"Poor Norman, he is very far gone! He takes that scarecrow for civilised society!"

"Much better clothed than the society you have been accustomed to, July." "What a prize his wardrobe would be to the Black Prince!" "Don't insult your betters!" "Which? The scarecrow, or the Black Prince?"

Norman tried to call his companions to order, for they were close upon the village, and he began to tax himself with unbecoming levity; the effect of spirits pitched rather low, which did not easily find their balance, under unwonted exhilaration, but Harry's antics were less easily repressed than excited, and if Tom had not heard the Grange clock strike half-past six, and had not been afraid of not having time to array himself, and watch over Harry's neckcloth, they would hardly have arrived in reasonable time. Dr. May had gone home, and there was no one in the drawing-room; but, as Norman was following the boys upstairs, Flora opened her sitting-room door, and attracted his attention by silently putting her cold fingers into his hand, and drawing him into the room.

"Dear Norman, this is pleasant," she said affectionately; but in a voice so sunken, that all gladness seemed to be dead within, and the effect was far more mournful than if she had not attempted to smile congratulation.

"I will give you till Dr. Spencer comes," she said. "Then Norman can dress, and you must be a good child, and come down to me."

The playfulness ill suited the wan, worn face that seemed to have caught a gray tint from her rich poplin, her full toilet making the contrast almost more painful; and, as she closed the door, her brother could only exclaim, "Poor Flora!"

"She is so kind," said the voice of the white figure that moved towards him. "Oh, if we could comfort her!"

"I trust to her own kindness working comfort to her, at last," said Norman. "But is she often thus?"

"Whenever she is not bearing up for George's sake," said Meta. "She never says anything when she is alone with me, only she does not struggle with her looks."

"It must be very trying for you."

"Nay, I feel grateful to her for even so far relaxing the restraint. If I could but do her any good."

"You cannot help doing her good," said Norman.

Meta sighed, and shook her head slightly, as she said, "She is so gentle and considerate. I think this has been no fresh pain to her to-day, but I cannot tell. The whole day has been a strange intermixture."

"The two strands of joy and grief have been very closely twisted," said Norman. "That rose is shedding its fragrant leaves in its glory, and there is much that should have chastened the overflowing gladness of to-day."

"As I was thinking," whispered Meta, venturing nearer to him, and looking into his face with the sweet reliance of union in thought. She meant him to proceed, but he paused, saying, "You were thinking-"

"I had rather hear it from you."

"Was it not that we were taught to-day what is enduring, and gives true permanence and blessedness to such--to what there was between Ernescliffe and Margaret?"

Her dewy eyes, and face of deep emotion, owned that he had interpreted her thought.

"Theirs would, indeed, be a disheartening example," he said, "if it did not show the strength and peace that distance, sickness, death, cannot destroy."

"Yes. To see that church making Margaret happy as she lies smiling on her couch, is a lesson of lessons."

"That what is hallowed must be blest," said Norman; "whatever the sundry and manifold changes."

Each was far too humble to deny aloud any inequality with the goodness of Alan and Margaret, knowing that it would be at once disputed, trusting to time to prevent the over-estimate, and each believing the other was the one to bring the blessing.

"But, Meta," said Norman, "have you heard nothing of--of the elders?"

"Oh, yes," said Meta, smiling, "have not you?"

"I have seen no one."

"I have!" said Meta merrily. "Uncle Cosham is delighted. That speech of yours has captivated him. He calls me a wise little woman to have found out your first-rate abilities. There's for you, sir."

"I don't understand it! Surely he must be aware of my intentions?"

"He said nothing about them; but, of course, Dr. May must have mentioned them."

"I should have thought so, but I cannot suppose--"

"That he would be willing to let me go," said Meta. "But then you know he cannot help it," added she, with a roguish look, at finding herself making one of her saucy independent speeches.

"I believe you are taking a would-be missionary instead of Norman May!"

he answered, with a sort of teasing sweetness.

"All would-be missionaries did not make dear papa so fond of them," said Meta, very low; "and you would not be Norman May without such purposes."

"The purpose was not inspired at first by the highest motive," said Norman; "but it brought me peace, and, after the kind of dedication that I inwardly made of myself in my time of trouble, it would take some weighty reason, amounting to a clear duty, or physical impossibility, to make me think I ought to turn back. I believe"--the tears rose to his eyes, and he brought out the words with difficulty--"that, if this greatest of all joys were likely to hinder me from my calling, I ought to seek strength to regard it as a temptation, and to forgo it."

"You ought, if it were so," said Meta, nevertheless holding him tighter.

"I could not bear to keep back a soldier. If this were last year, and I had any tie or duty here, it would be very hard. But no one needs me, and if the health I have always had be continued to me, I don't think I shall be much in the way. There,"--drawing back a little, and trying to laugh off her feeling--"only tell me at once if you think me still too much of a fine lady."

"I--you--a fine lady! Did anything ever give you the impression that I did?"

"I shall not get poor Harry into a scrape, shall I? He told me that you said so, last spring, and I feared you judged me too truly."

After a few exclamations of utter surprise, it flashed on Norman. "I know, I know--Harry interpreted my words in his own blunt fashion!"

"Then you did say something like it?"

"No, but--but--In short, Meta, these sailors' imaginations go to great lengths. Harry had guessed more than I knew myself, before he had sailed, and taxed me with it. It was a subject I could not bear then, and I answered that you were too far beyond my hopes."

"Six years ago!" said Meta slowly, blushing deeper and deeper. "Some eyes saw it all that time, and you--and," she added, laughing, though rather tearfully, "I should never have known it, if Tom had not taken me through the plantations!"

"Not if I had not discovered that your preferences did not lie--"

"Among boudoirs and balls?" said Meta. "Harry was right. You thought me a fine lady after all."

The gay taunt was cut short by a tap at the door, and Flora looked in.

"Dr. Spencer has brought your things, Norman. I am sorry to disturb you--but come down, Meta--I ran away very uncivilly to fetch you. I hope it is not too cruel," as she drew Meta's arm into her own, and added, "I have not been able speak to George."

Meta suspected that, in the wish to spare her, Flora had abstained from seeking him.

The evening went off like any other evening--people ate and talked, thought Mrs. Rivers looking very ill, and Miss Rivers very pretty--Flora forced herself into being very friendly to Sir Henry, commiserating the disappointment to which she had led him; and she hoped that he suspected the state of affairs, though Tom, no longer supplanted by his elder brother, pursued Meta into the sheltered nook, where Flora had favoured her seclusion, to apologise for having left her to the guidance of poor Norman, whose head was with the blackamoors. It was all Harry's fault.

"Nonsense, Tom," said Harry; "don't you think Norman is better company than you any day?"

"Then why did you not walk him off instead of me?" said Tom, turning round sharply.

"Out of consideration for Meta. She will tell you that she was very much obliged to me--"