“An old historical discussion; guess."

'King Charles?

they all.

Cromwell? Mary Queen of Scots ?" asked

I shall

"No, older still. The death of Cæsar. I am to speak against Brutus; to try, I suppose, to make an Antonine oration. expound to them the views of Dante as to the fate of traitors, with which I entirely coincide. I never speak against my own conviction, though it is considered good practice, I believe."

"You! you couldn't if you tried," said Sydney. "Well, it's a fruitful subject for discussion, and not hackneyed to most of them, I What do they know of Roman history ?"

dare say.

"A little; but it was new to some of them that Shakespeare had written a play called Julius Cæsar. Albert Jackson read it for the first time this week and told me that he was quite surprised to find it so full of familiar quotations."

Oh, how good it is for them to be made to read and think," said Christina. "I'm so glad you joined that Young Men's Institute.''

"The orations are a dreary waste of time very often."

"Isn't the spouting rather good fun ?"

"It is no fun to me. I abhor fine speeches in cockney accents;

I would far rather be at the night school."

"Well, you get so much of clerks and warehousemen all day that the roughs may be a refreshing change."

"Honest barbarism versus false culture?

Yes, but there are a few

nice fellows in the Institute, and I'm glad I joined it."

"Ay, it was the right thing to do, and I'm sure the tone of the place is improved. They seem very glad to have you there too."

"I suppose they look on me now more as a man and a brother, instead of a stuck-up sulky Scotchman," said Kenneth, with a half smile at Christina.

"Yes, it was in consequence of the great social reform which I introduced," said his sister.

"How so? When was that?" asked Sydney.

"Why, last year, when she got me to let her invite the Snapes and Crowthers to tea. Eh, Christie ?"

Well, I did think it was the right thing," she said, "good for them and for us too. When I found out that the College girls thought me stiff and proud, I didn't like it.”

"So we thought we would try and do our duty to our equals," said

Kenneth, "for such they are nominally at least. Snape is a clerk, Miss Crowther a teacher. And we endure their society now and then as you know, with tolerable fortitude. George Crowther is a real good fellow. But there is the postman's knock. Run and see what he brings, Charlie.”

"A letter for you, Kenneth."

"From dear old Rutherford," said his brother, opening it. "Ha! Lethbridge has sold Glendarroch," and his face flushed as he went on reading.

"Our old home, you know," said Christina to Sydney. "See, there is the picture of it."

"Ah, yes," said the Curate, getting up to look. "You have put it between the portraits of Montrose and Dundee,-the two chivalrous Grahames."

"Who has bought it, Ken?"

"The man who rented the place last year, Sir George Dacre,' said Kenneth, folding up the letter. "Rutherford says he'll take good care of everything."

"Till it comes back to the Grahames!" cried Christina.

"There's no good in talking about such castles in Spain, or Scotland either," said Kenneth, with a half-impatient frown. "Past seven! we must be going presently."

"I must go now," said Sydney. "I promised my old man to be with him as soon as I could. We meet again at the school ?"

"All right," returned his friend.

When Sydney was gone, Kenneth crossed the room, and stood for some minutes silently studying the faded water-colour sketch of an old turreted mansion half surrounded by fir-trees; while Christina and Charlie collected the tea-things and carried them into the kitchen. Mrs. Earle watched Kenneth inquiringly, but she was too timid to ask him any questions. As soon as he was gone, Christina satisfied her curiosity.

Ah well, my dear, he'll get the old place back again some day."

Of course he will!" said the girl, proudly. She had the most absolute faith in Kenneth's ultimate triumph, and it was a great spur to her own exertions. At present, however, she had to darn and mend for an hour or two; and not till Sarah had carried off Mrs. Earle to bed was she able to set to work again at the piano. She was still prac

tising vigorously when Kenneth returned. It was late; for after two long hours spent in a close schoolroom redolent of gas and fustian, he had gone for a walk with Sydney, to drink in a little fresh air. The two friends started off arm in arm, and soon reached the Thames Embankment. There they were accustomed to march up and down, talking over many things, and forgetting the toils and worries of the day in the refreshing freedom of comparative stillness and space. There was a light breeze blowing along the river, which had cleared off the fog. The great Westminster bell told out the quarters, but they took little heed of time as they paced along, now in light, now in shade, debating with great earnestness the future of the Church and the nation. Kenneth's acquired reserve gave way at such times, and his enthusiasm glowed with a fire all the stronger for its habitual suppression. He was one who loved truth ardently, and hated iniquity with a fiery scorn. He was proud of his heritage as a Scottish Churchman, the descendant of that small but steadfast band who had withstood persecution, and suffered for Catholic faith and discipline. Moreover, his native fastidiousness tended to make him exclusive, and he had not the sympathetic large-hearted charity of his friend, who had far more faith in human nature.

At last they turned their steps homewards. The hands of the clock were pointing to eleven when Kenneth returned, and found his sister still hard at work.

"You won't be up at six to-morrow, Christie ?"

"That I shall, perhaps earlier! I shall play all my scales before breakfast."

"And get breakfast ready too?"

'No; Sarah will do that, and I'll dust the room. I won't strike up the piano till every one is awake; but I mean to get three hours' practice, or more, every day."

"How will you map out your time ?"

"Half an hour or more before breakfast, then I'm busy till twelve, but I can manage an hour before dinner. Then all the afternoon I'm at the Vicarage, but I can get an hour from five to six, when I come home; and I'll make up the rest in the evening."

"It's a regular scramble! and you'll have to give up going to Church either at seven or five, and in Lent too."

"I can go to Church when I'm not due at College in the morning, that's twice a week."

You won't neglect Mrs. Earle, nor the Vicarage children? nor throw too much on Sarah ?”

"No indeed I won't."

"Well, Christie, I wish every one was as devoted to work as you are." "Mine isn't against the grain, you see; I'm afraid yours is." "The best way is not to think whether one likes it, I find, but simply to do it. After all the disagreeables of life are so numerous, that one would think of nothing else if one once began to count and weigh them."

"O, Ken! I never feel like that; I am quite happy when I can work, and feel I am some use in the world. How I should hate to be an idle young lady, like some of the College girls, who slip through their lessons anyhow, and give all their mind to amusements; and I might have been like that, perhaps, if we hadn't lost our money."

"Not you, dear Christie," said he affectionately, "your cheerfulness is a reproach to me. But come, see how late it is! hard workers must take good rest."

"You take better care of me than of yourself, dear Ken. You are tired, I see; I wish you would give up the night school work."

"No, it is good for me as well as for the lads, I hope. There's the human interest of it, for one thing; besides-" he paused for a moment, "I must do what I can, it is a joy to be permitted to offer something, Christie; we must not sink into mere machines for making money. I know you work for art as well, but that is not the highest service." Laborare est orare!"

Only when our hearts rise above the mere work. It's not worth offering unless we do it for our King."

"Well, so we make drudgery divine!" said Christina. "However, we are in honour bound to work, and it is my happiness to help you, Ken, so every way I'm glad I can't be idle. Good night."

He was not sure that she had fully taken in his meaning. He feared lest his active, hopeful sister should lose sight of the higher life, even in her devotion to him, or to her art; and yet he could not speak as freely to Christina as he would have wished. Quick, clever, and selfsufficing, she prided herself on doing all she ought, and doing it well. The depths of her nature were as yet unstirred, and she made very little allowance for ideas and feelings lying outside her own experience.

CHAPTER II.

"Thy treasured hopes and raptures high,
Unmurmuring let them go."

SEVEN years before, a heavy blow had fallen upon Kenneth Grahame, just when life had seemed most bright with promise. He had distinguished himself at Winchester, and was hoping to obtain the reward he most coveted, a New College scholarship, when he was suddenly summoned home to Scotland, by the unexpected death of his father. Colonel Grahame died deeply in debt; he had lived for many years in a style of extravagant ease, and reckless hospitality. There was nothing left for his widow and three children. Mrs. Grahame had a small income from her own little fortune, which the creditors could not touch, but that was all. There were no near relations to come forward unsolicited, and they shrank from applying to those who did not offer. The only friend who gave them efficient help was the old family lawyer, Mr. Rutherford, who had in vain endeavoured to avert the ruin of Colonel Grahame's property. He refused to take his share of the spoils, made the best arrangements he could with the other creditors, and came forward with the offer of a clerkship for Kenneth in a London mercantile firm, with which he had some connection, proposing at the same time to place the younger children in charitable institutions.

Kenneth accepted the clerkship, but refused to allow the home to be broken up. "My mother's children shall not be dependent on charity. We will live together, and share alike. We can manage to live in lodgings in London on my mother's little income, and save something every year. And as to education for Christina and Charlie, I will do what I can, and so will my mother. They must be brought up to recognise as we do, that we are bound in honour to pay off all the debts. No one shall have cause to curse my father's memory."

"You are not bound to do any such thing," said Mr. Rutherford. "I am doing all I can to effect a reasonable composition. You haven't counted the cost. I tell you the law does not require it at your hands." "The law of honour is always binding on a Grahame!" said the boy, with flashing eyes. "You told me my salary would increase every year; why, in fifteen or twenty years' time all will be cleared off, and then we shall be free, and indebted to no man.'

"Proud as Lucifer!" thought Mr. Rutherford, and added aloud,