I laughed a little-"Oh !" I said, "I know what you are talking about;-Mrs. Temple's way of finding out everything which goes on in the house. It is very odious, I confess; but Jessie is not likely to have much to betray; and so Mrs. Temple will, one must hope, be tired of it before long.'

Just then Jessie came in. Roger placed a chair for her next me. "I have been telling, Ursie," he said, "what you were telling me just now. It is too bad."

Jessie's colour rose. "Oh, it is nothing," she said, "nothing to signify. Ursie won't think it of consequence.'

"Indeed I shall, Jessie," I said, "if there is anything unfair in it, or unlike what a lady should do."

"One can't have one's things to oneself," said Jessie; "but I suppose a girl like me has no right to expect it." The tears were in her eyes in an instant.

"Mrs. Temple likes to know everything that goes on, I am aware," I said.

"But she need not let her servants pry into letters, and ask impertinent questions," said Roger.

"What is the grievance, Jessie ?" I said; "I don't quite understand." Jessie, I saw, was unwilling to answer; she moved to let William pass, for he was just come in to tea, —and made a little fuss with him, wishing, I could not help thinking, to change the subject.

I did not like to press her any further, and some trifling remarks were made which led at last to an observation about Dene. Lieutenant Macdonald's name was accidentally mentioned, Jessie's cheeks were crimson instantly. Whether there was any thing in it more than her trick of blushing and being conscious, I could not tell; but I disliked seeing it. By this time she ought at least to have been able to hear Mr. Macdonald's name with indifference. I suppose I must have been led into a train of thought upon the subject, or in some way shown by my manner that I was not quite comfortable, for Roger called me aside after tea, and said: "Ursie, you shouldn't be hard upon little Jessie; she wants some one to sympathise with her."

I quite started. "Sympathise!" I exclaimed.

sympathise to the utmost.

"I do

No one can know better than I do how hateful it is to live in the same house with Mrs. Tem

ple. But Jessie didn't tell me what the particulars of the present trouble were."

"You didn't ask," he said; "and she is so quick in her feelings, she will never come out to you if you don't encourage her."

Really, Roger," I said, "I can scarcely think Jessie requires encouragement to come out, as you call it, to me, when we have been together, like relations, from childhood."

"Relations are just the very persons to whom it is often most difficult to talk," he said, " and, besides, Jessie looks up to you, and thinks, naturally enough, that you will expect of her the same kind of endurance which you can practise yourself."

"I can't say much for my endurance," I said, laughing. "I know I used to go into my room, at the Heath, and bolt the door, and walk up and down, storming against Mrs. Temple. There wasn't much endurance in that, I am afraid; but it won't exactly do, Roger, to say this to Jessie. You know she has been a little spoilt, and always makes the most of her troubles. I don't mean, of course, that I won't try and give her all the sympathy that is reasonable."

"The question is what is reasonable?" said Roger. "Well tell me what the case is, and then perhaps I can judge."

"I shall leave Jessie to explain for herself," he replied. "Stories always lose their point coming secondhand."

He was a little odd in his manner; and I am sure he knew it, for after he had left the room, he came back again and kissed me, and said: one can't expect all the world to be as wise as you, my little Trot."

I went to Jessie directly, for I felt that perhaps I had been a little wanting in tenderness. She was in my room, crying, and that alone would have made me feel gently towards her, if I had been inclined to be otherwise, which I certainly was not. All I longed to know was that she was not in any way encouraging thoughts of Lieutenant Macdonald. I could not be gentle on that point, it would have been wrong.

In reply to my questions, however, I could gain only very unsatisfactory answers. The principal grievance resolved itself into the fact that she had one day found the housemaid

spying into her drawers, and that Mrs. Temple had been told that she received a great many letters, which Jessie declared to be false. Since then, she said, she had never received a letter without the post-mark being examined, and hints given as to where it came from.

Very disagreeable, Jessie," I said; "but you can't have correspondents enough to make it signify, and if you don't show that you care, the servants will soon leave off troubling you. Nothing stops people's teasing so soon as being indiffer

ent to it."

I don't think Jessie was satisfied. Either she felt herself more of a martyr than she could bring me to acknowledge, or there was some deeper cause of annoyance than I knew of.

She seemed once as though she was upon the point of telling me something more, but hearing Roger call out to her to put on her things quickly, or she would be late, she turned away, saying, "There is no time now, I will talk of it another day.'

I urged the present moment, but the wish, whatever it was, had left her. She went on talking upon other subjects all the time she was preparing to go, and I gained more insight into her present life in those few minutes than in the whole two hours before.

She was very fond of Mrs. Weir; who, indeed, would not have been? and I hoped that the good lady's earnestness was having some effect upon her. Jessie said she read the Bible to her every day, and some other books which Mrs. Temple provided. Mrs. Weir had asked once for a storybook which she had heard of, but it had never been forthcoming, and the history books which Mrs. Temple recommended made Mrs. Weir's head ache, so there was not much variety in the reading; but Jessie had her time fully employed in other ways. She did all the needle-work which Mrs. Weir required, and some for Mrs. Temple besides. That, she said, was the most disagreeable part of her business. Mrs. Temple was so very particular, and did not care how many times she had a dress altered. Jessie had heard some talk of Mrs. Temple's maid leaving, and she was afraid, she said, that it might be proposed to her to take the place, besides waiting on Mrs. Weir.

Impossible!" I observed.

"We couldn't hear of such

a thing, Jessie; you mustn't think of it."

"I don't, you may depend upon that," she replied. "I said to the cook, when she told me it had been suggested, that I should leave at once if it was at all insisted upon. Why, Ursie, a girl might well have two days in one to get through all her work if she has to wait upon Mrs. Temple. She sits before the glass, when she is dressing, fidgeting with her hair, and her maid standing behind her, just as though there was nothing else in the world to be thought of but that she should look her best, and the morning is gone before one has time to look round. I will do any thing in the world for Mrs. Weir; but I would rather fifty times over scrub the floor than attend upon Mrs. Temple." "It

"You must keep your own ground, Jessie," I said. is the only way with Mrs. Temple. But take care to be respectful to her."

"I am that, I think,' ," said Jessie, "and the servants tell me I am a favourite; but it is not home, Ursie."

That was the root of the matter! and I don't think there was any want of affection in my manner then, as I tried to console her, telling her that Sandcombe was a home whilst I was in it, and that God would never leave her without one if I were removed from it. The way in which she listened to me made me feel what Mrs. Weir was doing for her, leading her to the right comfort, and showing her by example that religion is a dress to be worn every day, and not kept for Sunday. It was the one thing Jessie needed to give her strength, and how charming she would be if she had it! only I wished I could be quite sure that nothing was kept back from me. Roger, like me, noticed Mrs. Weir's influence. He and I went with Jessie half across the down, and we talked about serious things, chiefly about a sermon upon trust which Mr. Richardson had preached that afternoon. His remark to me afterwards was, A written sermon may be good, Ursie, and a spoken one better; but an acted one is the best of all. Jessie has gained a whole year in thought and principle since she has been with Mrs. Weir."

I was not sure myself whether it was so much as a year, but time would show.

CHAPTER XLIX.

I

THE Saturday after that I went into Hove for some shopping and marketing, and Mary Kemp with me. stopped at Longside on my way back, and had a cup of tea, and sent the parcels home in the chaise, intending to walk myself. We expected the Farmer and John Hervey to come in about the same time, and I hoped that Roger might make his appearance too, as he also had been into Hove; but finding they were late, I did not like to wait, and set out to walk home alone, leaving word for Roger that I meant to go through Dene. The Prices were, I knew, away, so I thought I might take their road, which shortened the way. I never ventured on such a liberty when they were at home, though there was in fact a right of way through the grounds for every one. The place was kept in good order, and as I had not seen the garden for some time, I asked the gardener if I might go in at one of the little gates of the shrubbery and walk round. The plantation, which I remembered as a collection of stunted shrubs, intersected with sandy walks, was now grown into a little copse of thick trees, pleasantly shading the house. Passing through it, I crossed the turf and went down to the lower pond that I might have a full view of the garden. The foliage of the trees was beautifully fresh and green; the flower-beds on the sloping lawn were filled with roses; the turf was as smooth as on the day I first looked upon it, smooth as no other turf ever was in my eyes. stood the low stone house with its bow windows, and trellised verandah sheltered on one side by the steep woody bank, in which was cut the rough flight of steps leading to my favourite seat; whilst behind rose the darker mass of trees planted in the hollow of the down, and the stone column above them raising its head, as it were, to meet the white clouds which floated majestically across the summer sky. It was very lovely and intensely quiet. The fountains were not playing, so that there was not even the plash of water to break the stillness; and when the old clock over the stables struck six, it gave no impression of a disturbing sound, but only of a solemn voice bidding me mark and ponder upon the silence.

There