letters written to him by friends; the confidences they made to him I feel were sacred, and so we will return all the letters, where the writers are living, and burn the rest."

How many a pang would be spared by such a course being generally adopted, and also by extending it to private journals, which record the thoughts of the day, and may constantly touch upon private histories which were never intended to meet any other eye but the writer's.

It was a sad and busy time. The mornings were spent in sorting and packing off these papers and pamphlets; the afternoons were spent with the family at the Castle, or in rounds in the parish. Neither Mrs. Eversley nor her girls left any word unsaid which could create a favourable impression among the people of their successor.

"It's no use, ma'am; we never shall love anyone after our own dear Rector."

Mrs. Eversley would never fail to enforce upon one and all, that her greatest comfort would be to hear they did find comfort in the one who was to succeed thein.

CHAPTER X.

TRANSITION.

DAYS went on, and, after much consultation with her friends and relations, Mrs. Eversley decided that it would be best to settle at the cathedral town of Norhambury. It was within reach of many friends. It combined many advantages to her daughters.

Lord Essington knew the Bishop, and at once wrote to inquire about houses. He answered, by return of post, to say there was a house now vacant in the Precincts, which he thought would exactly suit them. He much regretted that absence from home would prevent his being able to show it to Lord Essington's friends himself, but he rejoiced in the prospect of having such additions to the Norhambury society as he was sure they would be.

Mrs. Eversley sent Alice and Evelyn over to see it.

"I would far rather that they gave a decided opinion about it than that I should see it myself," she said to Lady Essington. "Whatever they like is sure to

please me."

They did like it, and gave so promising an account that Mrs. Eversley decided to take the house at once, and felt it a great relief to have this important point settled.

Plans which seem in the outset hopelessly intricate, develop wonderfully by patient waiting; and so in this case, all gradually became clear as to what was best to be done.

Mamma, will you promise to go to dear Aunt Georgy before we begin to pull the dear home to pieces? You will trust us, I know; and we would so much rather that you should not see it dismantled," said Alice to her mother, when the final decision about the Norhambury house had been made.

"Dear children, I will do whatever will spare you. I feel that the burden will chiefly fall on you; and I quite understand that you will work better if you think that I am being spared; so, when I have done all that is specially my work, I will write to Aunt Georgy, and settle what day to go."

Lord and Lady Essington were unremitting in their

affectionate attention to Mrs. Eversley. Not a day passed without one or the other coming down to the Rectory to see her and advise her on the many points which had to be settled.

"Our boys are coming home next week," Lady' Essington said one afternoon; "they said they must. come to see you here once more.'

'Oh, I am so glad!" said Evelyn.

Alice was silent; she had had an inward hope that they would not have come, but she dared scarcely allow it to herself.

Lord Rochdale and his brother arrived a few days after this. The meeting at the Rectory was very trying. It is a great relief on such occasions, when you can express sympathy by the fervour of an embrace; but when that is inadmissible, and when there are not even the first details of sorrow to relate and dwell upon, it is difficult to know where and how to begin.

Lord Rochdale broke the silence. "I never had any hope it would be otherwise," he said, "after that last interview with your dear father; and yet, how I hoped against hope, and felt, as I left him that day, what opportunities I had lost in not coming

to him oftener for help and advice!

Ah! we never

know our blessings till we have lost them."

The ice once broken, the conversation turned on their Madeira life and their voyage home, and on the many events which had happened in their absence.

The first burst of early spring, in all its beauty, was a strange contrast to the sadness of the life that was wending its way within the Rectory walls. The beeches, which were the glory of the Durnford Woods, were putting forth their bright green foliage; each leaf was coming out in its first beauty of shape and colour. What can be more beautiful than that veil of exquisite green which hangs over the rugged branches and time-honoured stems of a venerable beech-tree! Above, was this emerald canopy; below, was a rich underwood of tangled brambles and seedlings. other parts, the ground was a carpet of primroses, bluebells, and anemones. All nature seemed awakening to fresh life. It was sad to watch the flowers in the Rectory garden springing up, and to feel that by the time they were in bloom, strangers would be their possessors! The creepers on the walls of the house had each some association, and had been welcomed, as they bloomed and blossomed, like so many friends.

In