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white hands? Ah, poor me! how sorry I feel! Is there no chance for me yet, think you?"

"Never mind, Miss Frank," said Clara, biting her lip with vexation; "I'll be revenged for this: just wait! only hope you will fall desperately in

love with him!"

A "I hope I may," said Frank, laughing. "I do so long for some excitement!"

The bell rang ere Clara could frame an answer, and a servant entered with a card.

"Percy Bryan, as I live, Frank!"

"The old saw verified," remarked the girl, quietly. "For shame, Frank! Did he ask for me or 'tho ladies,' Thomas ?"

"The ladies, ma'am. He mentioned Miss Cushman"

"There now, Frank! you must go and dress; only be quick, there's a darling."

"I shall do no such thing," was the composed reply. "I might dress for a lady; but for a gentleman-oh no, thank you!"

66

"Why, Frank, that is too bad!" cried Clara, angrily. Percy Bryan is the very model of elegance, and fastidious to a degree. Only just imagine yourself going down in that horrid wrapper, and your hair in that plight!"

"My dear Clara, the wrapper was not considered horrid at breakfast, I believe. On the contrary, if I recollect rightly, Mr. Hastings particularly admired it; and, as for my hair, really I thought I had arranged it quite nicely." And Frank walked towards the tall mirror and smoothed, with her small fingers, the raven mass parted so plainly on her fair white brow.

Fanny Ashton had been wrong in her assertion that Frank Cushman possessed no style; she had a very decided one; and, when she had finished speaking, she took from the arm of the sofa a crimson cashmere, and, folding it about her graceful figure, calmly followed Clara into the drawing-room, to be introduced to the irresistible Percy Bryan.

She saw, at a glance, that she had formed a wrong idea; but, with somewhat of perverseness, perhaps, seated herself at a distance, and answered in quiet monosyllables, a lurking smile just betraying her dimples, now and then, as she could not but see how worried, how angry poor Clara grew.

Percy Bryan night, indeed, have typified extremest elegance; for every movement of his fine form was replete with unstudied grace, and every word he uttered told flatteringly upon the ear; every feature of his handsome face beamed with subdued vivacity when he spoke, with the utmost deference when others were speaking. Unlike some men, who convey by every word and motion how far beyond the rest of the world they deem they have gone in the art of good-breeding, and whose constant aim is to produce on all around an overpowering impression, Percy Bryan no sooner entered an assemblage than the atmosphere of perfect ease,

which he carried about him, seemed to diffuse itself through the room, to the comfort and self-satisfaction of everybody. Then he was, as Clara had said, gifted and talented, and fascinating; and, when we have enumerated all these various and excellent qualities, we were a most ungrateful member of society to pronounce him hollow-hearted.

But what was all this to Frank Cushman? What mattered it that his speaking eyes constantly sought hers, so resolutely veiled beneath their sweeping fringes that, on her merest remark, his fine head bent towards her with marked deference and profound respect? Perfectly independent as regarded her own actions, it suited her now to be silent; and silent she was through the whole of that rather long morning call.

Percy Bryan had been so accustomed to be courted, to see bright eyes grow brighter, and sweet smiles sweeter, on his approach, that, perhaps for the first time since boyhood, he experienced the sensation of amazement, in thinking over the hour just passed, while pursuing his way to call on the Ashtons.

"Singular, very, this Miss Cushman! Remarkably collected and cool"-as a cucumber, he would probably have added, had Percy, Bryan ever imagined such an inelegant comparison. "Not beautiful, certainly; and yet she is, when she lifts those splendid eyes, or speaks. I must see more of her," was his concluding reflection, as he rung the bell at Ashton's residence.

Sarah Ashton was alone in the drawing-room. It had become quite an understood thing for the family group to scatter, when Percy Bryan entered the front door.

She was sitting at the piano, and trying to look cool, and seem absorbed in the song before her; still, before she raised her head to greet the visitor, who had not spoken yet, the warm color stole up to her temples, and down to her snowy throat, just disclosed by the gossamer fold of lace about the neck of her simple, yet exquisitely becoming morning-dress.

Sarah's beauty was of that superior kind which asserts its claims instantly. No one could presume to dispute that her complexion was not faultless, that her large and liquid eyes were not matchless, that her features were not all formed with the most chiselled exactness, and her figure with perfect symmetry. Still, her style was not peculiar; and, though few equalled her in the purity of their charms, many might be found, the character of whose beauty, more or less, resembled hers.

She was intelligent and amiable, with a large dash of romance in her composition, and somewhat singu lar, withal, from the warmth and simplicity of her nature; she had felt the world's breath, but had not received it, and this had formed her attraction in Percy Bryan's eyes. For the last few days, he had almost been tempted to launch his bark on the untried sea of matrimony; but the preceding half

hour had startled him somewhat; he shrank back from the dreaming house, passed but so lately. He said to himself, "Do not be in too great a hurry: wait awhile."

CHAPTER IV.

"Oh, much I fear thy guileless heart, its earnestness of feeling,

Its passions and its sympathies to every eye revealing; I tremble for that winning smile and trusting glance of thine,

And pray that none but faithful ones may bow before thy shrine."-J. G. WHITTIER.

"Joy for the present moment! joy to-day!

Why look we to the morrow?"—SARGENT. FANNY ASHTON, with her own toilet completed for Mrs. Hastings's party, stood by her sister's dressingtable assisting, advising, and chattering.

"Percy Bryan not going with you, Sarah! That's odd, very!"

"I do not think so," said Sarah, laughing faintly, as she fastened a rose-bud in her beautiful hair. "Why should it be more singular than that Cousin Harry, or Tom Stephens, or-or any of the gentlemen we know, are not going with me?"

"Why, indeed? I'm sure I cannot tell, if you do not know. Of course, you understand your own affairs best. Only"

66 'Only what?"

"Oh, nothing; only that lovers are generally more attentive than the one in this instance."

"A lover, Fanny! How perfectly absurd! No one but you would make such a speech!" said Sarah, reddening angrily.

"Well, my dear sister, we won't quarrel about terms; only, if he is not, in my humble opinion, he ought to be! I hope you have more spirit than to allow any man to trifle with you."

Sarah was silent. She would not for the world, and more especially at this time, have betrayed her feelings; so she choked down the rising emotion resolutely, and affected to be oblivious to her sister's insinuations.

Fanny Ashton had no idea how keonly her words struck home. She was indignant at Bryan, disgusted at what she supposed a proof of his fickleness: her anger exhausted, she became calm again, and offered her sister the loan of Tom Fenton's spare arm-Tom Fenton was her acknowledged loverand Sarah laughingly accepted it.

Still, when Fanny found herself in the dressingroom at Mrs. Hastings's, her vexation returned.

"Is it not too bad, mamma, that Sarah should have no attendance? She, who has always made her entrée with such éclat, to be deprived of a beau to-night, because of that hated Percy Bryan's caprices! If he had not been so constantly in wait

ing lately, it would make no difference; but now there will be a world of remarks, particularly as I happen to know he is here to-night, and alone!"

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'How do you know that?"

"Oh, never mind, mamma; trust to woman's wit to find out all she seeks to know."

"Well, dear, it cannot be helped; and really I do not see that it matters. I can make an excellent chaperone; and, once in the room, she will be surrounded that must always be, with her beauty."

"Oh, pshaw!-I beg pardon, mamma. But, if we were not in a crowded dressing-room, I would deliver a long dissertation on the evils to which Bryan has subjected poor Sarah by his trifling. No one likes to play second fiddle-no one likes to be very attentive to a girl who has been jilted."

"Fanny, I am ashamed to hear you talk thus! Who has been jilted? Not Sarah Ashton, I am sure!" replied Mrs. Ashton, all a mother's pride in

arms.

"What on earth are you talking about?" said Sarah, coming over to the dark corner where they. stood. "You cannot see to do anything here, I am sure; and, Fanny, Tom will be tired waiting."

"Let him wait, then-till I am ready," Fanny replied, applying herself slowly to the arrangement of her toilet.

It was not a conspicuous position, by any means, that Frank Cushman had chosen; nevertheless, before the sisters had greeted their hostess, both had remarked her slight, graceful figure seated on an ottoman, and, standing beside her, the tall form of Percy Bryan.

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There!" Fanny exclaimed, involuntarily, and her penetrating eyes encountered her sister's. Her exclamation, her look, touched the prideful heart. Sarah drew up her stately figure, the beautiful head erected itself haughtily, and the short, red upper lip assumed its regal air.

"Bravo!" Fanny whispered; and Sarah could have smiled, had not her heart weighed down so heavily, when she caught a glimpse of herself in a splendid mirror.

Five minutes after, her merry laugh floated on the fragrant air. She started, it sounded strangely, not part and parcel of herself; and so it was with every word she uttered, every laugh that broke from her lips that evening. Many were round her, and soft and earnest the tones ministering to her vanity; but their idle compliments wearied her, and constant were the efforts she made to reply to them, to carry on the farce commenced. Once she disengaged herself for a moment, and stood quiet and alone. Her sister's voice aroused her.

"Well, I give up, Sarah; she is pretty; there's no denying it-fascinating! But I do not like her, for all-prejudice, perhaps-but I think her vain : only watch her!"

"Who?"

"Who? What a question! Frank Cushman!

And you are looking straight at her, and ask me who."

"I beg pardon, sister; but I did not hear what you were saying. Some one's dress"

"Oh, pshaw! Why you are crazy to-night, Sarah !"

The fair girl colored vividly.

"What did I say? I was absent. Have I made myself ridiculous ?"

"No; as it was only to me you were speaking, But prenez garde, I implore you!" she whispered, as Percy Bryan moved towards them.

Little Amy Bryan stood under the chandelier, with rosy cheeks, and chattered volubly to a knot of admirers.

"Oh, I think she is superb! How can you say she is not? Sarah Ashton said she was beautiful; but I didn't believe it, because she declared she had no color, and none of us could fancy beauty without that. But it's just as she said; you never think of it. How desperately smitten Percy seems! How nice it would be to have her for a sister!"

"So, Miss Amy, you do not contemplate the possibility of your brother ever being an unsuccessful suitor ?"

"Oh dear, no!" replied the little lady. "Why, if Percy were to make love to an angel, she would have to return it! Why, though I am his sister, I am sure I shall never like another man like him."

Then, of course, followed various gallant lamentations over such heart-rending intelligence, in the midst of which some one observed

"And Sarah Ashton-what has happened there? I thought Percy was all devotion."

"What nonsense!" cried Amy, reddening. "That was only a flirtation."

"I wonder," said the same gentleman, smiling, and glancing at Frank Cushman, now thoroughly animated, and talking to Percy Bryan with great spirit "I wonder if that is only a flirtation? and, if so, which will win the game, Miss Cushman or your brother?"

"No one can excel Percy, when he chooses to exert himself," was Amy's reply.

"Ah, that is the thing; any one can do that which one exerts one's self to do. But Miss Cushman seems to have the power to win her will without any extra trouble. What she is, she is, because she cannot help it; and she does not look as if any motive could be sufficiently strong to tempt her from her originality. I like her exceedingly!" And the gentleman sauntered off towards the object of his remarks.

Fanny Ashton had been fearful that her sister would disclose her wounded feelings in a conversation with Percy Bryan. She was therefore surprised at her perfect composure when he addressed her; nothing in her tones, looks, or words which could convey to the spectator that they were on other than the most indifferently friendly terms.

Then, with the impetuosity of her nature, she went to the other extreme; she was thoroughly vexed that Sarah had not been more dignified and reserved-had not shown plainly her full appreciation of his conduct. She was wrong, and Sarah right.

The impulse of a noble woman guided Sarah correctly; her feelings, regulated and subdued by true pride, were too delicate to obtrude themselves: she was almost the same as she had been in the early stages of their intimacy. The one sad thing in this was not perceptible, but, nevertheless, existing. She had not only taken a step forward in life, but, in so doing, some of youth's fresh bloom was lost from her spirit: inevitable consequence, and a wise one, perhaps; but sad, for all.

She was glad, after he had gone from her, that she had met him: she suffered, but she was calm; her delirious, flighty gayety exhausted her: now she moved about attended by her full faculties; before all was confusion. Yes; she was glad she had conversed with him.

Frank Cushman talked peculiarly. There was nothing conventional in her form of conversation; it differed from the current coin, in that its tone was higher and superior; still, no one could have accused her of pedantry; indeed, there was much more of sentiment than of intellect about her. She was not affected either; both her language and mannor were perfectly simple; one only felt a pervading sense of the beautiful diffused, as it were, through the air around her, through her being.

Besides, Frank was both independent and dependent in her nature: not such an anomaly as it may seem. Independent in her thoughts, her views, her line of action, so long as her spirit stood alone, from a consciousness that there was nothing on which to lean; but ready, the moment such a stay offered, to yield all and repose. The yearning of her life was for repose: should she never find it? Perfect trust must be so delightful; yet she had never felt it.

Though, as a girl, she had devotedly loved Philip Arden, she had never for a moment felt that she could give up the direction of her life to him. What! a man who could not govern himself a fit support for her? Absurd! And yet she loved him, and not as a brother, she felt assured; the stream of tenderness ran too deeply. "But I do not respect him sufficiently," she said. "I know him too thoroughly. If he could only conceal from me his faults of disposition!-but no; all is open to me as the day." Yet she could not but acknowledge that, if ever he learned to govern himself, then Philip Arden for her against the world! One thing was certain though-she would not marry him unless he did.

Percy Bryan she liked; but she could never love him. He might be more elegant than Philip, more intellectual, perhaps he was also less strong. He might lead many through life with happiness, and

command their respect, too; but not her, with her strong mind, and strong feelings, and deep capabili ties. What was love without respect-almost veneration? She could not conceive of it.

When the last guest had departed, and Clara would fain have detained her in the comfortable lounging-chair by the fireside, to talk over the events of the evening, she hastily bid her goodnight, and ran up to her room. She threw on her dressing-gown and seated herself before her toilet in a large arm-chair; taking the comb from her hair, and suffering her magnificent tresses to fall over her neck and shoulders, she leaned back in abandonment. She felt so weary; as if life was such a farce, and its actors so pitiable! She often felt thus, but was not wont to give way to her emotions. She knew that such thoughts were opposed to religion; that religion which her excellent mother had striven so long to instil into her heart. She blessed God for a pious mother, without which she thought she had been in danger of straying into those easy paths which an imaginative, speculative mind lays out so constantly and involuntarily. She felt sometimes that she was like a perverse childevery way but the right way. She had imposed on herself this trial, this going from home; now she shrank from it; she felt herself looking forward to the future. After all, Philip might not be changed! What was there to alter him? And, then, what was to be done? Frank forgot Divine agency, which directs and controls human agency; she was giving up to her usual unbelief and unresisting nature. But, after all, it is very hard for the natural human heart to see a way for the accomplishment of its hopes. We may not condemn her.

She was sleepless that night; the struggle between impulse and principle wearied her, yet, at the same time, drove repose from her. Taking up a pencil, she strove to release herself from the troublesome bondage of thought by committing it to paper.

"I do not see why I should feel it incumbent on me to destroy my happiness with mine own handto leave scarcely a chance for brighter days! And yet I cannot shake off my mother's influence. She bade me ask my own heart if, in the face of Heaven, I could wed a man who feared not his Maker, and thus, by my actions, dare the misery sure to follow? And, when I did so, my heart answered, 'I would dare anything but my conscience-that it was which restrained me.

"But oh, when I think, it seems so calculating to love environed by such restraints! My impulse bids me become Philip's, and trust to fate; my principles bid me reject him, and trust my happiness to Providence!

"Why are my nature and my education made to war so constantly? And yet I shame to ask the question: I should rather bless God that it is so! "Oh, how solemnly I declared my intention to forsake him! I know I could not do so now; but,

just then, the passions of the heart were still, subdued by the effect of a mother's prayer. Just then, all I desired was to do right, and leave the rest with Heaven. It hath passed-that momont; I fear I shall never feel so again."

CHAPTER V.

"Her face was hidden in her hands; but tears Trickled through her slight fingers-tears, those late Vain tributes to remorse."

66 My desolation does begin to make

A better life!"

THE next few months were passed by Frank in a whirl of gayety.

Her sister, Mrs. Hastings, was a fashionable woman, living handsomely, frequenting excellent society; giving, herself, many extravagant parties, and called upon, in return, to bestow the light of her countenance on the assemblies of her friendsso called.

Frank was somewhat bewildered; she forgot her depression in constant excitement; right and wrong were not so clearly defined as they were wont to be. She was new-she queened it, as Sarah Ashton had predicted she even did that for which she had always expressed the most supreme contempt-she flirted! and with Percy Bryan!

lar;

With the young ladies she was therefore unpopubut the gentlemen, according to custom, adored her, or professed to adore. Her style of dress was pronounced whimsical and outlandish by the ladies; by the gentlemen, unique and refreshing.

"Would you believe it?" said Amy Bryan, one morning, quite confidentially, to a knot of girls who had gathered around her "would you believe it? I went with brother yesterday to call on Miss Cushman-a formal morning call, mind you Well, we caught her in the drawing-room! Caught, I say, because she looked as if attired for some tragic representation; her long hair curled, I suppose Percy would call it, but I should say waving upon her shoulders, and a shawl thrown around her. Then she was seated in a lounging-chair, with her eyes closed, and humming some sentimental song; and the strangest thing of all was, that she didn't express the slightest apology, or show any confusion, but got up, looking as pale and composed as though we had found her in the most elegant négligée. Well, what do you think Percy said, after all? That he admired her dress a thousandfold more than mine! Than mine!" Amy repeated, glancing down at her rich silk dress and elegant velvet cloak-at her costly sables, and most recherché and becoming little bonnet !

"I left Percy there," she continued, after the various comments had been expended. "He grew

80 empressé, that I was frightened lest he should make a declaration while I was present!"

Amy possessed all her brother's fickleness; she had early taken a jealous dislike to Frank Cushman ; and, while she was pouring forth what she had seen, and heard, and thought, Percy was making the offer of his hand to the unconscious object of her remarks.

And how Frank started! She had trod the same ground before; but never to feel the acute sting of conscience rising up to tell her how weak she had shown herself-how she had departed from her standard of right!

"Is it possible that I have given enough encouragement for this?" she said; and then she could not but answer, yes. A vivid recollection of how her time had been spent for many weeks presented itself with unpleasing distinctness: the long mornings lounged away in Clara's own quiet sittingroom, where the sentimental song blended with the breathings of the harp or guitar, beguiled the swiftfooted hours. Or the books which he was constantly bringing to read to her, while she busied herself in some quiet feminine occupation, listening to his deep, rich voice and animated remarks. Then the noonday walk or drive, and the evening meeting again at some crowded party or showy concert, where many eyes were upon them, watching her undisguised preference to his society above all others.

And now, after all this, she was to say "No;" for instantly she felt it could be no other word; and tears of shame and contrition were aching in her eyes, which must not be shed.

He heard her quietly, not calmly, and left her. Perhaps he felt he deserved her rejection; perhaps he remembered-for, in his heart, he felt he had been trifled with-that on him, also, the charge might be laid.

Dashing away the blinding tears, Frank rushed from the room: on the stairs, a servant handed her a letter; closing her door, she threw herself on her knees and tore it open. Well she knew the handwriting; but she read it slowly, for her eyes were dim, and she could not see the lines her tears were blotting so sadly. It ran thus:

"You forbade my writing to you, Frank-dear Frank-but you must forgive me that I cannot obey.

What was it that you said to me that took from me my life, and strength, and energy-which placed an obstacle between our union which I feared could not be overcome?

"You could not marry me as I was; one who had so little control over self: I must be changed.

"Hopeless!' I said to myself. Has it not been my constant, unavailing effort, since childhood, to keep my temper in subjection, and now, at five-andtwenty, what encouragement have to proceed?'

"For weeks after you had gone, Frank, I was mad, wild; and my temper, the very thing which had sent you away from me, was destroying me!

"Frank, did you ever thank God that he had given you a pious mother? That, morning and evening, through all your life, one had knelt to plead for you, to call blessings on your path? Oh, if you have not, do so now!

"They did not tell you how the fever in my veins brought on delirium; how days passed in ceaseless agony; or how one knelt by my side and prayed for me. How, through all my madness, that kneeling figure haunted me; and, when I woke from that long, dreadful dream, still it was there, with its calm eyes and heavenly peace. It was your mother! When I looked on her the fever stayed; when I listened to her words a holy yearning was born in me, and over the struggles of my soul, beyond hours and days to come of combat and trial, lay the strength for which I had wished. It was still in the future; but what of that? I had received the deep, the sincere desire to possess it, and that, with the help of Heaven, must prove its surety.

"And oh, how different the motives with which I regarded the future struggle from those with which, in former days, I strove to subdue my passions! Be not offended, Frank, when I tell you higher, purer motives now animate me. My thoughts before were, Give me Frank, and I have Heaven!" Now I feel, 'Give me Heaven, and I shall win my Frank!'

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"I said to your mother, 'Now I have found the way to conquer; but you must aid me still by your prayers, and Frank also. I will write, and ask her not to forget me in her morning and evening petitions to Heaven.'"

Frank dropped the letter with a feeble, wailing cry. "While he has been struggling, what have I been doing? While he was lying in sickness, in pain, where was I? Oh, Philip! you have been faithful, but I"

"Frank, I am well now; I am mingling again with life, and find how hard it is to be in the world, yet not of it. But by my side an angel walks, and your memory makes me strong. In the evenings I go to your mother, and she is ever ready to aid me by her cordial converse. Sometimes I ask her if I am changed-if Frank can respect and trust me now? And then she smiles, and, pressing her hand upon my shoulder, says, with inexpressible affection, 'My son !'

"Do those words convey to your mind all that they do to mine? Such fulness of joy, such serene, unclouded hope?

"You see, I do not write as though I feared a change in you. When a doubt obtrudes, I think of your last fervent kiss; I feel it now. I measure you by myself: less devotion I could not believe you capable of."

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