As the Shepherds drove to the station on their

way back to London, they expressed their satisfaction at all they had done.

We have made them all see that we don't mean to be looked down upon."

What would they have said if they could have overheard the comments on all sides on their say

ings and doings during their forty-eight hours in Norhambury!

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SHEPHERDS AT NORHAMBURY.

THE Shepherds returned to London; and within ten days, London workmen, London papers, carpets, chintzes and damasks, arrived at the dingy old house in Norhambury Precincts; and a rapid transformation took place. All that could be done to make it as unlike what it had been, was done; in short, no one living in the Precincts had seen its like as a neighbour before. Its chief characteristics were, discomfort and gaudy vulgarity.

When the whole was complete, and the smell of the paint had sufficiently subsided, the family came down to take possession, bringing with them supplies from the Co-operative Stores to last months. have as little to do as possible with the Norhambury tradespeople seemed to be their great object.

To

Was it to be wondered at, that they consequently made the most unfavourable impressions upon those amongst whom they were coming to live? Nor was it only amongst the middle classes. The quietgoing society of Norhambury did not understand the bustling, interfering spirit which pervaded all that the ladies of the family said and did. While Mrs. Shepherd declared her one desire was to reform all the charities in the town, and to establish various schemes which she had found so successful in London, her daughters were bent on getting up croquet-parties, and improving their acquaintance with Lady Caroline Broadbent, and, through her, with the officers.

It was new life to them to have a position of any kind. As the daughters of a London clergyman, their share of what they looked upon as the one great object -“good society”—was small indeed. Mr. Shepherd, as a popular preacher, and, in his own line, an active clergyman, had plenty of dinner invitations; and sometimes-but very rarely-his wife was included, by those whose consciences did not admit of asking a husband alone. But the daughters were never by any chance included; and, as in those days the gardens at Lambeth and Fulham were not thrown open with

the same hospitality as is now the case, the Miss Shepherds never came face to face with the world of which they read and dreamt. What a delight to feel that now they formed part of an important staff; that, as Canon's daughters, they would be looked up to; that now, not only would they be always included in invitations, but that one of their duties would be to entertain at home! Alas! the square plot of grass behind the house was much too small for croquet; and the hints they threw out to the Bishop, the Dean, and the other Canons, of how charming it would be to have croquet under the Elms or in the Bowling-green, met with no response. The Dean did not like innovations.

"All that we ever allow," he said, "is, that when the commanding officer is kind enough to offer it, the band of the regiment plays under the Elms; and one summer it used to make a very pleasant weekly gathering."

So it did; but a very tragic story was the result. There were a very pretty set of girls, daughters of one of the Minor Canons, Mr. Denham; and one of them-Anna-attracted the notice of a young ensign, Lord Henry Dawson. He contrived to be introduced

to her and her sisters; and week by week he devoted himself to her at the time the band played. She saw him, and him only. He saw her, but many others besides. And it never occurred to him, when he amused himself with her artless conversation, and admired her fresh beauty, that he was trifling with the happiness of a life.

The poor girl rested on his words, implicitly believing all he said. She never thought a real gentleman could say what he did not mean. She had seen nothing of the world, and heard very little of what went on in it.

The time came for the regiment to leave Norhambury. She was looking forward to a farewell meeting— to last words. That time, those words, never came. And she awoke from her dream one morning by seeing the troop march through the Precincts on its way to the station, the band playing "The girls we leave behind us;" while her sisters were loud in their lamentations over the loss of the regiment.

Anna never spoke on the subject; she went about her daily duties, apparently, as usual.

Perhaps he will write to me; perhaps he will come back," she said to herself, the first few weeks after