CHAPTER L.

I ROSE the next morning at my usual hour, after a disturbed night. There was but little shock in the waking, for thoughts of Roger had been with me all night. I dressed myself mechanically, thinking of him still. I went about my work with this one idea present to me. Every thing I saw, heard, or did, had reference to it. A change had come over life, such as that which I have heard described as experienced by the man who fell into a trance, and was aroused from it after a lapse of fifty years. I found myself grown old and independent, and I marvelled to see that others could quietly pursue their ordinary occupations. If I could have had my will, I would have bade the world, at least my own little world, stop in its course, wind up its affairs, bid farewell to the past, and begin for the future a new life, with new hopes, and, in some degree, new principles.

But life seldom knows such sudden breaks. We must all pass through the period of transition, more trying to the temper, if not the feelings, than the fulness of sorrow or of joy. Roger called me to him after breakfast, and asked what I was going to do with myself all day.

"A good many things," I answered; "it is washing day, and I shall be very busy.'

"You wouldn't have time, I suppose, for a walk. Jessie wants very much to see you.'

Perhaps she had better come over here," I answered. "I can't see her with any comfort at Stonecliff."

"She said she was afraid it was impossible. Mrs. Weir is more ill than usual."

"Is she? You never told me that," I said, quickly.
"I thought you knew it," was Roger's reply.

"No," I said. "I seldom go near Stonecliff now. Is Jessie anxious about her?"

"She did not seem so; only she thought it wouldn't quite do to ask for a holiday. But that won't last long now, Ursie." I thought for a few seconds, feeling strangely aggravated. Then I said: "I will try and go over in the course of the afternoon; but I must go alone."

He looked sorely disappointed. "Yes," I said, "you must let me see Mrs. Weir and Mrs. Temple, and tell them the state of things; and then if you want to see Jessie there will be no difficulty. But it won't do, Roger, to have people making remarks, as they are sure to do if you don't give your reasons for seeking Jessie's company."

"Well," he said, "I suppose you are right. Nothing stops people's mouths like being open about your affairs. And neither Jessie nor I have anything to hide in the matter." "And I suppose you will tell William this morning," I

said.

"I have told him; I spoke to him before I said anything to you. Only I begged him not to mention the matter, because I wanted to have it out with you myself."

I am afraid something in my countenance betrayed the annoyance which I felt in my heart. William to be told before me! I could not have imagined it.

"You are vexed with me, my little. Trot," said Roger kindly; "but I mustn't have you misunderstand. William is such a chief person in all our plans, that if he had greatly objected the whole thing might have fallen to the ground. I was bound, therefore, to find out his mind upon the matter first."

A very matter of fact answer; but it did not soothe my ruffled feelings. I walked away, but he followed me. "Ursie, darling, the first day of the new happiness is not to be the last of the old, is it?

I answered him by a burst of tears. He sat down by me in the window-seat, and drew me fondly towards him; but the touch of his hand was to me like the touch of cold lead, and I withdrew myself from him, saying: "I am very wicked, Roger, I know. You ought to hate me, and you will, for I hate myself."

"You are jealous, Ursie," he replied, gravely. "I suppose I ought to have been prepared for it. But I thought you loved Jessie so well, that you looked on her as a sister already."

"Look on her!" I exclaimed. "Yes, Roger; but what is that? You would know if you were a woman; but you can't -you are a man."

"Then, perhaps I had better not try to know," he said, in the same grave tone; and he stood up to leave me. I could not bear that. I took hold of his hand and looked piteously in his face. My heart was so full, I felt as though it would burst. 66 Oh, Roger! love me," I said. And he stooped down and pressed his lips to my forehead, and I threw my arms round him and kissed him as in former days, with the yearning tenderness of my exceeding love; and then the cold blank fell upon my heart again, and I knew that I had said farewell to that first joy of my youth for ever.

I had strong, passionate, exaggerated affections, but I had also a certain share of right principle and common sense. And what was often almost equally important to me, I was keenly sensible of the slightest absence of sympathy, or want of perception of the nature of my feelings in those with whom I lived. I might give way to an outburst of grief or joy under the pressure of excitement; but the slightest change of voice, or shade of indifference in manner, restored me to my self-possession; and I could then quietly take out my feelings, as it were, and looking at them by the light in which they were seen by the world, keep them under stern control, and compel myself for the future to show only so much as my friends could comprehend and appreciate.

After that interview with Roger, I felt lowered in my own eyes. He could not understand, neither would others. To be so distressed at the idea of a brother's marriage with a person whom I had known, and in a certain way loved, all my life, must to the world be a simple absurdity. More especially when Roger was about to remain in England instead of making for himself a home in Canada. Many, probably, will scarcely believe that I would rather have been parted from him for years, with the full conviction that I was first in his affections, and that I could still look up to him without distrust of his judgment, than have lived with him for the remainder of my life, under present circumstances, in the most perfect English home that could be offered me. But so it was. I said it to myself in so many words, and then I added: "That is my view of the case; now I will see what is required of me by the opinion of the world."

I must prepare myself first for congratulations; and self

respect and feeling for Roger and Jessie demanded that I should receive them cheerfully, in the spirit in which they were offered. Let the bitterness be what it might, no one must know it. Another trial, and perhaps a worse one, would be the necessity of a thoroughly cordial, affectionate meeting with Jessie. That must be gone through immediately, the sooner the better. When I understood her view of her future position, I should be better able to determine in what way to regard my own; and there must be no further exhibition of feeling with Roger. Either it would deaden his affection, or make his home wretched. I had been weak, but he should be taught to look upon the feeling as a temporary jealousy; he should never be reminded how deep was the wound he had unconsciously made. I looked at all these necessities calmly, and with somewhat of a feeling of strength. To be without aim or purpose in trouble, that it was which tried me. When I had once made up my mind what I was to do, and what I should be called upon to struggle against, I could be comparatively satisfied; and I prayed now that God would help me to keep my resolution, for I knew that my stumblingblock was self-confidence.

About eleven o'clock William was accustomed to come in from the field, and take a glass of ale and a bit of bread. He liked rather to linger about then and talk, for he was beginning, poor fellow ! to feel the days long. I knew that would be the time when I must hear what he might have to say about Roger and Jessie, how naturally the two names seemed already to run together!—and I took my needlework into the parlour about ten minutes before the time, and sat down waiting for him. He came in, drank off his glass of beer, and began upon the subject at once. "Well, Ursie, what do you say to the new plans? odd enough, aren't they?"

"Not odd that Roger should stay in England," I said. "It is the best thing that can be done, and as to Jessie-" "She is not the kind of girl I should have thought would have taken his fancy," continued William. "But one never knows. Yet somehow, Ursie, I think if it was not for you he might find he had made a blunder."

"Jessie will learn how to manage things, I dare say," I said, "and it gives her a home."

"Yes, it does that; and-well, it might have been worse. Only I looked to his marrying a woman with some money."

"I think that is just one of the reasons why he has thought of her," I replied, remembering an expression which Roger had let fall, when he told me that he could not even for Jessie have married to leave me to struggle alone. “He felt for her, I am sure."

"He had no cause to do that," answered William, quickly. "He knows she has as much as she had a right to expect; more, indeed; and we have all been very kind to her. If my poor Leah had been her sister twenty times over she could not have done more for her. But Roger always was crotchety from a boy. However, he is going to marry her now, and there is an end of the matter."

William hurried away much sooner than usual; and that was all the help or consolation I was to receive from him. I began to feel very lonely, not the less so because I was setting out for Stonecliff.

In the afternoon, Roger came to me and gave me a note to take to Jessie. How to manage my visit I could not tell. First I thought I would go direct to Mrs. Temple; then I decided that it would be a breach of confidence with Jessie and again I was perplexed as to what I should say to soften the trouble to Mrs. Weir. The very thinking about these things did me a great deal of good, and by the time I arrived at Stonecliff I was as little excited, and as much fidgeted, as a person need be who wishes to act wisely under trying circumstances. There is nothing so good for preserving the balance of common sense as a dose of matter of fact worries.

"I want to see Miss Lee," was my address to the saucy little page who opened the door, and I spoke in a determined tone, to assure him there could be no doubt as to my gaining my point.

"He did not know "-pages never do know-" whether such an interview was possible." But I urged him to decision by insisting that, if I could not see Miss Lee, I must see Mrs. Weir, or Mrs. Temple, or some one; and I made my way into the hall, and seeing the door of the little breakfast-room open, and knowing that it was very seldom used,