from Abbotstoke took her place at Cocksmoor.

Dr. Spencer looked at the Training School, and talked Mrs. Ledwich into magnanimous forgiveness of Mrs. Elwood. Cherry dreaded the ordeal, but she was willing to do anything that was thought right, and likely to make her fitter for her office.

CHAPTER XIV.

'Twas a long doubt; we never heard Exactly how the ship went down.--ARCHER GURNEY.

The tidings came at last, came when the heart-sickness of hope deferred had faded into the worse heart-sickness of fear deferred, and when spirits had been fain to rebel, and declare that they would be almost glad to part with the hope that but kept alive despair.

The Christmas holidays had come to an end, and the home party were again alone, when early in the forenoon, there was a tap at the drawing-room door, and Dr. Spencer called, "Ethel, can you come and speak to me?"

Margaret started as if those gentle tones had been a thunderclap. "Go!

go, Ethel," she said, "don't keep me waiting."

Dr. Spencer stood in the hall with a newspaper in his hand. Ethel said, "Is it?" and he made a sorrowful gesture. "Both?" she asked.

"Both," he repeated. "The ship burned--the boat lost."

"Ethel, come!" hoarsely called Margaret.

"Take it," said Dr. Spencer, putting the paper into her hand; "I will wait."

She obeyed. She could not speak, but kneeling down by her sister, they read the paragraph together; Ethel, with one eye on the words, the other on Margaret.

No doubt was left. Captain Gordon had returned, and this was his official report. The names of the missing stood below, and the list began thus:--

Lieutenant A. H. Ernescliffe.

Mr. Charles Owen, Mate.

Mr. Harry May, Midshipman.

The Alcestis had taken fire on the 12th of April of the former year.

There had been much admirable conduct, and the intrepid coolness of Mr.

Ernescliffe was especially recorded. The boats had been put off without loss, but they were scantily provisioned, and the nearest land was far distant. For five days the boats kept together, then followed a night of storms, and, when morning dawned, the second cutter, under command of Mr. Ernescliffe, had disappeared. There could be no doubt that she had sunk, and the captain could only record his regrets for the loss the service had experienced in the three brave young officers and their gallant seamen. After infinite toil and suffering, the captain, with the other boats' crews, had reached Tahiti, whence they had made their way home.

"Oh, Margaret, Margaret!" cried Ethel.

Margaret raised herself, and the colour came into her face.

"I did not write the letter!" she said.

"What letter?" said Ethel, alarmed.

"Richard prevented me. The letter that would have parted us. Now all is well."

"All is well, I know, if we could but feel it."

"He never had the pain. It is unbroken!" continued Margaret, her eyes brightening, but her breath, in long-drawn gasps that terrified Ethel into calling Dr. Spencer.

Mary was standing before him, with bloodless face and dilated eyes; but, as Ethel approached, she turned and rushed upstairs.

Dr. Spencer entered the drawing-room with Ethel, who tried to read his face as he saw Margaret--restored, as it seemed, to all her girlish bloom, and her eyes sparkling as they were lifted up, far beyond the present scene. Ethel had a moment's sense that his expression was as if he had seen a death-blow struck, but it was gone in a moment, as he gently shook Margaret by the hand, and spoke a word of greeting, as though to recall her.

"Thank you," she said, with her own grateful smile.

"Where is your father?" he asked of Ethel.

"Either at the hospital, or at Mr. Ramsden's," said Ethel, with a ghastly suspicion that he thought Margaret in a state to require him.

"Papa!" said Margaret. "If he were but here! But--ah! I had forgotten."

She turned aside her head, and hid her face. Dr. Spencer signed Ethel nearer to him. "This is a more natural state," he said. "Don't be afraid for her. I will find your father, and bring him home." Pressing her hand he departed.