she had forgotten. Why, pray, did you never tell me this before, Walworth?"

"I only wonder at my folly in telling it now," he said, and a bitter smile crossed his face. I gazed at him in the greatest astonishment.

"What folly could there possibly be, Walworth, in telling me that we had met before ?" I asked.

My hand lay upon the carved wood of the balustrade. He caught it up suddenly in both his own, and carried it to his lips; then dropping it quickly as if the contact had given him sharp pain, he turned from me, walked through the drawing-room, crossed the hall, and spent the remainder of the evening in the library, with closed doors.

After this, Walworth was reserved and under restraint with me for a time, but we soon resumed our old friendly intercourse, for I entertained for him a true sisterly affection, and often strove to wile him from the sad thoughts which I saw were becoming habitual to him, and exerting a pernicious effect upon his bodily health.

The next day Mildred went down to the farm with me. According to my frequent custom, I filled my pockets with corn and grain received from Nurse Matty, and went to feed her pretty fowls that knew me by this time and flew to meet me when I entered the yard. The chickens fed, I took my way back to the house. As I approached, I saw Mrs. Grey sitting in the porch, and Mildred kneeling beside her, with her face hidden in her bosom. Presently she raised her head, and amid sobs and tears began a history that I could see was painful to both listener and narrator. Retreating softly, I seated myself in a sort of arbor formed by the grape-vine trellis, and here remained until Mrs. Grey called to me from the house. When I joined her, she said Mildred did not seem very well, and she had persuaded her to lie down in an upper chamber. Would I partake of some luncheon she had prepared for me?

I accepted the kindly offer, and the new milk being drank and the bread eaten, I left Nurse Matty, promising to return for Mildred at sunset. "Doubtless," I mused as I walked

homeward, "Mildred's confidence to Mrs. Grey relates to the event of yesterday. The dress-maker's story cannot be readily forgotten."

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CHAPTER X.

"It matters not how long we live, but how."-Festus.

F I have said little in this history concerning the master and mistress of

Glen-Beck, it is because they were

not often in my thoughts. With either I had seldom much to do. After matters fell into a settled state, subsequent to my being domiciled in the family as governess, I scarcely saw Mr. Forrester, save at meal-times; and any marks of consideration on his part, such as the placing of the horse at my disposal, were the result, I am sure, of Walworth's thoughtful suggestions. Mrs. Forrester, from the first, had been more than kind to me; but I shrank from her well-meant attentions, for she was coarse and inelegant often, both in manner

and speech. Mrs. Grey was greatly her superior in native refinement and that good breeding which is the result of Christian principle and a generous heart. Mrs. Forrester, not being "to the manner born," was constantly engaged when in society with thoughts of its proprieties and conventionalities, with an endeavor to maintain well her importance in her circle, and to look the lady she secretly felt herself not to be. Never at ease, never, by reason of lack of information and taste, enjoying an interchange of thought with cultivated persons whom she met in society, she was restricted to the companionship of those ladies who, like herself, owed the position they occupied to the cleverness of money-getting husbands, whose wealth was their pride and the only means of their aggrandizement. The life she led must have been one of ceaseless effort; and I have often thought that she would have been much more heartily at home in her own kitchen, where she was fond of superintending, than in her splendid rooms above-stairs, on her reception days. Her perplexity was great when she feared her

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