Nevertheless, when "Honoured Miss" received a note, begging for three days' longer grace, till a niece should come, in whom Bellairs could place full confidence, she took it on herself to return free consent.

Lady Leonora found out what she had done, and reproved her, telling her it was only the way to make "those people" presume, and Mrs. Larpent was also taken to task; but, decidedly, Meta did not regret what she had done, though she felt as if she had never before known how to appreciate comfort, when she once more beheld Bellairs stationed at her toilette table.

Meta was asked about her friends. She could not mention any one but Mrs.

Charles Wilmot and the Misses May.

"Physician's daughters; oh!" said Lady Leonora.

And she proceeded to exhort Mr. Rivers to bring his daughter to London, or its neighbourhood, where she might have masters, and be in the way of forming intimacies suited to her connections.

Mr. Rivers dreaded London--never was well there, and did not like the trouble of moving--while Meta was so attached to the Grange, that she entreated him not to think of leaving it, and greatly dreaded her aunt's influence. Lady Leonora did, indeed, allow that the Grange was a very pretty place; her only complaint was the want of suitable society for Meta; she could not bear the idea of her growing accustomed--for want of something better--to the vicar's wife and the pet doctor's daughters.

Flora had been long desirous to effect a regular call at Abbotstoke, and it was just now that she succeeded. Mrs. Charles Wilmot's little girl was to have a birthday feast, at which Mary, Blanche, and Aubrey were to appear. Flora went in charge of them, and as soon as she had safely deposited them, and appointed Mary to keep Aubrey out of mischief, she walked up to the Grange, not a whit daunted by the report of the very fine ladies who were astonishing the natives of Abbotstoke.

She was admitted, and found herself in the drawing-room, with a quick lively-looking lady, whom she perceived to be Lady Leonora, and who instantly began talking to her very civilly. Flora was never at a loss, and they got on extremely well; her ease and self-possession, without forwardness, telling much to her advantage. Meta came in, delighted to see her, but, of course, the visit resulted in no really intimate talk, though it was not without effect. Flora declared Lady Leonora Langdale to be a most charming person; and Lady Leonora, on her side, asked Meta who was that very elegant conversible girl. "Flora May," was the delighted answer, now that the aunt had committed herself by commendation. And she did not retract it; she pronounced Flora to be something quite out of the common way, and supposed that she had had unusual advantages.

Mr. Rivers took care to introduce to his sister-in-law Dr. May (who would fain have avoided it), but ended by being in his turn pleased and entertained by her brilliant conversation, which she put forth for him, as her instinct showed her that she was talking to a man of high ability. A perfect gentleman she saw him to be, and making out some mutual connections far up in the family tree of the Mackenzies, she decided that the May family were an acquisition, and very good companions for her niece at present, while not yet come out. So ended the visit, with this great triumph for Meta, who had a strong belief in Aunt Leonora's power and infallibility, and yet had not consulted her about Bellairs, nor about the school question.

She had missed one Sunday's school on account of her aunt's visit, but the resolution made beside Margaret's sofa had not been forgotten. She spent her Saturday afternoon in a call on Mrs. Wilmot, ending with a walk through the village; she confessed her ignorance, apologised for her blunders, and put herself under the direction which once she had fancied too strict and harsh to be followed.

And on Sunday she was content to teach the stupid girls, and abstain from making much of the smooth-faced engaging set. She thought it very dull work, but she could feel that it was something not done to please herself; and whereas her father had feared she would be dull when her cousins were gone, he found her more joyous than ever.

There certainly was a peculiar happiness about Margaret Rivers; her vexations were but ripples, rendering the sunny course of her life more sparkling, and each exertion in the way of goodness was productive of so much present joy that the steps of her ladder seemed, indeed, to be of diamonds.

Her ladder--for she was, indeed, mounting upwards. She was very earnest in her Confirmation preparation, most anxious to do right and to contend with her failings; but the struggle at present was easy; and the hopes, joys, and incentives shone out more and more upon her in this blithe stage of her life.

She knew there was a dark side, but hope and love were more present to her than was fear. Happy those to whom such young days are granted.

CHAPTER XXIV.

It is the generous spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought, Whose high endeavours are an inward light, Making the path before him always bright.

WORDSWORTH.

The holidays had commenced about a week when Harry, now duly appointed to H. M. S. Alcestis, was to come home on leave, as he proudly expressed it.

A glad troop of brothers and sisters, with the doctor himself, walked up to the station to meet him, and who was happiest when, from the window, was thrust out the rosy face, with the gold band? Mary gave such a shriek and leap, that two passengers and one guard turned round to look at her, to the extreme discomfiture of Flora and Norman, evidenced by one by a grave "Mary! Mary!" by the other, by walking off to the extreme end of the platform, and trying to look as if he did not belong to them, in which he was imitated by his shadow, Tom.

Sailor already, rather than schoolboy, Harry cared not for spectators; his bound from the carriage, and the hug between him, and Mary would have been worthy of the return from the voyage. The next greeting was for his father, and the sisters had had their share by the time the two brothers thought fit to return from their calm walk on the platform.

Grand was it to see that party return to the town--the naval cadet, with his arm linked in Mary's, and Aubrey clinging to his hand, and the others walking behind, admiring him as he turned his bright face every moment with some glad question or answer, "How was Margaret?" Oh, so much better; she had been able to walk across the room, with Norman's arm round her--they hoped she would soon use crutches--and she sat up more. "And the baby?" More charming than ever--four teeth--would soon walk--such a darling! Then came "my dirk, the ship, our berth." "Papa, do ask Mr. Ernescliffe to come here. I know he could get leave."

"Mr. Ernescliffe! You used to call him Alan!" said Mary.

"Yes, but that is all over now. You forget what we do on board. Captain Gordon himself calls me Mr. May!"

Some laughed, others were extremely impressed.

"Ha! There's Ned Anderson coming," cried Mary. "Now! Let him see you, Harry."

"What matters Ned Anderson to me?" said Harry; and, with an odd mixture of shamefacedness and cordiality, he marched full up to his old school-fellow, and shook hands with him, as if able, in the plenitude of his officership, to afford plenty of good-humoured superiority. Tom had meantime subsided out of all view. But poor Harry's exultation had a fall.

"Well!" graciously inquired 'Mr. May', "and how is Harvey?"

"Oh, very well. We are expecting him home to-morrow."

"Where has he been?"

"To Oxford, about the Randall."

Harry gave a disturbed, wondering look round, on seeing Edward's air of malignant satisfaction. He saw nothing that reassured him, except the quietness of Norman's own face, but even that altered as their eyes met.

Before another word could be said, however, the doctor's hand was on Harry's shoulder.

"You must not keep him now, Ned," said he--"his sister has not seen him yet."

And he moved his little procession onwards, still resting on Harry's shoulder, while a silence had fallen on all, and even the young sailor ventured no question. Only Tom's lips were quivering, and Ethel had squeezed Norman's hand. "Poor Harry!" he muttered, "this is worst of all! I wish we had written it to him."

"So do I now, but we always trusted it would come right. Oh! if I were but a boy to flog that Edward!"

"Hush, Ethel, remember what we resolved."

They were entering their own garden, where, beneath the shade of the tulip-tree, Margaret lay on her couch. Her arms were held out, and Harry threw himself upon her, but when he rose from her caress, Norman and Tom were gone.

"What is this?" he now first ventured to ask.

"Come with me," said Dr. May, leading the way to his study, where he related the whole history of the suspicion that Norman had incurred.

He was glad that he had done so in private, for Harry's indignation and grief went beyond his expectations; and when at last it appeared that Harvey Anderson was actually Randall-scholar, after opening his eyes with the utmost incredulity, and causing it to be a second time repeated, he gave a gulp or two, turned very red, and ended by laying his head on the table, and fairly sobbing and crying aloud, in spite of dirk, uniform, and manhood.

"Harry! why, Harry, my boy! We should have prepared you for this," said the doctor affectionately. "We have left off breaking our hearts about it. I don't want any comfort now for having gold instead of glitter; though at first I was as bad as you."

"Oh, if I had but been there!" said Harry, combating unsuccessfully with his tears.

"Ah! so we all said, Norman and all. Your word would have cleared him--that is, if you had not been in the thick of the mischief. Ha!

July, should not you have been on the top of the wall?"

"I would have stood by him, at least. Would not I have given Axworthy and Anderson two such black eyes as they could not have shown in school for a week? They had better look out!" cried Harry savagely.

"What! An officer in her Majesty's service! Eh, Mr. May?"

"Don't, papa, don't. Oh! I thought it would have been so happy, when I came home, to see Norman Randall-scholar. Oh! now I don't care for the ship, nor anything." Again Harry's face went down on the table.

"Come, come, Harry," said Dr. May, pulling off the spectacles that had become very dewy, "don't let us make fools of ourselves, or they will think we are dying for the scholarship."

"I don't care for the scholarship, but to have June turned down--and disgrace--"