Her inconsistency exasperated and alarmed me; I said, "Miss Milicent, upon one condition I can help you, at least for the present. Let Mr. Weir engage that nothing shall be said to Mrs. Weir about money for the next three weeks, until, that is, she has recovered from her journey, and do you promise yourself that you will enter into no engagement with these speculating men till you have seen John Hervey. Mr. Weir and yourself can in that case join Mrs. Weir, and your expenses will be paid by me, acting for Mrs. Weir, for the present, and can be repaid when your affairs are more settled. I think," I said, "I am not going beyond my limits by offering this."

A door of relief seemed opened, but it was to Miss Milicent rather than to me. At the moment, it seemed to me, that if I had had an idea of this troubled sea into which I was to be thrown, I never should have ventured to bring Mrs. Weir away from England.

Miss Milicent, however, saw everything by the light of her own eyes. She had come to me evidently in such perplexity, that the very thought of escape seemed the escape itself.

"If they could have present help, her father," she said, "would promise,-yes, she could make him promise, she was sure; he was in such a fret, he did not know how to get on from day to day, and he had been so ill, and was longing so to go back to Paris. Now we should all go there directly. And M. Dalange,-she did not know what could be done about him, but he must wait; she thought she could put him off, and when John Hervey came he would see things clearly, he would not be like me, afraid to risk a penny; and then the money which was wanted would be advanced to M. Dalange, and the business would go on well, and they should all grow rich together."

I did not contradict her; I only tried to impress upon her more strongly, that nothing was to be said to Mrs. Weir, and afterwards I suggested as civilly as I could, that she should leave me to dress. She went down-stairs into the public room, for Mrs. Weir was not ready for her, and I dressed as quickly as possible, feeling half asleep, and extremely tired, but seeing a great deal of work before me.

CHAPTER LXVII.

I COULD never be said to have known Mr. Weir. When he was at Dene, I seldom even saw him latterly; when I did, it was rarely that he spoke to me. I had a strong prejudice against him, partly arising from his unpleasant manner, but more from all that I had heard of him; and when there is this kind of natural aversion, it is almost sure to be perceived and returned. And Mrs. Weir's arrival was the last thing which her husband was likely to desire. It would interfere with his plans, and trouble his daily comfort; and he knew enough of my connection with his family to be aware that I had been instrumental in bringing about the meeting. It was not likely, therefore, that anything that I could do would find favour in his eyes. Most especially he was likely to resent the idea of my imposing conditions upon him. I felt my position to be extremely awkward, and with a feeling of nervous dread, such as I had rarely experienced, I found myself in the afternoon in a little shaky carriage, the only one which could be met with in the place, accompanying Mrs. Weir to pay the long anticipated visit to her husband. Miss Milicent, after seeing her mother for a few minutes in the morning, had gone back to prepare Mr. Weir for what was to come, and I would willingly have persuaded Mrs. Weir to wait till another day, but now that she was a little rested, her earnestness upon the subject was returning, and I dared not delay; especially as I had received a few lines from Miss Milicent, since our interview, telling me that her father had consented to the meeting, and gave his promise as I desired. Money must indeed have been much needed at the moment, or Mr. Weir would never have bound himself so readily to an agreement which stood in the way of his schemes, but having been given, I had no right to doubt that it would be kept.

Mrs. Weir herself was the greatest lesson I could have had upon the duty of simple faith, in times of difficulty. When I told her that the carriage was at the door, and that she was going, I prepared myself to see her excited and agitated. But it was not so. She merely said, "I am ready,

Ursula. God will help me ;" and that was the first expression that gave me the idea of the fear which I am sure was at the bottom of her heart, even when she was most pleadingly bent upon joining her husband. She did not speak nor look about her, as we drove along, but kept her hand in mine, and I felt it tremble very much. At last, just as we reached the village, she said, " He will not be angry, Ursula, do you think so?" and when I answered lightly," Oh, no! Ma'am, what could he be angry about?" she received my assurance with child-like submission, and never repeated the question.

Miss Milicent was waiting at the door to receive us. I had never seen her look so subdued, and I thought she had had a stormy morning. The inn was by no means as good as ours. It grieved me that Mrs. Weir should have to mount the narrow staircase, and I thought the stifling air would af fect her breathing; but with my help she went up firmly, though slowly, only once or twice stopping, and glancing round with rather a wandering, unsettled gaze, which I did not thoroughly like.

"Here's my mother come, father," said Miss Milicent, throwing open the door of Mr. Weir's room. I was drawing back, but Mrs. Weir grasped my arm, and I led her into the room. It was tolerably large, but very scantily furnished. Mr. Weir was sitting by a stove, with an uncovered deal table at his right hand; his bed was in one corner in a recess. The cold, poverty-stricken air of the apartment was perhaps the more remarkable to my eye, because I was not accustomed to the French fashion of living without curtains and carpets; but it was not the room which fixed my attention, it was Mr. Weir himself. He was thin, and his face showed that he had been very ill. He wore a loose dressing-gown and slippers. His hair was long, and his beard had been suffered to grow; all these things make a great change in a man; but no such external differences could have given me the impression which I gained from his face. It was sunk, lowered. As Mrs. Weir, in her most childish incoherent movements bore the the tokens of a nature which must at last rise above human infirmity; so did this cold, selfish man of the world carry about with him the signs of one which must, except through some

miracle of mercy, eventually fall below it. It was the first thing which struck me; yet he was a gentleman still. He rose when we entered, came forward, and kissed his wife, saying, "Welcome, my dear," and placed her in a chair by his side, making a distant bow to me.

There was a pause. Mrs. Weir looked at him steadily for a few seconds; then, turning round to me, asked, "Who is it?"

I could not answer.

"He is glad to see you, mother," said Miss Milicent, coming up to her.

"Very glad, my dear," said Mr. Weir. "Young woman," he addressed himself to me," "I forget your name, perhaps you will have the goodness to go down-stairs, and ask for a bottle of lemonade; it will refresh Mrs. Weir."

It was an excuse to send me away, and I was going, but I could not free myself from Mrs. Weir. "Is it he, Ursula ?" she said, in a low voice; "it seems so long, I think I have forgotten; but he speaks kindly."

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'Mr. Weir is very glad to see you, dear Ma'am," I said; "you know he has been very ill, so of course he doesn't look as you remember him.”

"No, Ursula; but he may be angry with me. Perhaps now he would wish me to go back again, and I would do it. What God wills, I would do. Just tell me, Ursula, tell me."

I looked appealingly to Miss Milicent, but she was greatly distressed; I saw it by the way in which she bit her lip; she would not trust herself to speak.

Mr. Weir came to my relief with the cold polish of manner which I now so well recollected. "I can only be flattered by your having come so far to see me, my dear," he said. "It would be uncourteous to wish you to return. All I can regret is that I have not better accommodation to offer you; but perhaps," he added, and he turned to me with a tone of proud indifference, "perhaps, if Mrs. Weir were able to remove to Paris in a few days, you might be able to find some more comfortable lodging for her. I suppose she is equal to the journey."

"Mrs. Weir will be ready to go wherever you go, Sir," was my reply. "It was her object in coming abroad."

"Certainly, certainly. I am not strong yet, but I think -Milicent, my dear, I leave you and this young woman to arrange your plans. When they are settled, I can fall into them."

cent.

"You will like to go to Paris, mother?" said Miss Mili

Mrs. Weir did not directly answer, so the question was impatiently repeated.

"Paris is not like this place, Ursula, is it?" said Mrs. Weir, giving her answer to me. My husband has been ill. I ought to see that he is comfortable in France, but I do not know how. Will he-" her voice trembled, and for the first time she addressed her husband directly: "George, will you come back to England?"

There must have been something in that familiar name, which touched with warmth even Mr. Weir's heartlessness. It might have been an association of by-gone years, of the days when his wife in her simplicity and childish awe, first ventured to address him by it; it might have contrasted with the hopes he had then given her, and the wreck of health and happiness of which he too well knew himself to be the cause. Be that as it may, he rose from his seat, drew near her, and taking her hand said, "England cannot be my home, my dear, but you must come and see me in France," immediately afterwards, as though ashamed of having given way to that slight expression of feeling before me, he added in a light tone: "We have forgotten the lemonade. You must have some to drink to my better health; they have no wines fit for such a purpose here."

I was afraid to leave him, for I feared the subject he might introduce; but I did him injustice. His word was given, and he would not have dared to break it. Yet no doubt for other causes he disliked seeing me in the room.

I must have seemed

to him a spy and an intruder. I disengaged myself from Mrs. Weir and went down-stairs. M. Dalange was in the salon. The look with which he greeted me showed me at one glance that we were enemies. I curtsied to him, and having given the order for the lemonade, sat down. drew near and addressed me in his broken English. He hoped I was well, not the worse for my late walk; he seemed

He