over; but, in consequence of there being so many in front of him, he did not reach the door as quickly as he had intended. A man near him, seeing his anxiety to be gone, quietly but effectively opened a way for him through the crowd, and almost immediately he found himself once more in the open air. Looking around him, in order to find out who it was that had thus acted as his guide, he recognised the features of Mr. Seymour's head-gardener.

Why, Lisburn," he said, "I did not expect to find you here."

The gardener touched his hat, which he had just resumed; but, though he might have expressed his own surprise at meeting Mr. Hastings, he contented himself with saying, in his usual tone of civility, "I dare say not, sir."

"Do you often attend these meetings?" inquired Mr. Hastings, walking on with him.

66 'Every week-sometimes oftener."

And-speaking frankly and honestly-do you really like them? "Like them!" repeated the gardener, with warmth; "yes, I enjoy them most thoroughly."

"But is it not a hardship for you to be obliged to take such a long walk after your day's work?"

"I would, with the utmost pleasure, walk three times as far to hear Mr. Herbert preach," answered the old man, sturdily.

Charles Hastings seemed thoughtful for a minute; then he asked, "Are there any others of the same way of thinking?"

Many, sir," said Lisburn, with emotion. "I could not, indeed, if I tried, tell you half of the good which he has been the means of accomplishing in this neighbourhood; but that his labours have been already blessed, and that abundantly, is a fact too well known to need confirmation."

"You are quite eloquent," returned Mr. Hastings, in a half-joking, half-serious tone; "and I must conclude from your energy in ascribing to him such unlimited honour, that you are one of my friend Herbert's staunchest and most devoted followers."

"Call, him rather a follower of Herbert's Master," said a voice behind them; and, on turning hastily round, Charles Hastings found his arm taken possession of by the young preacher, who had hurried after and reached them, just in time to overhear his last remark.

"You did not wait for me, Charles," he continued, gently.

'No; I could not tell how long you might be detained. Besidesshall I give you my other reason?"

"Unless you would rather not."

"Know, then, most reverend sir, that your preaching had a strange and startling effect upon me: it uprooted all my previously conceived ideas, and sent them wandering hither and thither in wild confusion; and I feared lest if I saw you while in such an extraordinary condition, and we were induced to hold a disquisition upon the intricacies of the human mind, I might be led to make an analysis of my own."

"And ignorance being in your case 'bliss,' you preferred it to knowledge-chaos to order-darkness to light?"

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Precisely so," answered Mr. Hastings, apparently not in the least offended at Herbert's plain speaking. "I knew that it would be no easy matter for me to attempt to regulate these rampant ideas of mine; and I also knew that, without any exertion on my part, they

would soon quietly settle down, and my mental vision be restored to its wonted clearness."

"Or, in other other words, you will extinguish the little light you have now received, and, instead of allowing the feeling of insecurity -which you cannot deny follows you at the present moment-to exercise a salutary influence upon your heart and conscience, you desire to exchange it for the treacherous calm which so often ushers in the thunder-storm."

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"Ah, I guessed how it would end," returned Mr. Hastings, ruefully; you are always against me, Herbert."

"Against you, my dear Charles," was the tenderly earnest reply; on the contrary, it is because I am so sincerely interested in you that I thus speak."

"I know it," said the other, in a totally changed voice. "You have ever proved yourself my firm and faithful friend, notwithstanding my being quite unworthy of your affections."

They then wrung each other's hands, and exchanged a fervent good-night; and while Mr. Hastings took a cross road which led to his own home, Herbert, after waiting for Lisburn-who had respectfully fallen several yards behind-to come up to him, pursued his way to the Park, conversing, meanwhile, with this his fellow-disciple.

On reaching the house, he consulted his watch; and finding that Mr. Seymour's guests would not be likely to leave for half an hour, he could not resist the temptation of stealing to his own apartment, and spending a few minutes in self-examination and prayer, before appearing among them.

At length, with a serene spirit and unruffled countenance, he repaired to the drawing-room; and, by passing into it from an adjoining conservatory, he was enabled to make his entry without attracting any particular notice.

One glance showed him that Lady Emma was engaged in an animated conversation with young Mr. Hilton. Her mother occupied a couch not far from them; and, while ostensibly lending her exclusive attention to Sir William Crossley, who had been entertaining her with a long rambling account of a very trifling circumstance which took place the day before, she did not for one instant lose sight of her daughter. On first observing Herbert, she made a slight gesture of satisfaction, and pointed with a smile to a chair between herself and Lady Emma. But the young man was on his guard; for, though he responded to her pleased look of recognition, and even came forward and uttered a few ordinary words of polite inquiry, instead of remaining near her, and making use of the indicated chair, he crossed the room, and stationed himself close to Mrs. Hilton, an elderly lady, who was often in danger of being somewhat neglected— her deafness rendering it difficult for any one not thoroughly acquainted with her peculiarities, to sustain a connected dialogue when in her society.

Herbert, however, knew that if not a satisfactory listener, she only needed encouragement to become a fluent talker. All he did, therefore, was to ask a simple question regarding her health, which, when she understood, she answered, proceeding immediately afterwards to give him the history of a cold she had lately been suffering from, the remedies which had afforded her the greatest relief, and the best mode of treating colds in general. Then, gratified exceedingly at

Herbert's respectful and attentive manner, she went on to speak of other and more interesting subjects, until, to her surprise, she found that nearly all the guests had already left.

Her carriage was announced at the same moment as Lady Clifford's ; and, much to Mr. Seymour's mortification, Herbert attended her to it with the utmost politeness; merely stopping long enough to wish Lady Emma a brief though kindly good-night, as he passed her on his way.

Mr. Seymour's brow looked stormy when he returned to the drawing-room, after having endeavoured himself to atone for his son's neglect. Whether that neglect had been wilful or undesigned, he could not at once determine; but he was inclined to consider it the result of premeditation: and, this being the case, he would probably have expressed his displeasure by words as well as looks, had he not been restrained by the presence of two or three visitors, who were staying in the house.

An hour later, Herbert was thoughtfully pacing the floor of his own room before retiring for the night. His musings were of a very mingled nature-hope and fear, encouragement and disappointment, pleasure and pain, being strangely and promiscuously blended together; and while a thousand inquietudes occupied his mind regarding the future, he was at the same instant animated by a thousand pleasing recollections of the past.

A gentle tap at the door roused him from his reveries; and on going to open it, he found his mother standing on the threshold.

"Herbert," she said, coming forward a few steps, "I want to speak to you for a moment."

A fleeting look of surprise crossed the young man's face, but he immediately wheeled a large chair close to the fire, for the night was chilly, and, turning to her with a pleasant smile, asked, "Will you not sit down, my dear mother?"

Mrs. Seymour made no reply, but she unresistingly suffered him to place her in the chair, and then remained for a short time silently gazing into the fire.

"I fear you are very tired," remarked Herbert, when a few minutes had thus elapsed.

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Oh, no," she answered, lifting her head, and regarding him with a quick glance of affection; "but I certainly seem to be forgetting what I had to say to you. To-morrow being your birthday, I knew I should have no convenient opportunity of seeing you alone; therefore I decided on bringing you my little gift now. Here it is," she continued, hastily unfastening a velvet case which she held in her hand, and taking from it a beautiful portrait of herself, set with large diamonds; "I hope you will like it."

"The difficulty would be not to like it," returned Herbert, gazing admiringly at the picture, which was indeed an admirable likeness. "How I shall prize it! the eyes are so exact—and the hair, and the mouth wears the very smile I love so much to see on it. Really it is a most successful effort, and the artist deserves unqualified praise. But-pardon me for saying so these diamonds were quite an unnecessary addition; the portrait would, in my opinion, be equally valuable without them."

Mrs. Seymour smiled at his simplicity, but she was delighted to find that he was really pleased with the likeness; for, though she had

sat for several to the first living artists, this was the only one Herbert had ever liked.

Presently, Mrs. Seymour began to speak of the arrangements which had been made for the next day; and, in enumerating her expected guests, mentioned the names of Lady Clifford and her daughter.

"There will be no dancing, my dear," she hastened to assure him, on seeing that his face became grave; "instead of the ball with which we used to celebrate

She suddenly stopped, for Herbert had started from his seat, and was pacing the room with uncontrollable agitation.

"Mother," he said, pausing at length in front of her, and speaking gravely and significantly, "for the future I should wish to avoid Lady Emma's society as much as possible."

Why, what has happened?" inquired Mrs. Seymour, anxiously; "has she in any way given you cause to alter your opinion of her?" "Certainly not," rejoined Herbert, smiling slightly; "my opinion has undergone no change whatever. I need not, however, particularise," he went on, speaking more seriously; "it is enough that we have nothing in common, and doubtless Lady Clifford would be herself the first to complain, if she heard her daughter's name coupled with mine."

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"Indeed you are mistaken," cried Mrs. Seymour, incautiously betraying more than she had intended. Lady Clifford is most anxious"

"I cannot understand that," said Herbert, thoughtfully; "she is proud and ambitious."

"Be it so," returned Mrs. Seymour, haughtily, and with considerable warmth; "I should imagine that the son of a Seymour and a Haughton might with every confidence aspire to the hand of an earl's daughter. Besides," she observed, in a gentler tone, "Lady Emma has no fortune-none worth speaking of, I mean-you forget that. But if you really feel averse to this arrangement, which I must confess your father and Lady Clifford have both set their hopes on, I will give you all the assistance in my power."

"Thanks, my dear mother," said Herbert, gratefully. "How I wish," he added, with an involuntary sigh, " that my father could be induced to treat me with the same confidence and affection!"

"You must have patience," answered Mrs. Seymour, re-echoing the sigh. "I would gladly shield you from his anger, if I could; for I fear"

"You?" exclaimed the young man, quickly, a shade of sadness crossing his expressive countenance; "do you not know that the mere idea of your having to undergo even the slightest amount of suffering on my account would add tenfold to my anxieties? Thank God," he continued, fervently, after a pause, "for the comforting ⚫surance that all things work together for good to them that love Him this precious promise I can claim as my own; will not you, my dearest mother, make it yours also?"

Mrs. Seymour shook her head despondingly, but did not otherwise reply to his question.

A few minutes later she rose from her seat, laid her hand caressingly upon the young man's shoulder, gazed wistfully and tenderly into his face, and, after uttering a word or two of earnest affection, departed, leaving him once more alone.

CHAPTER XIII.

WISDOM AND FOLLY.

"No disappointment could he ever brook:
The brook of patience he must always cross
For every little cross. He cross would even look
If nothing he might have to cause him trouble,
Which would his crave for anger e'en support.
Pile upon pile he'd build it, till 'twould double,
Then vent his rage where'er it vent could find,
Finding the venting served to ease his mind."

MRS. SEYMOUR did not deem it advisable or expedient to repeat to her husband what had passed between herself and Herbert, respecting Lady Emma Clifford; for, knowing that he would be made acquainted with the young man's resolution quite soon enough without her intervention, she was unwilling to be the first to communicate such distasteful and unwelcome tidings.

A short time served to prove the correctness of her conjecture. Mr. Seymour, whose suspicions had been already aroused, watched Herbert's demeanour with additional vigilance. He observed that, if he happened to be accidentally or unavoidably thrown into the young lady's society, he treated her as he had always done-with kindness and well-bred politeness; but, so far from voluntarily seeking her, he scrupulously avoided her whenever he could do so without being guilty of absolute rudeness.

Neither pleasure nor profit could be derived by lingering too long upon this particular page of Herbert's history; but my readers can easily picture to themselves Mr. Seymour's wrath when he found his well-laid schemes thus quietly frustrated.

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Really," he said angrily to his wife-forced at last to come to the humiliating conclusion that it was useless to press the matter further "Herbert seems to embrace every opportunity of thwarting me; since taking up these strange fantastical notions, which he holds so pertinaciously, he has been transformed into one of the most obdurate and perverse young men I ever met with."

"Do you think so, my dear ?" returned Mrs. Seymour, in a tone of feigned indifference, turning her head uneasily away as she spoke, lest she should betray her real feelings. "Now I should have said "

"Pooh !" he answered, in a half-contemptuous, half-amused voice, "who would ever dream of asking your opinion, my love? of course you are naturally disposed to make the best of him; but I cannot be quite blind to his defects."

Mrs. Seymour's cheek grew pale, and her heart swelled within her, as her thoughts reverted to the time when he had refused to see a single imperfection in Herbert's character. And yet, how improved and beautified that character had become since then! how much