AT THE HALL. CHAPTER IV.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2113, 23 January 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

AT THE HALL. CHAPTER IV.

George Manners stayed two days at the Vicarage, leaving by a late train on the Sunday evening following his arriY.il ; and during these two days he wus very often with his half-sisters' governess. Mrs Manners saw no reason why the * young people,' as she called them, should not walk together and enjoy themselves when they had the opportunity. George had always gone about a (jreat deal with his Pinters, and why -hould he not now ? * It's so pleasant for him, Mi«s Williams being here,' she said to the Vicar, in all simplicity. ' Very, I should say,' replied her husband with au expressive shrug of his shoulders. ' Now, Arthur, don't speak like that,' said Mrs Manner?, ' for I'm sure it must be. You see old people, like you and mo, are no companions for him. 1 ' I'm a youniyer man than be is, I believe,' growled the Vicar. ' My dear, what do you mean by that? — Oh, I see, you think the country air and an idle life keep you fresh.' 1 Exactly,' said Mr Manners, with a half-comical grin at his own expense. ' Our paragon wears himself out hy money making.' 'He does look worried, I'm afraid, this time, poor dear. Something vexed him up in London I think.' ' Did he s>ee Hugh there ?' asked th 9 Vicar. ' I wonder if he said anything to him about coming down.' 'He didn't mention it — but, oh, Arthur! he's better away,' replied. Mrs Manners. I What folly' & up now ? Do you think he'll lead your good boy into temptation? Why, Hugh's a year younger than Gt-orge, isn't he ? And let them alone — George can take care of himself.' ' I'm not thinking of George,' &aid Mrs Manner*, with some anger in her tone. ' I'm not afraid of my boy. George will never be led away by anyone, let alone anyone who is neither as clever or anything else as himself. But' she added with a sigh, ' others may.' What the deuce do you mean ? I* it some woman you're driving at? You don't mean Adelaide, surely?' ' No, no ; I sometimes think Adelaide likes him— but ' 'Adelaide likes his prospects well enough, I daiesay,' sneered the Vicar. • Adelaide wouldn't object to be my lady, I'vo no doubt ; but as for anything else she's her aunt's own child all over too much for there to be any fear of her losing her heart, except — expediently. I 1 don't know ; trirla' hearts are queer things, tt doesn't take muoh to break them.' 'My deal-, your nonsense ia very refreshing.' ' That may bo ; but, for all that, I hope Sir Hugh will just keep away.' •What is \t you are afraid of? your

two maids are really beyond suspicion, I think.' ' Oh, Arthur ! don't sneer like that. Don't talk in that heartless way. The two gills are pood girls, but 1 don't think Sir Hugh would ever look at them.' • I don't thisk ho would,' said the Vicar. ' It's better for poor girls not to be too handsome,' continued Mrs Manner*. " Well, Nelly, your ' girls' as you call them, are saved that trial.' 4 Yes, poor things; but they do very well. But I wii-n't thinking of them.' 'Well, then, who is it? Who has Hujfh been making' love tn '; It can't be Mi s s Williams, for she's never seen him.' ' Well, folk say—' ' Women folk, of course.' 'It was Alsie Story told me first, and I've trrieved about it ever since.' 1 What did she tell you, woman ? Do be quick.' ' You needn't be so sharp, Vicar ; there's no need. 1 ' Well, then, my dear Nelly, will you iuform mo what is the little scandal you have heard, and which you are dying to tell ?' ' It's— about Pretty Peggy.' ' Whew !' said the Vicar, with a prolonged whistle. ' They fray Sir Hugh minds more about meeting Peggy when he's down, than all his dosrs and guns.' • Then he's deuced good tast9, that's all I can say,' said the Vicar. " Peggy Richardson's the bonuiest lass between hero and Oldcastle.' ' She'H very pretty — bu f ., oh, Arthur ! you should speak to him about it.' 'I ? Is the woman mad? Why should I interfere with Hugh and his amusements ?' ' It's bad to hear you talk, Vicar — very bad ; you with daughters of your own, too.' ' My dpar Nelly, you're a fool.' c Maybe that I am,' said Mrs Manners, her blue eye*, filling with tears. ' I'm not very wise, I know ; not like your folk, but for all that I'd try to save a poor motherless girl if I could.' 'I'll have nothing to do with it, said the Vicar. • Most likely it's all nonsense just some woman's gossip. Hugh's the very man to jest with every pretty girl he conies near, and raenn nothing by itHe's a cold, selfish young scoundrel as ever I met. Peggy must take care of herself — and leav» vn w&men alone for doing that.' 1 Perhaps Gf"»n?<» will *ay something to him, if you won't,' said Mrs Manners, justly offended. But when she went to look for George to speak to him on the subject, she found he was out walking with the ' youug ladieH.' This conversation occurred between the Vicar and his wife on the Sunday evening that Georgo left Narbrough ; and as he did so shortly after he, his sisters, and Mi*s William^ returned from their walk, Mrs Manners had no opportunity of saying anything to him in pt ivato at all. She, however, conseled her.-elf with the idea that he would probably be home again before Sir Hugh was at all likely to return to the Hall. In the meanwhile, George Manners himself was making some very wise reso- ! lutions ' She is the nicest, dearest little girl I ever saw.' he said to himself, as he travelled in the train towards Oldcastle ; ' but for all that, I am not going to make a fool of myself.' It was very easy for him to say this, and he doubtless meant it at the time when he did so, but he found it was not quite so ea^y as he expected to forget the last two pletis-tnt days at home. Never had he felt a week so lons in Oldcastle before. Somehow he could not settle to his work again, and visions of the sea, the lonely sands, and a pair of pathetic blue-grey ey< s, came between him and his ledger, between him and Ins wits ! ' This will not do,' he reflected a dozen times a driy, when he found Ida thoughts wandering back to Xarbrough. Yet durinsr the next half hour or so ho frequently caught himself reckoning up the time which would elapse before his return, and finally leappeared there on the following Saturday afternoon, in a train which started three hours before the one ho usually caught. But if he felt any excitement about again meeting Mi-s Williams, he found, to his secret annoyance, that she received him with the most perfect indifference. In fact, she was rather cold to him than otherwise, he thousrht.and declined to walk with himself and the children after service on Sunday morning when he proposed t<» do so. ' Do come,' urged George. No, Miss Williams was rather tired, and preferred returning to the Vicarage with Mrs Manners ; and George and his bisters had by no means a lively walk on the sands. At the early dinner, also, Mr Manners felt absolutely cross, because the nevr governess talked more to his father than himself, though probably it merely was because she happened to be sitting nearest to the Vicar. He talked to Mrs Manners, indeed, but was listening all the while to what was jroin«: on at the other end of the table, and during thf> course of conversation he understood Miss William? to say, she had never yet seen the Hall ; meaning Narbrough Hall, the Vicar's birthplace and early home.' ' What !' said George, turning round and addressing her, ' do you mean to say you have never yet been over the old place ?' 'No, I have never seen anything but the gate 9,' she answered, ' James pointed them out to me the first day I came here.' 1 Why not go this afternoon, then ?' said George. 'It's fine, and will be a nice walk. Mother, will you go ?' 1 You don't want mo, George, to show you the way,' said Mrs Manners, laughi ing ; ' but it will be a pleasant walk for the young ones.' ' Well, will you go, Miss Williams ?' asked George. 'Oh, yes ! my dear, go, if George wants you. Besides, it will be a little obange for you, and there's such fine pictures and Looks, isn't there, George ?' They accordingly started as soon as dinner was over ; the two younger children staying at home with Mrs Manners, as it was too long a walk for them to take, while Katie find Dolly accompanied their brother and Miss Williams. George was rather haughty and reserved in his manner at the commencement of their walk. He was resenting what he considered Mi's Williams's unnecessary coolness to him, after their previous almost intimate intercourse during his last visit. ' She need not ba afraid I am going to make love +o her,' he thought ; so he addressed himself frequently to Katie, loitering behind slightly with his eldest half-sister. Miss Williams, however, was, or appeared to be, perfectly unconscious of this bit of acting. She walked on very quietly in front with Dolly, until George, ashamed of his folly, came to her side, and endeavoured to interest her in the description of tome lectures he had been attending during the week at OMoaatle. 1 But, perhaps, you don't care for these things ?' he asked. *I have never buesi in the way of them,' replied Miss Williams. ' When — before I left home— we cared mire about balls and parties. I think, th in anything else.' ' You lived in town then :' said George. 1 Yes,' answerel MUs WiJlame. ' In the South of England ?' 'No, in the midhnd counties. But which way are we goiug t^< the b»Ui }lv

Manners? You see I know enough already of the geography of the country to know that there are two.' ' It's longer by the sands,' said George, • but I think pleasanter ; but as you will, of course.' 4 Which way would you like best, Katie and Dolly ?' asked Miss Williams of her pupils. •Oh! by the sands,' cried both the girls almost at once ; so through a narrow cart-road cut in the links they went down upon the shore. Katie and Dolly now ran forward, laughing and exhilarated, and George Manners and Miss Williams walked on together almost in silence, while the sea broke with its old solemn cadence almost at their feet. • That sound makes one sentimental I think," said George at last. ' Or sad,' answered his companion. •Neither of which suits me,' said Mr Manners, looking at her with a smile, • so we had better begin to talk, to break the charm.' I The old secret of the sea.' • Yes ; you are poetical, I'm afraid, Miss Williams.' • How have you made that wonderful discovery ?' • How can I tell ? By that subtle in,' stinct which guides us all more or less, perhaps— besides I must confess ' <»- •Well, what must you confess? You are getting mysterious*' ' ' That Milly and Bonny have told me ' 'Oh ! all our fairy tales. They pleased j the children.' •• Here is an old child who will be pleased also, and will gladly listen. Will you begin ?— Once upon a time.' • This is an exceedingly old-fashioned commencement.' ' I beg your pardon. v I forgot my superior years. Of course my fairy tales would be quite out of date before yours were invented.' I 1 do not understand satirp, Mr Manners.' George laughed pleasantly. • Do you know I think you are getting rather cross,' he said. •Or tired,' she answered stopping: and as she stood a moment there facing him, George thought he had never seen so pretty a woman in his life. She did at that moment look beautiful. The sea air had given her delicate and expressive face the colour of a wild rose, and the faint lines of care which, when she first came to Narbrough, were sometimes so noticeable, had now almost entirely passed away, and George looked at her with involuntary admiration. But something else as well as her beauty struck him also, which was the extreme richness and even elegance of her dress. Though, manlike, he did not understand much about its value, still the blue satin underskirt which she wore, and the elaborately trimmed upper costume of black silk looped over it, with her little black hat and blue feather, appeared to him not only wonderfully becoming to her attractive face, but also a very remarkable 'get up,' as he mentally expressed it, tor a poor woman who was earning her bread. He looked at her so long and so earnestly—partly in admiration and partly in curiosity — that at last she noticed it, and with a slight smile turned away her head. There was, however, none of a young girl's confusion or consciousness in her manner as she did so. If- she saw Mr Manners admired her, she at least appeared very careless and indifferent about it, and as George's eyes- fell/ he felt almost as if he had been guilty of an impertinence. • What is your cousin like ?' she said, abruptly, as she walked on. * Yonr cousin, Sir Hugh.' ' Very good looking ; at least he's considered so. He's pale and slight, with a handsome face, 1 answered George. • He doo3 not live here, then ?' 'No, Hugh cannot endure a country life. He's a fast man, Miss William's, and lives either in London or Paris : but he talks of coming down for a few days at Christmas, He's a strange fellow, Hugh.' ' What sort of strange fellow, Mr Manners ?' ' An unbeliever for one thing — an unbeliever,, I think, in everything.' • How do you mean V ' Hugh Manners m his heart will put a bad construction on your simplest action. He thinks there are no such things aa innocence or truth ; and that honour, selfsacrifice, in fact all man's highest qualities, are alike delusions and folly.' • An amiable character !' • A strange one at any rate for a man of his age. But he has lived in a bad school. The worst of both sexe3, l think, gather like vultures to prey on a rich young man.' • Your life has been very different, I should think Mr Manners ?' 1 Yes — but I woke up to realize that difference, almost too late. It was a bad school for me also being brought up with my rich cousins. But I've got over it now, and have learnt to make pounds shillings and pence my highest ambition.' • Do you really like such a life P' • It is necessity with me.' • Yes, but I mean from choice ?' George Manners hesitated a moment before he replied to this question, and then he said — 'If you had asked me that a year or two ago, I would have answered no, decidedly no. But I have got used to it, and b*ing forced to work has at least kept me out of many temptations. , And I would rather be myself I think, poor trader as I am, than feel as Hugh does — feel that if ever I could afford . to have a home of my own, there is not a woman in the world I could respect enough toj ask to share it with me.' • Dees he really think so ill of women as that ?' 1 He says so at all events. He openly — but perhaps we had better drop iht subject, for here are the old -gates^and we can't go on abusing the roaster when we are inside of them. Well Robert my man, and how are you ? This was addressed to an old greyhairod servant who kept the lodge, and who came eagerly forward to open the gatei for them as they drew near ; for Miss Williams noticed that all the people about the plaje seemed to regard • Mr. George' with the greatest cordiality. ' It's a long time since we have sera you, Mr George,' said Robert, as with trembling hands he unlocked the gate and undid the chain, ' Not since the poor old master's funeral.' 'I'm always busy. Robert, I think,' answered George ; but you see I've come to see you now, and have brought three young ladies with me.' It's all sadly changed here,' went on the old servant. 'Dye mind when ye coined up every morning, and poor MWalter came down to meet ye, and Sir old Hugh, always with his laugh and his jest ?— who would ha' thought it would all end so coon ?' • Poor Walter !' siid George Manners. 'Ay it was a bad job— a black day, when he ever went fra' home.' • My uncle never quite got over it I think.' 1 Never — he was never the same man any more. He'd his laugh to the lastbut it was not fm' the heart. 1 You kuow about my cousin's death don't you, Miss Williams ?' said Gsorge, turning to his companion. • Yes, Mrs Manners has told me. It must have been a terrible shock to Lady Mann >r*. 'Terrible, indeed/ said <j»K?* e i qadjy.

' But wo must not talk about it. Come up to the house with us, Robert. You can tell this young lady, better than I can, Jill about the old place ' 'There's nought to see now,' said Robert, disconsolately, c not a horse in the ntablos, or a dog in the kennels, oxcept a couple of pointers or so. Sir Hugh doesn't care for Narbrough ; its not fastenouKh for t,he like o' him.' George smiled ai the old man spoke. ' My uncle was a great hunting man, you know, Misi Williams,' be said. •• It is that which Robert missel so much, ' • You should have aeon the breakfasts on hunting mornings, miss. Thirty gentlemen in their red coats would rido up this avenue. Mr George remembers it well. Many's the time I've stood here, with the three ponies for the young gentlemen, and then come out and mount among the best o' them ; ye mind that morning, Mr George, when ye had the tumble ?' And the old man laughed. Georgß laughed ton. 'I remember it well, Bob,' he said. 'By Jove ! one gets young again when one thinks of these things.' ' It was Sir Hugh would have you take it, Mr George,' said Robort, apologetically. 'It was his f.iult, poor man. No one ever got enough at the table, he thought.' ' I did that morning, at any rate ' said George. •You must know," Miss Williams, that my poor uncle, in his eager hospitality had given me more champagne than was good for me, and when Robert here hoisted me up, I fell right over Hie pony'a other side.' • But he was better in a minute or two, miss. ' Hold me up Bob,' he said, 'till I get steady.' And before they found the fox we overtook them, and no one rode better than Master George that day.' •They were jolly times,' said George with a pigh. 1 Ay, that they wor ; but maybe the young lady would like to notice the laurels ? My lady took great pride in them.' They were splendid shrubs, growing nearly up the whole length of the long avenue, and after Miss Williams had sufficiently admired them they went into the house. 'It was thought a noble hall,' said old Robert, looking round it, as if some of it h-id disappeared. But to Miss William*, its fine oak carvings and antique and massive appearance made ifc seem very imposing. Stags' horns, and other trophies of tho chasa also adorned it, aud Georare and Robert had a tale about every well remembered ' brush,' and all their talk now was of some famous and exciting ' run.' ' You must forgive me,' George said at last, going up to Miss Williams and the girlo, who were getting rather tired of li-tening to stories which had little interest for them ; ' but the air of the old place has made a boy of me again, I think.' • But it is dull for us standing here so long,' said Dolly, impatiently. 'Come, Georgre, we want to go over the house.' ' What nonsensp, Dolly, why do you say that?' said Miss Williams quickly, as a shade of annoyance crossed George's face. ' I like to hear your brother and his old friend talk.' 'Thank you, 1 said George, 'thank you.' And he spoke to her softly, as if he felt she sympathised with his feelings and regret. After this they went into the diningroom, which was dull and heavy. The faded Turkey carpet, and dark red velvet hangings, looked gloomy enough to anyone, but to George they looked gloomier still. There was the broad mahogany table at which the jolly Baronet had so often sat. The heavy old-fashioned sideboard which he remembered, but as it were yesterday laden with shining costly plate. It was all locked away now, and never saw the light, and with it had disappeared the fun, ' the flushes of meriment,' the joyous hunting songs, and their wild choruses, which had so often echoed round the room when the old master had been there. •I remember the day Master Walter was christened,' said Robert, solemnly, to, and Sir Hugh standing up there to drink his health.' They might well all look grave as the old servant said this, for they were thinking how those wishes ' for long life, health and prosperity,' which the proud father had then spoken, had ended. 'It was a bad business,' said Robert,' shaking his grey head — ' a bad business In the drawing-room also painful reminiscences of the unfortunate young heir were very prominent. As you entered the room a full-length portrait of a handsome young man, in a college cap and gown, on the opposite wall, at once attracted your attention. • This is poor Walter,' said George going up to it, and looking steadily at his dead cousin's face. ♦He was sorely changed fra' that though,' said Robert also booking at his late young master. • You mean after he was dead ?' asked Miss Williams, almost in a whisper. 'I mean 'afore, misa/ answered the old man. 1 That was taken 'afore Master Walter went to London, 'afore he began his wild life there.' 'This is my aunt,' said George, pointing to the picture of a handsome, haughty looking lady which was hanging near. Lady Manners had a well-bred look of repose on her proud face ; yet there was a certain expression of anxiety lurking in her dark eyes, and the lines round her mouth, which spoke of some grief, which when this was taken had perhaps foreshadowed that which was to come. ' She never got over it,' said Robert. ' Yon sight by the riverside just broke my lady's heart.' ' He was the pride and hope of her life, said George Manners. ' She never cared for Hugh as she did for him." ' Nor anyone else either, broke in the old servant. ' Poor Mr Walter had his faults, but they were like his father's, all against himself, but Sir Hugh ' • You don't seem to care much for my cousin, Robert?' said George. • I'm an old man, Mr George, but in my youngest days young men were young — open, free, and honest like — I dinna' care to see old heads on young shoulders.' George smiled. 'Hugh has a cold manner, ' he said, ' but he's honest enough, 1 hope. 1 I He's a sneer like that's hard to bear anyhow,' answered Robert. ' One can't tell whether he means a thing or no— but he's master now — so we'll ha' just to learn to bear our burdens.' Both Miss Williams and George laughed at this sally, and then they wandered over the rest of the house together. The only room which really looked cheerful and modern was the library ; a fire was burning there, and the carpets were fresh aud bright. ' Sir Hugh lives here when he's down,' said Robert, 'and we've orders that a hre is kept on summer and winter, to keep out the sea fog, he says. ' But,' continued Robert, with a sly chuckle, •we never found it in father's and mother's time. Maybe it's worse since then." The fire, however, looked very inviting, for tho house felt damp and chill, and Miss Williams went up to it, and held out her hands towards the cheerful blaze. I 1 fear we have tired you with all this talk about uld days,' said George, addressing her. 'No,' she answered gently; 'but I was thinking of your cousin, and the poor mother's h,eart'bro»Wng grH. 1

• Don't think of it any more, then/ replied George kindly. 'Sit here and warm yourself ; and Katie, suppose you and Dolly go and try to find no me of the maids, and get them to make us some tea.' The two girln were delighted to go on such an errand, and Robert went with them ; ' for though,' he said, ' Mrs Bell the housekeeper's ont, surely the lasses can do as much as that.' • He's only a poor opinion of housekeeping, evidently,' said George, smiling, after they were gone. Then he drew his chair to the fire, and noticed as he did so that Miss Williams looked both pale and fatigued. She was gazing steadily into the fire, as if Tier thoughts were far away, aud she scarcely moved as George came near. ' I really am afraid this has been too much for you, ' be said. 'I am tired — just a little bit,' she answered. • I was not very strong before I came to the North.' ' But you are getting so, I hope ?' said George. 'Yes/ she replied absently. And then, as if by an effort, she roused herself, and began talking to him on some indifferent subject. 'After all,' said George, in a short time, 'we must admit that Hugh has good taste. Bis room is the cosiest in the houße.' 'I could not live here at all, I think, if I were Sir Hugh,' said Miss William*, ' where everything mu«t remind him of a painful past.' 'You forget Hugh is a philosopher/ answered George, with a bhort laugh. ' The king is dead— the king lives. If my uncle and poor Walter had not died, Hugh would have been broiling in India as a subaltern officer, and he's just the man to ' 'In India !' exclaimed Miss Williams, interrupting him, while a sudden flush dyed her pale face. • Was Sir Hugh Manuers out in India with his regiment ?' She cpoke in a tone of eager curiosity, and George Manners looked at her in great surprise as he answered. ' Yes, Hugh was there — let me see, thrpo or four years. ' Do you know at what station ?' ' No, that I really do not. Hugh never wrote to me but ouco all thc> time he was out, and the letter was from Calcutta, just before his return. But why do you ask?' Mi->s Williams hesitated a moment and then said slowly — 'Some of my people — some friends of mine, at least — have been there for many year*.' • Military people, I suppose?' inquired Georee. ' Yes— but it is unlikely Sir Hugh and they have ever met. India is a wicked place.' And as she said this, she sighed deeply, and leant her forehead on her hand. 'It seems a painful subject to you/ said George with kindly interest. IWe all have them, I suppose, after youth is past/ answered Miss Williams, and again she gave a heavy sigh. ' You are too young to talk thus/ said George. 'Many years of happiness, I trust, are yet in store for you.' 1 They will be different to the rest, then/ said Miss Williams, with a mournful smile. Then rising from her seat she began slowly pacing the room, while George's eyes followed her with an uneasy glance. ' You must forgive me/ she said, ■ coming back to the fire after a few minutes, and speaking in her usual gentle tones. ' Old memories came back to me when — when you mentioned India — old and painful thoughts.' j ' Try to forget them then/ said George kindly. ' You are young — and I hope you are happy — with us all/ 'I am, indeed/ answered Miss Williams. ' I came among strangers with a sinking heart. I fancied the life of a dependent must necessarily be a very bitter one— but you have all made it happy and pleasant to me.' ' I am very glad.' ' I have never heard an unkind word, or met an unkind 100k — yes, I have been very happy here -I would be sorry to go away/ ' Not so sorry as we should be to lose you. But do not speak of it. I hope you will look on Narbrough as your home. My mother is always praising you, always telling me she is getting fonder of you every day.' 'She is very kind/ ' Yes, truly kind. You must look upon her as your friend, Miss Williams — upon us all as friends.' ' Thanks, you are very good— but here are the children and the tea.' It was a very pleasant meal. George drew a small table near the fire, and they all sat iound it ; Dolly officiating as mistress of the ceremonies, and pressing on them the cakes and tea. ' It's a rare treat to hear a laugh under the old roof again, anyhow/ said Robert, who was waiting on them. ' I hope, Mr George, you and the young ladies will not be so stranger-like again.' •The tea has been the best of it/ remarked Dolly, who never felt so happy as when she was in a prominent situation in life. 'If I were cousin Hugh, I would not live here like a mouse, I would give a ball, and have a really jolly dnnoe.' ' And ask Miss Dolly Manners, of course/ said George. ' Well, my dear, wait till he is married, and perhaps he will.' ' I wonder if he will niarry/ said Katie, thoughtfully. 'I wonder if he will marry ' 'Don't talk nonsense, child, said George, interrupting her. ' And now, ladies, if you hare finished your tea, shall we go ?' They were soon ready ; but George lingered behind to press a sovereign into Robert's reluctant hand. ' There's no call, Master George, indeed there's not. It's p pleasure to see you — one wants nought fort, he said. ' Nonsense, my man, nonsense/ replied George. 'Take it for the sake of old times, Bob ; and come over and see ua at the Vicarage soon. lam always at home at the end of the week, and I am sure the young ladies will be glad to see you any time.' • Thank you, sir, thank you kindly — thank you all. Who is she, Mr George ?' whispered the old servant, laying a detaining hand on George's arm. ' She's an uncommon pretty young lady, and pleasant spoken, that's all I can say/ 'She's a Miss Williams/ answered George, and he blushed. He felt ashamed to say she was his sister's governess. 'What a snob I am/ he thought the next minute, as he hurried after the others. ' What a snob and a fool !' (To be continued.)

Mr Parxell and the Irish Landlords.— Mr Parnell addressed a public meeting at Kildare the other day. Concerning the future, he said the laudlords stood on tbe brink of a precipice, and were doing their best to get pushed over it by exacting rents which the land had not earned. He did not regard the judicial rents as being more sacred than any other rent, and he predicted that in the very near future the Land Act would be amended by an English or an Irish Parliament, so as to further reduce the judicial rents by thirty or forty per cent. He advised the landlords to accept tbe Land Purchase Act as a ' golden bridge ' to escape from an untenable position and be thankful, and he recomended tenants, when land is offered for sale, to decide what can {airly b.e p»\d for it.