a visit to her uncle and aunt? The invitation was given soon after the offer had been made and declined concerning Bob and the clerkship. This was probably the reason why John Rushbrook did not at once and definitely set his face against the idea. But his good nature shrank from the appearance of repulsing two brotherly kindnesses in succession. In a weak moment he said he'd think of it-he'd ask the mother. And he did ask the mother, feeling at the same time, that the affair was as good, or as bad, as settled from that moment. Not but what he sturdily stated his objections to begin with.

"Tell ye I don't like the notion a bit. We don't know much about Tom's wife. She's too fine a lady to come down here, that's all I know. She was dressed up like a play-actress, the only time I set eyes on her. Susy won't cotton to her, I wager. So what's the use ?" he concluded, using a favourite form with him of summing up a case.

Of course Mrs. Rushbrook's eloquence did not fail her at this juncture. She deluged her husband with arguments, "lamed him with reasons," as she had often done before, and as he was quite prepared for her doing now. He gave himself up to be reasoned with and clearly proved to be mistaken, from the first. Finally, with a discomfited shake of his rough head, he rose laboriously from his chair, and left his wife mistress of the position in every sense.

"Well and good-well and good. I partly thought how 'twould be. The lass must go. But she's not to stay away longer nor a month, mind. Now mind that, mother."

Rest easy, father. I'll take care."

And indeed, Mrs. Rushbrook was ready to concede more than that, in the plenitude of her satisfaction at gaining her point.

CHAPTER II.-MICHAEL BARTON.

So this was how Susy's visit to London came about whereby hangs the present tale. For if that young damsel had not gone to London and seen the world, and entered into the gaieties and dissipations of Brixton and its neighbourhood, and made the acquaintance of Miss Amelia Jones, a Kennington young lady of a distressingly-romantic turn of mind—if all this had not happened, no doubt she would have gone on quietly in the wholesome routine of her home life, helping her mother, taking care of her flowers, and finally-falling in love with Michael Barton. And in that case there would have been no story to tell. For Michael Barton would have been a son-in-law after John Rushbrook's own heart. He was not only an excellent young man, but a good farmer, possessing a capital and thriving farm. He was industrious, clever, enterprizing, well-to-do in the world already, and likely to

do still better as time went on. So much for his worldly advantages; in addition to which he had his full share of those attractions likely to commend him more especially to a young girl's good graces. He was a fine-looking fellow, tall and active, with a frank, kindly face, and an honest voice that was apt to dispose people to like him and trust him, even on first acquaintance. He excelled in country sports, was the best cricketer of the county club (looked on as an enviable distinction in those parts), and besides, was something of a scholar for a man of his degree, took an interest in the affairs of the day, and had opinions of his own on political and social questions, which he was able to express clearly and sensibly. Decidedly, both as regarded himself and his position, Michael Barton was a very eligible parti. Yet, as often happens in such cases, he had been particularly slow in availing himself of his undoubted privileges. He was past thirty-yet had hitherto appeared proof against all the fascinations of all the young ladies of the neighbourhood. He was civil to all, but "attentive" to none. Never was such indifference. But when Susy came back from school, those neglected young ladies were amply avenged. Poor Michael! he had carried Susy in his arms when she was a baby, and had always regarded her year by year as a child, till suddenly he found she was not only a woman-but "the woman in the world for him." He felt assured of that very soon. If he ever did marry, he must marry Susan Rushbrook. But that consummation seemed to him very distant-very unlikely. He had none of the impetuous confidence common with lovers, which makes them feel capable of bearing down any and every obstacle that may or does arise before the fulfilment of their wishes. Strangely enough, Michael, who throughout his life had shown that resolution and cheerful perseverance were among his predominant characteristics, at this crisis appeared to be deserted by both. He literally had not courage to present himself before Susy as a lover. He was accustomed to be a tolerably frequent visitor at Westlands, and he continued to come as usual. But no one who saw him there imagined that he came for any other purpose than, as of old, to talk over agricultural matters with the farmer, take a cup of Mrs. Rushbrook's excellent tea, and have a friendly chat with the family generally, just as he had been in the habit of doing any time these ten years. You see they were all very primitive, straight-forward people, and altogether unread in novels;-except Susy, indeed, but in those days Susy had not learned to apply the theories of romance to the practice of her own every-day life. No doubt that "keen observer" we so often hear of, would very soon have discovered something significant in Michael Barton's looks, and voice, and manner. Very likely his eyes did furtively follow the young girl wherever she sat, or stood, or moved about, and his usually clear, strong voice may have altered in

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tone when he spoke to her. Divers signs of this kind were not wanting, we may take for granted, if only the knowledge and experience had been at hand to interpret them. But if any one had suggested to John Rushbrook that "young Barton wanted to marry his daughter," he would simply and conclusively have answered, "No he don't, else he'd say so." And even the female intelligence of his wife would have been equally at fault, for she would naturally argue from all she had ever known or heard of in reference to such subjects, with which the idea of a well-to-do young man liking a girl, and not "making up to her" straightway, was of course totally at variance. "Why, John never missed an evening, and would come to help in the dairy, making such work as never was-so as more butter turned out bad in that six months as he was courting of me, than in all the years before or since put together. Why, of course, any one with half an eye could tell what he came for from the very first. And why not? He wasn't ashamed of it, no more was I. And when my father spoke to him, he spoke up again, manly and straight forward, and he says-says John"

But further reminiscences of those times (and at especially suave moments the good wife liked well to indulge a favoured listener in such) may perhaps be spared from this narrative. It is only necessary to explain and justify what may otherwise appear the singular obtuseness of the Westlands family with regard to Michael Barton.

to

Poor Michael! must be said again. When he heard that Susy was go to London on the next day but one, to spend two or three weeks with Mrs. Thomas Rushbrook, and be introduced to the advantages of metropolitan pleasures and suburban society-when he saw fragments of unaccustomed finery littering the parlour table, and was told of the solemn shopping expedition planned for that very afternoon to the town, six miles off, to get Susy some new things," it may be imagined what were his feelings! He saw the chaise drive off-Mrs. Rushbrook beaming and important beside old Roger, the odd man about the farm, who acted as charioteer on the occasion, and Susy in the little seat behindpretty Susy, blushing and smiling so sweetly, and so innocently full of delighted anticipation, ever and anon chastened by a pang of desperate shyness, at the idea of the new experience awaiting her. And then Michael turned away, groaning in spirit, and feeling that he had never till now sufficiently recognised how unlikely it was that she should ever care for him. He walked back to his own house at a desperate pace, feeling miserable and angry, and vowing within himself that he would keep away from Westlands altogether until he could command a more reasonable state of mind. After which, it will surprise no experienced person to hear that next evening (her last evening, at home for the present), this strangely diffident lover went again, and enjoyed the painful pleasure of being in the same room with the unconscious

beloved for two or three hours. Ostensibly he was talking to the farmer about his agricultural operations of the autumn, but he heard all that passed between Susy and her mother and brothers on the other side the table, concerning the journey of the morrow-a serious affair in those days, involving eight hours of mail-coach travelling-and the wonders she was to see on her arrival. Inserted, parenthetically, at frequent intervals, were Mrs. Rushbrook's injunctions on various heads :—

"And whatever you do, mind you always wrap up well, especially in the night air, and when those fogs are about-for they say as London fogs gives country folks cold immediate. And see as they dont take away your box in mistake, when the mail stops and sets down 'twixt here and London; for Mrs. Bangridge lost her big trunk that way, and only got it again after And now don't you forget, Susy, when you're once there, and got your box and all, to take out your pink muslin and shake it and hang it up, for it 'll be crushed and spoiled else, you'll see. And Aunt Tom 'll take you to buy a bonnet next day, maybe the sooner the better; and you'll see what's worn, and have a choice of the best, and then we shall have it for a patron, and I can get my last winter's altered to it. And you know you'll always attend to what your aunt says; and ask her what you shall wear, if you don't feel rightly sure yourself. And be sure you keep close to her, and never leave go of your pocket, when you're walking out, for there's pickpockets as thick as ants in a nest, as 'll take your purse before your very eyes, and think nothing of it. And don't buy anything without your aunt's advice, for the cheating as goes on, and the trash they sell in some of their fine shops is beyond belief. And remember what I tell you, child; and be sure, above all, you mind when the coach gets in, you just look to see if uncle's there; and if he isn't, don't you stir from the office, not a step-whatever; for London streets is that mazing as I dont suppose you'd ever find your way back again, not if it was only six yards.”

Statements like these, while duly impressing on Susy the necessity for caution, also increased the vague apprehension and discomfort with which Michael regarded the approaching visit. Although his experience of London may have led him to regard its perils in a general way, with less unlimited awe than did Mrs. Rushbrook, his anxiety under present circumstances, was ready to run to any extreme. Besides, he not only feared what the mother feared, but a great deal more. He hated the idea of her going among new people, making new friends, and of course gaining new admirers. At Westlands he knew the extent of what he had to contend with. Distrustful of himself though he was, he had never felt inclined to be jealous of young Thorpe, the miller's son, or little Mr. Price, the doctor's assistant, both of whom undoubtedly paid much attention to Miss Rushbrook whenever opportunity offered. But in London-it would be quite a different thing in London; she would

meet fine gentlemen at her uncle's house, most likely, who would prejudice her against all such plain, country-bred fellows as himself, once for all. He began to think himself a greater fool than ever in not making better use of the time during which he had, so to speak, the field to himself. And in brief, it was in a very unenviable state of mind, at once desponding and restless, vexed with others, and angry with himself, that he rose to take leave of the Westlands circle that evening."

It happened that Susy left the room to fetch something for her mother, just as he was bidding the farmer good night. He thought he shouldn't see her again perhaps ; and, well-it didn't matter-maybe it was even better so. He made no attempt to linger;-for once he would have resolution, and go without thinking any more about this girl, who, of course did not think of him. And he was striding manfully through the wide, dimly-lighted entrance lobby to the door, when swift little steps came after and overtook him, and a little breathless voice said—

"Oh, Mr. Barton, you haven't wished me good-bye, and I'm going away to-morrow."

There she was-the sweet flushed face, with its bright eyes and parted lips, forming a picture that would be a dangerously delicious recollection for him all the time she was away. Fate was certainly