I presently offer libations of the best wine to be found here. But now tell me, Earine, do you like England best, or Greece? And what am I to do with you?" I am your slave.

Earine. "I love you.

She was

am happy where you are, yet I delight in winds that are softer, and waves that are always bright and calm."

Vivian. "Did you expect to meet me again?" Earine. "I knew I must. I knew that Aphrodite would not suffer me to break my heart with disappointment. I have been very, very unhappy with that good Mr. Eastlake and his dear dumpling of a daughter, who have always been so very, very kind to me. But ah, Vivian, I have always loved you-and I knew I should meet you again—and now, thanks to Apollo, we are once more together. I am older now, Vivian. I know what it is: I know I love you. Perhaps you don't love me. Never mind. I am your slave, and will do what you please."

Vivian. "Ah,I should like to be back upon our island."

Earine. "Without those horrid men." Vivian. "Those horrid men were very useful, child. They brought us wine and fruit and tobacco; they brought you, foolish little girl! What says Sappho ?

"Hesperus, rise in the East with beauty abundantly laden!

Earine. "Oh, the Prioress was very fond of this amusement, and never spared any body. There was one poor nun who had been in the convent twenty years, and was second in authority before the Prioress came. It seems she expected to have been made Prioress. I suppose the other knew this, for she took a dislike to her, and put her in the very lowest rank, and found some reason for punishing her almost every day. Poor thing, she used to go about the place crying like a great baby."

Vivian. "I don't wonder at that; so did you, I suppose."

Earine. "No, indeed. They could not make me cry, with all their cruelty. The Prioress was very angry, and declared I was possessed with a devil."

Vivian. "It must have been a nice establishment. Yet I heard it highly recommended, and I know some English girls of good family were sent there."

Earine. "Oh yes, there were several.

But

to the mother the maiden."

Earine. "I would rather not see them any more."

And

Vivian. "Probably you never will. what have you been reading since I saw you?" Earine. "Look. Here is the dear little volume you told me always to keep."

She took from her bosom a small book bound in Russia leather. It was the "Odyssey"-a copy printed in Padua two centuries ago.

ros.

me.

Vivian. "So you have not forgotten Home-
I am glad of that."

Earine. "It is the only book of all you gave

The women at the convent said they were all wicked books. The first few days they were very kind to me; the Prioress was away, and it was a sort of holiday. When she came back she sent for me, and asked me to tell her all about myself. So I told her of my life on the island with you-ah, what a happy life it was! -and she was dreadfully shocked, and said you were awfully wicked."

Vivian. "Faith, the old lady had some penetration."

Earine. "Oh, she wasn't at all old-only two or three and twenty; but she came of some noble family that were great benefactors to the

Vivian. “Aye, girls are always the worse rants. So she took your books away ?" Earine. "Yes; she had them all brought

Vivian. "Was there no way of sending a letter secretly?"

Earine. "Miss Adams, my great friend, you know, resolved to try. There was a servant called Lisette, who used to be very kind and obliging to Miss Adams and me. We both thought she could be trusted; so Emily wrote a letter to her papa, and gave Lisette some gold to post it. The little hypocrite took it straight to the Prioress."

Vivian. "Who scolded you, I suppose."

Earine. "Scolded, no! It was seldom she took the trouble to scold. No, she had the discipline administered rather more sharply than usual; and poor Emily, who is not so hard as I am, couldn't help screaming. I was very sorry for that."

Vivian. "I don't think you could blame her

much."

and the very first she saw was 'Don Juan.'

Eurine. "I despised that cruel woman. I would not let her have any power over me. The English girls used always to make a fuss and

Vivian. "Not much, certainly. I wonder some of the girls didn't try to run away."

Earine. "I thought of that, and I am sure I could have done it; but I determined to stay where you placed me. I knew it must end some day."

Vivian. "And how did it end?"

Earine. "I don't know what had been done, but the police came to the convent. We had the satisfaction of seeing the Prioress and several other nuns handcuffed and marched away; but we never heard what became of them. In a few days the parents of the girls came or sent for them, and Emily's father took compassion on me."

Vivian. "Well, I hope the Prioress was served as she served you; but I suppose there is no chance of that. If she were not in the clutches of the police I should send Mark Walsh to avenge you. What should we do with her, if we had her on our island?"

Earine. "Don't talk of it. I have no wish for revenge. I only hope never to know any thing more of her."

This colloquy, as I have said, took place in the old dusty assembly-room, where, in forgot ten days, the magnates of the county had dined, and the belles of the county had danced. Vivian smoked, and walked up and down, while Earine told her story with pleasant vivacity. At this point Jack Eastlake's voice was heard. "Come, Vivian-come, Miss Delisle-it is a charming day; won't you walk or drive before luncheon ?"

"Are you going to have your team out?" "I think so; they ought to have a little exercise."

CHAPTER XIV.

AT BIRKLANDS.

"Earine has sucked the breath of spring

And I have touched thy lips, Earine." NEXT day the party proceeded to Birklands, Eastlake's inheritance-a handsome modern mansion in a well-timbered park, with gardens and conservatories kept in excellent order. Here Vivian promised his hospitable friend to stay as long as he could manage to be tranquil. And he now told Eastlake certain portions of Earine's story, and arranged with him that she should still be his daughter's companion.

"You see, Jack,” he said, “being a bachelor without an establishment, I can do nothing with her and my cousin Lady Eva Redfern might think her a bore-whereas you and your daughter seem to like her. There need not be any difference made because I pay her expenses instead of you." "Have it

"All right," replied Eastlake. your own way. I shall be glad to keep her till she gets tired of us. But she's a deuced fine girl, and you'll have her wanting to marry somebody soon."

"I shall leave you to play papa, and see that she doesn't elope."

To Earine herself he said for the present nothing as to the arrangement, but allowed matters to go on just as hitherto. In the course of a few days Mark Walsh'arrived, sent on from the Peacock. Vivian gave him private audience.

"You've found the young lady, sir, which is lucky; and I suppose she has told you the convent was broken up.”

"Yes; what was the cause?"

"The head of the convent turned out to be an impostor," said Mark. "The right person was a young lady belonging to a very high family-I forget the name. She was rather weak-minded, so I suppose she was to have this place just as an English squire puts his stupidest son into the Church. She started from her father's castle to come to Rouen, with no companion except her maid, who had been with her some years, and the maid's lover, who

"The nearest is Ashdown village," said the landlord; "about five miles down the road, and then about a mile farther along a turning to the right."

"I know it," said Eastlake. "We'll drive there. Pinnell, make some claret-cup while I look after the prads. The ice is in the hind boot."

Vivian's letter was soon written. It was to Mark Walsh, at a post-office in Eastern London, and ran thus:

to see them safely to Rouen, and return home again. Now the servant-girl had obtained so much influence over this silly young lady that she was quite afraid of her; and at a place on the way where they spent the night the maid and mistress changed clothes and changed places, and this servant-girl actually took possession of the chief place in the convent."

"She must have been a clever creature," said Vivian.

No

So they drove to Ashdown, posted the letter, and were back in fifty-five minutes without the team's turning a hair.

tray her. She was a terrible tyrant, and used to be very cruel to all the nuns and the young ladies in the convent-school; it was the natural spite, I suppose, sir, of a woman who had always

been a servant, and now found herself set above her betters. I am afraid Miss Earine was badly treated there."

ed his hand. She was just as tall as Vivian, and her very playfulness was stately.

Vivian. "Your young eyes are dream-haunt

"Through her lover. She sent him money to keep him quiet, but he got drunk pretty often, and said things which made his master suspicious. So the old gentleman went off to Rouen to see his daughter, and the whole affair was soon found out. The young woman very nearly slipped off, I heard, but they caught her just in time, and the Rouen police had orders to send her straight to Paris, to the Prison Mazas."

"I am afraid she won't get treatment as severe as she seems to have inflicted on others,' said Vivian. "Mere imprisonment is too good for her."

"Ah, you don't know those French prisons, sir. France isn't like England, where the thieves get good living and easy work, and pious books to read. They do things there in a very independent way, and nobody ever asks any questions. I expect that young woman would be uncommonly glad to get nothing worse than what she used to give other people." "Well, I am glad to hear it, Mark. Now, do you think you can safely go to Riverdale, and find out how matters are there? I don't want you to run any risk."

"It is quite safe, sir. I should very much like to hear how poor old Boss got over his difficulties."

He

Mark started on his second tour of investigation, and Vivian remained at Birklands. was not eager to move. Life was easy enough with Eastlake and his daughter, who cared for little beyond eating, drinking, and sleeping. But what kept him at Birklands was the presence of Earine. She brought back to him the halcyon days of the Ægean, before the arrow of Apollo had touched his brain with fire. It was a delight to him to make her read Homer, in a voice as mellow as gold-to watch her blue eyes brighten whenever he looked at herto see her, stately and slender as Nausikaa, pass swiftly over the lawns. Poor Clara Eastlake by her side looked like a sedate donkey beside a deer of the Exmoor.

Eastlake and his daughter were of lazy mould, and usually breakfasted at eleven. Vivian loved the early morning, when multitudinous dewdrops sprinkle grass and leafage, and the flowers have their freshest fragrance, and the rejoicing birds their most delicious song. He liked a dip in the river just after dawn, when the water is still icy-cool. And to Earine it was delight ineffable to be permitted to meet him on the terrace long ere any other creature was moving, and find in the first vision of the day something fairer than all the visions of night.

One divine morning Earine was on the terrace at six, in obedience to Vivian's command. Soon she saw him coming up from the river, freshened by his dip. She ran forward and kiss

Vivian. "There is an old legend about a maiden

Whom Gwydion made by glamour out of flowers.'

If some sorcerer made you out of flowers, he found your figure in the lily of the Nile, and the color of your breast and the fragrance of your breath in the gardenia blossom. As for your eyes, I don't believe he made them of flowers: they are two spoonfuls of sapphire seawater. After all, perhaps you were made of sea-foam, and nothing else-like Aphrodite. But you are a confoundedly pretty girl, Earine, and I think Jack Eastlake is in love with you." Earine. "Then I must go away from here." Vivian. "You must do no such thing. Wouldn't you like to be Mrs. Eastlake, and have that good fat Clara for a daughter ?"

Earine. "Why do you ask such teasing questions ?"

Vivian. "Well, I will be serious. Listen. You love me, I know. You would like to go back to the island with me. And I am beginning to think I love you, child. But you know I am mad sometimes, and I am afraid of what I may do in my madness. I might kill you, perhaps."

Earine. "Oh, I am not afraid. You love me. You said you loved me. Love will cure you."

Vivian. "I wish I were sure of it. I am going to try myself, Earine. If I can get back my old clearness of mind, then you know what will happen. If not, it would be cruel of me to marry you."

Earine. "No, no, no, it would not be cruel. Don't go away. I can cure you-I know I can. You may kill me if you will."

Vivian. "I am going away to-day, my child, but you shall soon see me again. And you are to write me little notes in Greek, and tell me all about yourself and your drives every month, and what adventures you meet at the Peacock, and whether Mr. Eastlake has proposed. Do you understand?"

Earine. "I will obey. If you sent me back to that cruel convent, I should go. But I wish you would let me follow you as your page. I don't want you to leave me."

Vivian. "You are a foolish loving little girl. But you are older now, and wiser, are you not? than when Mark Walsh brought you to me in your crocus chitonion. And if you will reflect a little, you will see that I am doing the best thing. But pshaw! why should I reason with you?. Women have no reason, only instinct."

Earine. "And my instinct tells me that I can cure you, and that no one else can. But you will not listen, I know. I must submit." Vivian. "Yes, Petale, you must submit. I

of mind for a moment when he saw the police marching up his cellar stairs, but he regained it very rapidly, according to the habit of the Hebrew, and reflected that if he made no confessions they would find it hard to make a case against him. So he was resolutely reticent. In his first terror he had thought of confessing every thing, and telling what he knew about Vivian; but he thought better of it, and held his tongue, and the police were baffled. There was no case against him. There was strong suspicion, of course, and every body believed all manner of things; but Boss quietly ignored it all, and carried on his business in his usual manner, and flourished as of old. There was, I regret to say, a tory newspaper in the town, which (Boss being an enlightened Liberal, as are all Jews) inflicted upon him certain scurrilous rhymes. He treated that constitutional journal with sublime contempt. He sold his watches and bracelets, and went regularly to his synagogue, and was treated by men of his own class as those are always treated who are known to have a comfortable accumulation of money-howsoever obtained.

Severne was very savage. He knew that Boss was the man, but he could not complete his case. After finding the communication between The Jolly Cricketers and the jeweller's cellar, after getting that little bit of additional evidence betrayed by the diamond stud, it was very hard upon Severne to be foiled at last. He sent in his resignation; but the town council had come to their senses, and declined to accept it. Even an English town council occasionally shows some signs of intelligence. Riverdale and its vicinage were at peace. There were no more burglaries or highway robberies. People slept quietly, and had no fears; farmers rode home from market without any dread of being stopped on the way. Every body was satisfied-except Severne.

He was

in a state of permanent irritation. He had been baffled utterly, for the first time in his life; and as the scoundrels whom he longed to catch had disappeared altogether from the country-side, he had no chance of avenging himself. It was confoundedly provoking.

One day, the party from Broadoak being in Riverdale, Lady Eva went to Boss's shop for some article of jewelry. Although people began to suspect Boss of being a plusquam-Judaic thief, he did not appear to lose custom; and I think Lady Eva, and most of the other county ladies, knew nothing at all of his recent escapade. Vivian went with his cousin to his shop, and was amused to see the Jew making horrible signs to him, intended doubtless to suggest a private interview. He took no notice at the time of these manifestations; but an hour later, having left Lady Eva at Archdeacon Coningsby's, he strolled round to Boss's. found the Jew behind the counter.

He

"Come into my room, Mr. Vivian," he exclaimed, effusively. "I have something choice to show you."

"The robbers, sir," said the Jew, with tremulous voice. "Those that carried away Miss Ashow, and killed Mr. Severne's horse."

"You are mad, my good fellow," said Vivian, quietly. "I am not in the slightest degree interested in those scoundrels. If you have any thing to show me, show it at once.'

"This sort of thing won't do," said Boss. "You fine gentlemen think you can do what you like, and nobody dares touch you. I'm not going to be treated in this way. I'll have money from you, and a good round sum, or I'll give you up to the police."

"You idiotic son of Abraham," said Vivian, "do you see this ?" And he pointed at the Jew's curly head a revolver. "I'll blow out the gruel you call your brains if you dare talk nonsense to me. Give me up to the police-I like the impudent idea. You ought to be in their custody, I think. I'm doubtful whether I ought not to hand you over to Severne on your own confession."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Vivian. I'm very sorry. I was quite wrong-don't think of what I said.

You see, sir, I have had so much trouble lately, that I am half mad sometimes." "Very likely," said Vivian. "But now understand, once for all, it's no good to be mad with me. If ever you trouble me with any more of this nonsense, you won't live another week. You know me, and you know that I keep my promises."

And thus delivering himself, Vivian left the

Life at Broadoak Avon was for some time very quiet and regular. The Squire went on in his own way, of course-a model country gentleman, who managed his estate to perfection, and was a paragon of magistrates, and solved the great problem of the co-existence of pheasants and foxes. An incarnation of sound sense and high honor was Rupert Redfern—a man who took the straightforward practical constitutional view of all subjects, a man who could not lie and who could not apprehend a new idea. Such men are plentiful in England, and are the givers of its strong slow ox-like greatness. England's genius takes on rare occasions higher forms: Shakspeare and Nelson live in a higher region than Ben Jonson or Samuel Johnson. But your bovine men are of use.

Lady Eva and her French friend seemed greatly to enjoy each other's company. Madame Garnuchot's presence was of great service to Eva, who, for two reasons, had been gradually getting into a morbid and dissatisfied state. She had not that close and intimate sympathy with her husband which a woman of her character requires. A great many husbands and