"So must I," I said; "I came in it; and, Miss Milicent, perhaps you would remember that Mrs. Weir is without her luggage, and looks to you for help." She made an impatient movement. "It's a blunder from beginning to end, Ursie; my mother ought to have stayed in England; I don't know what I can do for her." She stood in great perplexity; then hurried into the house, telling me to make the omnibus wait,-which, as I did not know what to say, was a difficulty; but the French stranger again came to my assistance. He appeared at the door full of civility: He was glad I had found Miss Weir. He wished he could have accompanied me in the search; what further help could he give me?

My short answers could not have been encouraging; but he would not be thrown back by them. After giving the message to the omnibus-driver, he again began questioning me as to my errand. Miss Milicent returned before I could answer, with a bundle in her hand. She passed the Frenchman as I thought rudely. "Monsieur Dalange, my father is going to sleep, and does not wish to see any one; I shall not be back till late." She peeped into the omnibus, saw it was empty, and motioned me to seat myself beside her. We drove off. Miss Milicent caught hold of my hand. "Ursie Grant, you are a hard judge, but you have done kindly by me. If I am odd and forgetful, I have troubles you don't know of; but I will see my mother. May God help her, and me, and all of us! Now don't talk to me, I must think."

And she did think, and bitter thoughts they must have been; for the hard lines of her marked features seemed to deepen with some intense inward feeling, whilst she clutched the handle of the carriage door, and leaned her head out of the window, striving, though in vain, to hide the signs of agitation. When we arrived at the inn, she scarcely waited for the omnibus to stop before she was out of it. I said to her that I would go up-stairs, and prepare Mrs. Weir for seeing her; but her impatience could with difficulty be controlled. She would not wait in the public room, but followed me into the passage. Louise, who did not seem to think that I had any cause to be annoyed with her, came out

of Mrs. Weir's room, to tell me that she had been asleep, and was better; only she had been asking for me.

I forgot my anger, as entirely as Louise did its cause. Motioning to her to go into her own room, I went softly up to Mrs. Weir, who was lying on the bed, and was just beginning to tell her that I had been successful,-when a long arm was stretched across me, and Miss Milicent pushed me aside, and said, "You have had Ursie Grant long enough with you, mother. I am come to know myself how you are going on; and I have brought you a bundle of clothes; " and she tossed her parcel on the bed, and stooped down and kissed her mother, roughly indeed, but heartily. I dare say it was the best thing that could have been done. It was not arranged as I wished, but no doubt preparation would only have made Mrs. Weir more nervous. As it was, she was startled, and looked at her daughter, as though not quite recognising her; and the strange gaze had such an effect on Miss Milicent, that she turned aside and burst into tears.

"What does she cry for, Ursula?" said Mrs. Weir, recovering herself. "It is very kind of her to come, and it does me good; and now I will go to my husband." She sat up on the bed, and put out her hand for Miss Milicent to draw near.

"Mrs. Weir didn't know you, Miss Milicent," I said; speaking as naturally and brightly as I could. "You were taken quite by surprise, Ma'am, weren't you?" I added, addressing Mrs. Weir. "I found Miss Milicent wandering over the ruins of an old castle; she had gone out to take a walk; afterwards we met the omnibus returning from the railway, and so she said she would come back with me, and see you now; and to-morrow, or next day, you will no doubt be able to see Mr. Weir, for he is much better, and able to sit up."

"If

I think it must have been the mention of the omnibus which brought us all back to a natural state. Miss Milicent brushed away her tears, came up to the bed-side, and sat down; and Mrs. Weir leaned back again on her pillow. you will be good enough to tell Mrs. Weir what you have been doing lately, Miss Milicent," I said, "I am sure she will be glad to hear; and I will go and order tea, and per

haps, if you are not in a hurry, you will just be so kind as to put the table out, and have some with her; I will bring up another candle and make the room look comfortable." I said it all as if we had been at Dene, and there was nothing easier than to make things comfortable, but I had great misgivings as to how it was to be managed. One point, however, was gained. Miss Milicent and her mother were together, and I was sure that one interview, if only of five minutes, would do more to touch Miss Milicent's heart, than any description that could be given.

She came out to me, as I was standing at my bed-room door, having just given directions for tea.

"I can't stay with her, Ursie, she doesn't understand, and she's quite changed." Miss Milicent's face looked haggard.

Mrs. Weir will be better," I said, "to-morrow. Everything that is new unsettles her."

"But you shouldn't have come; what shall we do here? How will she bear it? Ursie, you have much to answer for!"

"Not so much as if we had remained behind, and waited for the end, which must in all probability have come," I said.

"End!—what end?-what do you mean
"A lunatic asylum."

Miss Milicent covered her face with her hands, and groaned.

I did not want to distress her more than was needful. She had taken an exaggerated view of the present evil, and no wonder. Mrs. Weir, when startled, took a long time to recover herself. She was not, by any means, as far from rational as her daughter thought; but, impetuous and ungov erned in all her feelings, Miss Milicent would not listen to me, or believe me. Yet she could not bring herself to look at the case boldly. Availing herself of the claim which, no doubt, Mr. Weir had upon her, she made it an excuse to hurry away. She would return, she said, to-morrow. She would see her mother again; she would arrange the meeting; she would do anything, everything I wished. But she could not bear the pain; she shrank from the responsibility. Even yet Miss Milicent had much to learn.

CHAPTER LXVI.

MRS. WEIR took it much to heart that her daughter had left her so soon, and I rather troubled myself as to how Miss Milicent would get back to Little Andely, but she knew the ways of the people, and it was a quiet part of the country; so I hoped she would not mind walking alone. But I was obliged to leave her to herself, and attend to Mrs. Weir, whose mind, I was sure, was in much perplexity. Happily, after a little quiet explanation, I was able to make her see how things stood. I told her plainly that Mr. Weir was at a neighbouring village, and she might go to him the next day if she wished it; but I endeavoured to convince her that, as he was better, there was no hurry, and she need only remain quiet, and rest after her journey. She acquiesced for the time, but I could not say how long the mood would last. Mrs. Weir ate more for her tea than I expected, which was very satisfactory. Louise and I had a kind of a supper in the public room down-stairs, and were waited upon by the pleasant-looking Normandy peasant girl, who was overwhelmed with delight when she found that Madame liked the roast fowl which I took up to her, and was persuaded to taste the wood strawberries. We might, certainly, have been in much worse quarters, for the people were extremely civil. About half-past nine I made Mrs. Weir comfortable for the night, and left her with the door between her room and mine open, and a little bell by her side, that she might call me if she wanted anything, and then I thought of rest for myself. But my troubles were not over, I had scarcely gone to my room when I heard sounds of merriment below, fortunately away from the side of the house adjoining Mrs. Weir's room, but very near to mine. I supposed there might be some late guests in the house, but when I lay down in bed the sound of a flageolet was added, and the people, whoever they were, began to dance. And such a noise as they made!— stamping, shouting, laughing, singing, clapping of handssleep was impossible. I lay awake, studying a book of French conversation, by the light of a tallow candle, till nearly two

o'clock in the morning; then there came the roll of some vehicle to the door, and the dancers began to disperse, and I feel asleep. It must have been eight o'clock, and the sun was shining full into my window, when I was awakened by the touch of no very gentle hand.

"Urise Grant, what makes you so lazy? I want to talk to you." I fancied myself at the Heath; and, as I rubbed my eyes, almost believed I should look out upon the cliffs and the Miss Milicent quickly brought me back to reality. "I went off in a hurry last night, Ürsie; I am come back to do better to-day, but my mother mustn't come to us. My father isn't in a state to bear it."

sea.

I could have wished that Miss Milicent had left me time to dress and prepare myself a little for the day's business, instead of thus thrusting it upon me, but perhaps that was more than I had a right to expect.

"I am afraid Mr. Weir is not so well," I said.

"I can't say; the long and the short of the matter is, Ursie, that I must talk to you.

She sat down, leaned her two elbows upon the bed, and disregarding every thought of convenience or comfort for me, prepared herself to begin a long story. Louise was with Mrs. Weir, that was my only consolation, and I collected my largest stock of patience.

"You know, Ursie, matters are bad with us, and have been so for a long time. My father spent money faster than he got it. My mother had more whimsies than there were minutes in the year. I dare say I was not better myself. But people must live; my father must live. When he came abroad he took some money with him; they said he ought not to have done it, but he says he must have starved without it. Then he made friends,-whether they are friends or not I can't say, he calls them so; that M. Dalange is one. He engaged with them in a kind of wine business; I suppose it is speculation, but it seems all right enough to me. Mr. Macdonald and Captain Price have money in the same business, and they are growing rich. You see, Ursie, I couldn't come home, because my father's money was all gone in this business, and my money, which was sent to me, was all he had to live upon. That is how the case stood. I believe it would all have gone