house where Mr. Keverne lives with his sister and her little girl. While I looked at it, and Brownie tossed his head and drew us swiftly over the springy turf without the aid of whip or reins, I thought of the Squire's long undemonstrative kindness to us; of Mrs. Grey, and of how, for months, she had been wishing me to be her little girl's governess, and teach her for the few years that she will remain here in Cornwall before her husband leaves the army, and they all settle in Scotland. I thought of little Rose; of her warm love for me, and her shy, winning patronage of Leonard; and while I thought these things a feeling almost like anger sprang up in my heart against my father.

'O Leonard, isn't it a real sin,' I said, for those who have a certain duty to perform not to perform it, especially when it is owing to one who is kind and good and forbearing? Papa is clever, and understands the work he has to do. I cannot think how he can neglect it. I don't think I could, Len.'

'Wait till you are tried, dear,' he said gently.

'But why should my purpose change when I am tried ?—I wish I had learned farming,' I said presently, that I might have helped you, Leonard.'

Hush, dear; it is reminding me of my own uselessness.

Let me think I do all that my father expects me to do—all that you so often do for me. O little Kate, what should I be without you?'

'Think of Mrs. Grey wanting to separate us, Len!' I said, winking very hard from some unpleasant sensation in my eyes as we rolled on and met the seaborn breeze.

'Yes, she was urging her old request again this morning. Rachel will not tell you because it worries her, and she knows it worries you. I'm sorry for Mrs. Grey, because she is so anxious to keep Rose with her here, and does so dread the idea of a stranger to teach her. Yet I have no patience with her when she wishes you to live entirely there. Why, Kate, I cannot fancy the dear old farm without you!' A whim came over me to ask Leonard which he would rather have the dear old farm without me, or me without the dear old farm. Of course he laughed heartily at the question.

'It isn't as if I needed to work so, Leonard, is it ?' I asked wistfully, before I dismissed the subject. Then I suppose I should be willing; but now- Well, don't let us talk of it any more, just to spoil our evening. We shall have a glimpse of the sea in a minute.'

So we watched for it, driving on over the green and purple heath, and knowing exactly at what spot we should see it first. How beautiful it was! The wonderful rocks, standing alone or in clusters on the sand (one, a perfect and beautiful arch, stands upon the beach without support and without companion); the water, with the deep vivid green and blue, rarely seen but on this very coast; the

breeze, fresh and strong straight from the sea, not yet laden with even the moorland scents. We did not leave the pony-carriage, because Leonard is not fit for climbing; but I drove Brownie and drew him up as far out upon the cliff as I could, beside the little wooden houses built for the accommodation of tourists. There was no sound but the mellow plash of the water on the shore, and the lowing of cattle in the distance. To me the scene was grandly yet peacefully beautiful, and I was sorry when Leonard pointed out to me a gentleman sketching just beyond us.

It is Mr. Etheridge,' he whispered; the artist who is staying here.'

me.

I don't exactly remember how it was managed, but Mr. Etheridge joined us presently, and brought his picture up to the carriage to show Leonard. It was not until Leonard told him that I had sketched that very view in water-colours, that he spoke directly to me. Might he see it some day, he asked; and I'm sure I answered nervously, because of the inquisitive, intent look in his eyes when he spoke to me. I think it must have been a good while that we stayed there talking; Brownie patiently sniffing the sea air and watching the cormorants; Leonard leaning back on his cushions, with almost a healthy flush on his delicate face; Mr. Etheridge leaning on his side of the little carriage, but looking across, and talking most to Then quite suddenly the clouds swept over the moor behind us, and broke above us in the swift-drenching rain to which visitors at Kynance soon get accustomed. We would not consent to wait and shelter in Mr. Etheridge's room, but we did consent to his next arrangement. He helped Leonard on with his waterproof, lent me one of his own, and settled me on the seat behind with an umbrella, then took the place next Leonard, and drove us rapidly back across the moor. The rain ceased before we reached home, and Mr. Etheridge proposed to leave us; but Leonard, in his gentle cordial way, persuaded him to come on to the farm, and to stay and sup with us. He was charmed with the house; and when we took him to the old stone seat under the laburnum, and Leonard told him it was my favourite idling-place, he promised Leonard a sketch of it with me in it, if I would consent.

It was late when he went away, and then he refused to be driven, but walked quite slowly and lingeringly into the gray mist. Rachel says Mr. Etheridge kept Leonard out far too late loitering about the place. But I was with them, and I ought to have thought of it. I did ask Leonard to come in; but on another night I should have brought him in, as he always lets me do when I am earnest about it. I wonder whether I was not earnest about it to-night.

August 31, 1865. Mr. Etheridge and papa have been out together all day, and after dinner we had a pleasant musical evening -except papa, who slept tranquilly throughout; and indeed, I ought

to say except Rachel, who would perform only the part of indifferent audience. I cannot imagine why she dislikes Mr. Etheridge. She owns he is very handsome, but she will own no more. Even Leonard, too, will not grow to care any more for him than he did on that night, nearly three months ago, when we saw him first upon the beach at Kynance. Leonard says he is listless and purposeless; but then how can that be? Can a man be an artist if he is purposeless? Besides, we never see Mr. Etheridge really at work, because he only professes to be idling away this summer painting our beautiful coast. After that, he goes to Italy, to study hard for three or four years. Then, then I daresay he will be a great painter; one whose footsteps will echo through the corridors of time.'

When he went back to-night to his funny little rooms at Kynance, papa went with him, preparatory to an excursion they are to make to-morrow to the Scilly Isles. Papa is the only one who seems to value Mr. Etheridge's society. I mean he does so, and Rachel and Leonard do not.

As Rachel and I went on our nightly tour, inspecting all the locks and bolts on the ground-floor, we were startled by a long light rapping at the front door. Was not I astonished to see the Squire walk in when I opened it! He came into the hall, where our flickering candle was the only light, and he stood there for a few minutes chatting, while I wondered and wondered whether he really could have come at such a time merely for the purpose of doing this. So grave and strong and tall he looked in the dimness; with that quiet fearlessness about him which always makes me feel that if I had done wrong at any time, and he told me of it with that same quiet fearlessness in his face and manner, I should feel most terribly humiliated. I think so.

'When would Mr. Carew be at home ?'

He asked the question quite easily and naturally, yet I fancied too that he looked anxious as he asked it.

Rachel told him, to-morrow night she hoped.

'To-morrow night!' he repeated, and I'm sure his tone was

vexed.

'Will you ask him to come up to me as soon as he returns -directly he returns? Will you remember this, Miss Carew?' While Rachel promised, he shook hands with her in his kindest way; then turned to the door, which I was opening.

'Good-night,' he said, but he forgot to offer me his hand; 'shut the door behind me, and lock it safely. It is a gusty night. Close it at once; and open it to no one else to-night, my child.'

I laughed a little, wondering what visitors we were to expect after eleven o'clock. But I was very soon serious again, for I never like Mr. Keverne speaking to me as if I were a child. Eighteen is not at all so very young, yet I cannot impress him with that fact. Mr. Etheridge must needs aggravate me too in the same way; for