risk in speaking the words that were waiting on her tongue. She might be misunderstood; nothing else seemed so natural to expect as that she should. She might offend, disgust the friend who had cherished her. She stood ready to fly from before this face that she loved, if it so happened that dear face should grow dark at her audacity.

"Distress of mind! said Mrs. Hazeldean; and as she spoke she guessed even more than was the truth.

"I came here, Mrs. Hazeldean," said Hester,

if you know what Sir Archie means?"

to ask you

Mrs. Hazeldean's eyes were on Hester's face, and saw the face turn white with the effort that had been made. Why had Archie been so foolish? Mrs. Hazeldean's two hands went suddenly forth, laid hold of the figure that stood so aloof, ready for flight, and pulled it down without ceremony against her knee.

"I cannot know what he has been doing," she said, "but I venture to say that he means to do well.'

more.

"Mrs. Hazeldean!" said Hester, "I must say something He-behaves strangely to me. I dare not understand him. I came to tell you this, though I thought that the telling might have killed me."

Hester," said Mrs. Hazeldean, after one minute's pause, "I have not got any liberty to interfere with Sir Archie's secrets, but I will say so much as this-I have known him all my life, and I believe that you may trust him."

Hester's face sank in her lap, and remained there as if the girl had been annihilated. But a few moments went by, and Hester's wits were alive again.

"But, Mrs. Hazeldean," she began again, desperately.

But Mrs. Hazeldean stopped her mouth with a kiss. "I will not hear a word more,” she said. "You shall not distress yourself with another syllable." And she was thinking what was to be done about Hester. She must take her from the castle, and get her under her own wing. "But I am glad you came here to-day, and I am glad you spoke to me," she went on. So do not begin to fret lest you were wrong. Now, you shall not go back this evening. I will send them a message.” But Hester was on her feet.

"No, no, I am going," she said; and without waiting to be stopped, took her burning face out of the house, and up the glen on the track to the castle.

For Hester was not satisfied. She had not, after all her hardy efforts, had the daring to say, "But I have got orders concerning Miss Golden's wedding trousseau." She must have

blundered very sadly in her speaking to Mrs. Hazeldean; or Mrs. Hazeldean must have made a great mistake. Why, it was only this very morning that Lady Helen had consulted her about the fashioning of a splendid bridal dress. So Hester had told her secret; and gained an extra heartache in exchange.

CHAPTER XXI

THE FRENCH ARE IN THE BAY

SEWING is a kind of occupation for the hands which leaves the brain very free to think. More so almost than any other sort of work. Spinning makes a noise, and writing engages the mind, more or less. Sewing is silent, monotonous, mechanical; once a device has been shaped by the scissors, and the fingers know the tricks of the device.

Sewing is a sort of secret handwriting, peculiar to women. Many a strange history, many a life's poem, has been traced in thread by the needle, hemmed into sheets, darned into stockings to be trodden under a thankless foot, stitched into wreathings of flowers and garlands. Every day these records are written, but never read. Characters marked in invisible ink will lie hidden in blank parchment, unsuspected, for years, and at last the breath of fire, like the touch of a wizard, will call them to light, and deliver their message. But no sage will ever translate the histories traced by the needle, of patience, of heroism, of passion, and anguish. How they are written and stored, these poems! Every household has its stores of such family archives. In the linen chests they lie; on the shelves of deep presses; in the drawers strewn with lavender. In the wardrobe hung with dresses, in the cupboard with mended hose; in the locked drawer where the little trousseau is arranged, smooth and orderly, of the baby who died; in the trunks, packed between laughing and crying, of the bride who will shortly go forth. If a light were suddenly given to read these hidden writings, what wild revelations, what beautiful lessons, what outpourings of joy, what majestic examples of endurance would not startle the world, and make it blush for the affectations it treasures in staring print!

Hester was making some little frills, and every stitch in them was aware that she had got into a scrape. They all knew exceedingly well that she had been thinking far too much about Sir Archie, and what he could mean, and what he could not mean; that she had followed a rash impulse and out-stepped

all maidenly dignity in speaking of Sir Archie to his aunt; although Mrs. Hazeldean had been too noble to show displeasure at her conduct, to do anything but make an effort to soothe her. Though Mrs. Hazeldean had even gone too far in the effort, saying something most strange and startling, the meaning of which Hester in her confusion had not taken hold of; for it was not to be admitted for one moment that some words which fast clung to Hester's memory could endure to bear the construction which a daring mind might put upon them.

So when the frills got far too wise, Hester bundled them away, and sat brooding over her fire like a second Cinderella, not unhappy because she could not go to a ball, but because her poor little lonely heart was sore, with an aching and a burning to which all her former troubles looked as mere flying shadows, as the fretting of a babe for broken toys.

And this brooding over the fire would not do. Hester had sense enough to take out her desk, and to task herself to the writing of some letters.

A letter to Lady Humphrey, and a letter to the Mother Augustine, and lastly one other, which ought to have been written long ago, a letter to Mr. Pierce in which his ring was to be enclosed. So a little note was penned, hoping that Mr. Humphrey would excuse the regretful writer, who had found herself unable to fulfil his wishes about the ring. And when the letters had been folded and addressed Hester went into her bedroom for some wax which she had bought. And she left that foolish ring upon her desk among the papers.

Meantime the letters by evening post had arrived in the castle drawing-room. Miss Golden had had her share, had read, and had not been pleased. She was always looking out for some writing in one particular hand; and as this never appeared it is not likely that her letters should make her glad. Lady Helen was asleep upon her sofa, so her letters had been laid beside her, at her hand. Miss Madge had read a letter from her good friend M., who had helped her to make that memorable pasty. Miss Madge was somewhat flushed, Miss Madge was quite elated. Miss Madge began to hum in a low voice to herself :

The French are on the sea,

Says the Shan van Vocht.
Oh, the French are in the bay,
They'll be here without delay,
And the”

"What's that you are saying about the French, Madge?"

asked Lady Helen, waking. "I wish you would not talk

about them. Bloodthirsty wretches!" And Lady Helen began to break the seals of her letters.

A scream followed the reading of the first, just as the drawing-room door opened, and Sir Archie came in.

" Archie! Archie ! they have written me? ships has left France, of the rebels."

cried her ladyship, "is this true, what

There is a rumour that a fleet of warand that it is coming to the assistance

"I have heard it," said Sir Archie, "and I think it likely to be true. But you need not be uneasy, mother, they are not going to storm you in your drawing-room."

Sir Archie looked pale, yet cheerful. But Lady Helen was carried to her bed. And Miss Madge was in haste to reply to the letter of her friend M.; and she went humming her snatch of song up the stairs to her tower-room, where she locked herself in, with pen and ink, for the night.

Miss Golden felt herself lonely and ill-treated. There was no chance of peace and a little gaiety to be had in this miserable country. The troubles were getting thicker in it every day that shone. And here was she, miles and miles away from the only friend she cared about, all for a foolish quarrel of her making, which ought to have been cleared up long ago. And now he was not thinking of her, would leave her to her fate. Oh, Pierce, Pierce! would that she were at home in England, near him!

Miss Janet was getting nervous when she indulged such thoughts as these, for she was not given to heaping reproaches. upon her own so wilful head. And in such a desponding frame of mind she walked into Hester's room.

Hester was not there. Hester was in her bed-room. Miss Janet stood at the fire, and then Miss Janet walked to the table On the table she saw letters, and one of them addressed to Pierce Humphrey, captain in his majesty's—regiment. And she also saw a ring which she knew to be her own, at least a ring which had once been her own; and it was fastened to a ribbon which had been worn round the neck. And the sight made her sick, of the letter and of the ring.

The sight made her sick, because she was not in her usual frame of mind. If she had been like her ordinary self she would have called in a loud voice for Miss Hester to come forth out of her bedroom; and she would probably have with difficulty, if at all, restrained herself from boxing both the ears of that young woman, and pinching both her pale dainty cheeks. But there was a lump in Janet's throat, and a genuine unwonted throe of anguish and remorse tightening her heart. She crept

away to her room in the humiliation of tears, and she certainly hated Hester-the sly thing-from that night.

But the next day she was not so sickly and sentimental. She took occasion to instal herself for an hour in Hester's room, and she sat staring at the girl and putting questions to her. "Do you know people in London called Humphrey ?" asked Miss Golden.

"Yes," answered Hester, with a sudden vivid blush. "What a soft silly fool the girl is!" thought Miss Golden. But Hester was only blushing because she was getting forced to disobey the Mother Augustine.

"People?" asked Miss Janet again, sharply.

"Yes, people," answered Hester.

You know Lady Humphrey, of Hampton Court?" "I know her," said Hester.

"And you also know her son, Mr. Pierce?" continued Janet.

"I know him also."

"Very probably Lady Humphrey was the friend of whom you told me once before?"

"Lady Humphrey was the friend."

Humph!" said Miss Golden; and then added, with a sudden bitter change in her voice, "Has Lady Helen yet consulted you on the subject of a bridal trousseau ? "'

46

Yes," answered Hester.

See that you are industrious, then!" said Miss Janet, superciliously, and went, singing a sprightly catch, out of the

room.

"The little ambitious monkey!" cried Miss Janet, in her chamber. 'Must send a poor soldier back his ring because a fine estated baronet should admire her yellow hair! Miss Innocence you have robbed me of my lover. Then I shall take especial care that you shall never find yourself mistress of Glenluce."

So Miss Janet could be rather coarse in her threats and suspicions when she was angry.

But Hester put down her sewing for a few moments while she reflected on the confession which she had been led into making. She might as well have told Miss Golden all the tale of Pierce's ring. Well, it could not matter now. The ring had been returned with her explanation. Mr. Pierce could manage best his own affairs, without a doubt. And it were silly and very awkward, such a tale, at such a time, when the wedding robes were ordered, and the bridegroom was Sir Archie Munro.