lutely enjoyed her visit to the Nook upon the present melancholy occasion, but without doubt it had some pleasing features for her. It was an occasion that-in many senses-could be improved, and she was fond of improving an occasion. Without exactly putting herself in the place of the girls' "natural protector"-which would have involved something besides privileges-she was in an undeniable position for offering advice, if not for absolute dictation; and for playing the patroness as far as that game could be played for love. As their only kinswoman, she had really succeeded to some authority over them, and Kitty, at least, was willing to admit it. "My dear girls," said she, impressively, "you have a right to look to me in future-for counsel; and, God willing, it shall never be denied you. Your dear mother's death has in no respect altered your position in my affections, unless it be to make you dearer to me. I am sure my Mary feels the

same.

"Kitty and Jenny both know that, mamma, without my telling them," said Mary, brusquely. She had a consciousness, quickened by a certain expression in Jenny's eye, that this speech of her mother's was not quite what it should be, or, at all events, that it was not very warmly appreciated.

"My dear child, in a solemn hour like this, one should not only think but speak the words of cheer. It has pleased an inscrutable Providence to deprive your cousins of their natural guardian; indeed, there is only too much reason to fear of both their parents. They are unhappily also left but slenderly provided for. Under these circumstances, it behooves those who love them to speak with tenderness, yet with decision. It is impossible at their age that they should know the world, or what is best for them to do in the world; and it is my duty to tell them that in reality their choice is very small. Even with the experience of their good mother to aid them, they have found it hard, I fear, to make both ends meet; and they will find it still harder now."

"Do you call these 'words of cheer,' madam?" inquired Jenny, suddenly, with the air of a person

who asks for information.

"They are words of truth, at all events, my poor girl," answered Mrs. Campden, pityingly, as you will surely discover; though, indeed, I was not addressing myself so much to you as to Kate.-Well, in this your extremity, as I may truly call it, a friend has unexpectedly proffered his aid."

"Mr. Holt, I suppose?" said Jenny, coldly. "Yes; it is Mr. Holt, Jane; though I don't know why you should suppose any such thing," answered Mrs. Campden, reprovingly. 46 'You have no claim upon his good offices, so far as I know, in any way. Yet only consider what he has done. From the moment that that dreadful paragraph appeared in the newspaper which has already worked such woe-poor Marks is quite broken-hearted about his share in the matter, and I hope it will be a lesson to him never to act without thought as long as he lives -I say ever since these miserable tidings came to England, Mr. Holt has been moving heaven and earth to get your father's insurance-money paid-" Kitty started to her feet.

"What is there, then, no hope?" cried she. Jenny trembled in every limb, but remained silent. Her courage was greater than that of her sister, but her strength was small.

"I fear that there is very little hope, Kitty," said Mrs. Campden, quietly. "We must not disguise from ourselves what has really happened. The ship is many weeks behind its time, and has been already 'written off'-I believe that is the phrase - at Lloyd's; and then there is this shattered boat picked

VOL. I.-12

up belonging to it. The 'Flamborough Head' is painted on it. Nothing can be more morally conclusive. On the other hand, there is a difficulty about the payment of your father's insurance by the Palm Branch, because his death cannot be substantiated. Mr. Campden could tell you all about it, because he is a director of the company, but he naturally feels a delicacy in talking of it. From his very connection with the matter, his lips are in a manner sealed."

Why?" inquired Jenny.

"My good girl, I wish you would not speak so brusquely. It is positively startling. You must really get out of that curt manner, which is the reverse of conciliatory. Of course I don't mind it myself-that is to say seriously-but others may take objection to it; and under present circumstances it behooves you to make no enemies, but all the friends you can. The reason is surely evident enough why my husband, being a director, and indeed the chairman of the Palm Branch, can take no steps that may prejudice its interests on behalf of a personal friend. The company has for the present refused to pay, and in the mean time money will be wanting to you for a hundred things-for what has happened to-day for one. Forgive me for alluding to matters that must needs give you pain; but this is no time for false delicacy. Well, you want money at once, and for the present the Palm Branch will not pay the sum to which you would be entitled if the fact of your father's death could be established. Under these circumstances, the kind friend of whom I speak has offered to advance you whatever may be required."

"That is very generous," said Kitty, softly. "The advance would be made on the security of the insurance," observed Jenny.

"Well, yes; of course it would. But, if your father is alive, the loan is lost, for where is he to find the money to repay it?"

"Then in that case Mr. Holt would be giving us the money, would he not?" continued Jenny.

"Yes, indeed; and there are very few persons, let me tell you, who would make so noble, so largehearted an offer."

"Let us hope there would be also very few persons who would accept it, Mrs. Campden."

Jane, you must be mad!" cried Mrs. Campden, angrily.—" Kate, if you have any influence with your sister for it seems I have none-I do trust you will exert it for her own benefit. She does not understand her position."

"You are wrong there, Mrs. Campden; thanks to your plain speaking-a duty, as you call it, in which you have never failed since our misfortunes began—it is quite impossible that any one of us could misunderstand it. Kitty, of course, will do as she thinks proper; but for myself I do not take one shilling of this man's money, either as loan or gift. I would starve first."

"My dear Jenny!" cried Mary, with a little scream; "pray don't say such dreadful things. Mamma always exaggerates, you know; things are not so bad-"

"Be quiet, Mary," interrupted Mrs. Campden, very sharply; "you are talking like a fool. If things are not so bad with your cousins, it is only in the sense that they are not so bad as they may be. It is impossible to imagine a darker future than awaits them should they decline this opportune and, I must say, most delicately-offered aid. Fortunately, the decision does not rest with Jane, but with Kitty. She is the house-manager, and knows how matters stand; and with the debt for her mother's very funeral hanging over her head-"

"Stop! stop!" pleaded Kitty, pitifully. "Do not talk of that to-day, I entreat you. Give me time -a few days at least-to think over what you have said, and then you shall have my answer."

"You will do as you please, my dear, of course,' replied Mrs. Campden, with a pitying smile; "though why you should hesitate even for a moment is inexplicable to me. However, so be it.-And now I have a proposition of my own to make, which has the merit, at all events"-here she threw a meaning glance at Jenny-" of being open to no misconstruction. It is my intention-for the present, at all events-to provide for the little baby. It is strong and healthy enough, Dr. Curzon says, notwithstanding its somewhat premature arrival; so that a wet-nurse is as unnecessary as it would under the circumstances be unjustifiable; and our lodge-keeper's wife, Mrs. Hardy -who, it seems, had a great affection for its poor mother-has consented to take charge of it. We have plenty of cows, you know-"

"Oh, please, Mrs. Campden, I couldn't do that," interrupted Kitty, decisively. "The baby is the greatest comfort we have left to us. It is never out of my arms or Margate's, and she understands all about it quite as well as Mrs. Hardy. The milk is as good here, too, as at Riverside-"

My dear child, that is not the question," put in the other, emphatically. "The question is, do you get the milk for nothing? Why, of course you don't; and, therefore, to keep the baby would be an act of extravagance."

"My dear mamma, I never heard of a baby being an article de luxe," said Mary, smiling.

"Very likely not; but your cousins are unfortunately in a position to feel it as such," returned her mother, gravely." It is not as if you would be separated from the child by any distance, Kitty; and then when you come over to Riverside you could always see it. And if it was seriously ill I should take care to let you know, of course."

Poor Kitty's face had been growing longer and longer throughout this speech, for the baby was inexpressibly dear to her, as well on its own account as on that of her mother, of whom it seemed to be a portion. Jenny could find forgetfulness of her miseries in reading and writing; but for herself, the soft, snoozie little form she rocked to sleep upon her bosom was her only cure for the heartache. When Mrs. Campden talked so calmly of its being "seriously ill" miles away from her, Kitty shuddered.

"Indeed, I could not part from the baby, Mrs. Campden; it is almost the greatest treasure I have left in life; and I don't think," added she, with a faint smile, "it is a very expensive luxury."

"You know your own affairs best, my dear," answered Mrs. Campden, coldly. "I meant nothing but kindness by my offer." And she rose and pruned down her black silk and crape, in sign of flight. "We have put up our horses at Farmer Boynton's, so that no unnecessary expense should be imposed on you; and I do hope you will be as considerate for yourself, Kitty, as your friends are for you. You understand what I mean. Now I do trust to hear from you to-morrow or the next day that your foolish scruples with respect to the offer of our common friend have been overcome." She kissed Kitty as she spoke; but Jenny had already betaken herself from the room, and Mrs. Campden, perhaps, was not displeased at the circumstance. She was not so indifferent to Jenny's brusqueness as she affected to be; the plain speaking on which she piqued herself was very unwelcome to her in others; and, besides, Jenny had a habit of quietly ripping up her satin speeches, and showing the seamy side of them, which made her particularly dislike that young lady. Of

the baby, on the other hand, Mrs. Campden took a gracious leave; the woman's heart must be bad indeed that does not warm to a baby; and yet its infant charms by no means so intoxicated her as to warp her practical good sense.

"It's a dear little baby," said Mary, "is it not?" as she and her mother crossed the bridge toward the farm.

"Yes, indeed, and healthy, too; though, under the circumstances, one can hardly wish that it should live."

64

Fie, mamma, how you talk!" returned Mary, not a little shocked. It was creditable to her to have retained her susceptibilities so long; her mother's honest speech and high principles still gave her rather " a turn" occasionally.

"Well, the point is, what is the poor little creature to live upon?" returned the elderly lady. “Even when Mr. Dalton's insurance-money is paid, there will hardly be enough for three mouths, much less for four. I suppose you don't wish your papa to be saddled with the maintenance of a second boy for all his life?"

'Well, that does seem hard upon us, certainly," answered Mary, her thoughts reverting to Jeff with some disfavor.

"Of course, it would be hard-in fact, it is out of the question; and yet you say (rather disrespectfully, I must needs remark), 'How you talk, mamma!' when I say it is no charity to hope the child may live. If the carriage is ready, I shall not wait for your father; it will do him all the good in the world to walk home; and I am sure the accommodation at the farm is not at all what our horses are accustomed to."

In a few minutes the carriage drove by-close to the new-made grave-with the two ladies sitting in it alone.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

JENNY AT BAY.

MR. CAMPDEN was upon the whole not sorry to have been left behind by his wife in Sanbeck; the short way to Riverside over the crags was not, indeed, very nice walking in winter weather; but it was no great distance to Bleabarrow, where "the fly" could be procured to take him home; and he was really glad of being alone with Jeff, and of having a word or two in private with the two girls. Jeff had received no summons to Riverside upon this melancholy occasion-Mrs. Campden objected, as a matter of principle, to people running into expenses for mere sentiment-but had invited himself to Dr. Curzon's.

"I should like, if it would not be inconvenient to you," he wrote the doctor, "to pay the last tribute of respect to the best and dearest friend I have had in the world ;" and the doctor had allowed the plea, and welcomed the lad warmly.

He looked something more than a lad now; his life in town had given him an air of independence and self-possession, though without the least touch of conceit. He looked handsomer than ever, though his dark eyes were heavy with woe, and his fair face shadowed with grief, as he walked, with little Tony, ahead of their two companions, and talked in a low voice of the departed dear one.

With the squire and the doctor, as was natural, the future of the orphaned Daltons formed the chief topic of conversation; and, in connection with it, Mr. Campden mentioned the offer that had been made by Mr. Holt.

It was a deuced kind thing of the man, that I must say," observed he, when he had delivered this information, which he felt somehow had fallen flat.

"Very much so," said the doctor, "if it was disinterested."

"There was no promise attached to it whatsoever, my good friend; the offer was made quite free."

they were now returning from the mere-and once more introduced, by association, the topic of the morning.

"I should like to have a few words with your sisters before I start, Tony," said the squire,“ if they feel equal to seeing me.'

'Perhaps not," said the doctor, dryly. "Still, I think it hard upon the girl to place her in such a position. Suppose a lovely young woman, for example (and what can be more likely ?), advanced me money upon very doubtful security-should not I be bound, if I could not repay her, to make her Mrs. C.?”

"I believe you're right, Curzon," said Mr. Campden, suddenly; "it has struck me in the same light, myself. The money, if they want it, shall be forthcoming some other way.'

He gave a great sigh as he said that, as a thrifty man might do who has made up his mind to some extravagance; but Mr. Campden was not thrifty; and, though he was counting the cost of what he had resolved to do, it was not the expense that made him sigh. If he advised the girls not to take this money, especially if his wife had already persuaded them to do so, 66 there would be the deuce of a row," he knew, with Julia.

"I say, Jeff, what is your opinion of Mr. Holt?" inquired the doctor, presently, pitching his voice so as to reach the others-" that is, so far as you can tell it consistently with loyalty to your chief?'

'Ay, we mustn't disclose the secrets of the prison-house, must we ?" said Mr. Campden—“ how we rig the markets, and all that."

"I am bound to say that Mr. Holt has been uniformly civil to me," replied the young fellow, frankly-"nay, not only civil, but considerate. In my ignorance and inexperience, I have no doubt made lots of blunders in business matters, and he has never said a word about them. And this is the more creditable to him, because he hates me very cordially, and he knows that I hate him."

"My dear Jeff, I am astonished at you!" exclaimed Mr. Campden.

The doctor looked astonished, too, but with a sly twinkle in his eyes that did not speak reproof.

"No, sir; we don't like one another, and we never shall," continued the young man; "but I do my duty by him, I hope, and, as I say, I have nothing to complain of in his behavior to me."

"Well, I have known many partnerships carried on on worse terms," observed the doctor, cheerfully. "But how was it that oil and vinegar were got to mix in the first instance?"

"The explanation is very simple, doctor. Mrs. Dalton-God bless her!-asked Mr. Holt to take me, and advised me to go. And-and" (here Jeff began for the first time to exhibit embarrassment) nothing else happened to offer itself."

"Because he is their best friend-eh, Tony?" observed the doctor, hastening to the rescue. "That is quite right. We three will take another turn to

Since Mrs. Campden's departure that afternoon, the two sisters had not met. Kitty had devoted herself to the baby, and Jenny had remained in her own room endeavoring, in vain, to devote herself to her books. They were both aware that it behooved them to be doing something: not to give themselves over to the grief that was importuning them to become its prey. They only showed their weakness by avoiding the little drawing-room when they conveniently could, since it was there that the sense of loss oppressed them most: the unfinished piece of work, the still open desk, the book half read, the empty loungingchair, were for the present daggers, each of which stabbed them to the very heart. Perhaps, too, the consciousness of their disagreement-or, rather, of their want of accord-with respect to the proposition made by Mrs. Campden, had helped to keep them apart for that half-hour or so. A quarrel was impossible between them at any time, much more on the very day when they had laid in earth the being they had loved best upon it, and who had repaid their love with such usurious interest. There were reasons, as I have shown, why these two from the first should not have gone the way of most sisters in this respect; and, since misfortune had befallen them, the bonds of love between them had been naturally strengthened and tightened. It is a poor fancy, indeed, that has painted Love as flying out of the window when Poverty knocks at the door. With those within, if they be not utterly worthless, he remains a more cherished guest than ever. Indeed, it was only their ordinary close affection and unanimity which gave any importance to the difference of opinion between the two sisters; it seemed so strange to each that the other should take an opposite view of any matter.

Jenny on her part had no doubt whatever as to the course they were bound to follow with respect to Mr. Holt's offer. If she had thought Kitty was seriously thinking of accepting it, she would have been furious. She saw it at once in the very light in which it appeared to Dr. Curzon. "This impudent man was offering to lend his money upon the very best of security-namely, on Kitty herself. If the offer was accepted, it was in fact the offer of his hand!" What hesitation, therefore, need there be as to their reply? As to Mrs. Campden's making the proposition, that was only to be expected, after what had already happened, and was another reason, if such were wanted, for declining it. Sooner than see her Kitty sacrificed on the altar to Mammon, for the sake of herself and Tony and the baby, she would have "starved first."

summer months-should have spoken of her mother's future with charitable confidence. The words of Hamlet addressed to the officiating minister at Ophelia's grave would have expressed her thoughts. What priest on earth had the right to eulogize her mother, far less to hint a doubt of her perfection? As for the outside world, she scorned it; the chill touch of misfortune had withered up her soul, and shut her sympathies within very narrow limits. Her own flesh and blood: Jeff and the doctor, Nurse Haywood and Uncle George, were now all the world held that was dear to her; and even Uncle George was suffering in her opinion as the husband-or, rather, because he was the slave—of his Julia. Under these circumstances, it was perhaps creditable to poor Jenny that she had been as civil to Mrs. Campden that afternoon as she had been.

Kitty, on the other hand, was actuated by different feelings. Her mother's death had left heruntil her father's return, of which, however, she at least still entertained a hope-head of the family, and her soul was filled with the sense of that responsibility. The proposition made on behalf of Mr. Holt did not strike her with that force and significance which it had for her sister; she saw in it a kindness, unexpected indeed, but explicable enough on the ground of his friendship for her father. She looked upon the money as a loan, not as a gift; and though, even so, it would be unpleasant to accept it, she did not think it consistent with her duty to those left in her charge to refuse such an offer point-blank. She had not yet made herself aware how their slender finances actually stood, and therefore could not measure the necessity of the case; and she was solicitous not to lose a friend for her dear ones, and, still more, not to make an enemy. That she could be resolute against dictation when her heart counseled resistance, has been proved by her refusal of Mrs. Campden's generous proposal to take the baby off her hands; but Jenny had left the room before she had displayed this fortitude.

It was, therefore, under some sort of misunderstanding, rather than disagreement, that the two sisters now met in the little sitting-room, having been summoned thither by the squire's arrival.

"My darlings," said he, gently, "this is a sad day for you; but I thought you would not mind seeing Uncle George."

The sight of these delicate girls, so pale and mournful in their simple black dresses, affected him deeply. He noticed that Kitty wept, while Jenny was quite dry-eyed, and yet that the latter looked the more pained and hopeless of the two; that was probably, thought he, because of her physical ailment, poor thing. He tenderly embraced them both, and then spoke some hopeful words about their father.

"Jeff says that it is by no means thought to be a desperate case with regard to the Flamborough Head even now; and that persons are still found to insure her, though, of course, at a great premium.— Come, come, girls, cheer up; I hope and trust that my old friend may come home to see his darlings yet."

"Not all his darlings-not the best of them," moaned Kitty, wringing her little hands.

"I have no hope, Uncle George," said Jenny, quietly.

"Well, well, time will show, lass. My prayer is, that your poor father may be restored to be your guide and protector. But, if it please God to deny this, material matters will, on the other hand, be less untoward with you. His life is insured-though, singularly enough, I never knew it-in a company of which I am a director, for five thousand pounds.

The worst is, that some time may elapse before the proof arrives—that is—”

"We understand," interrupted Jenny, quietly. "Mrs. Campden explained it."

"Yes, yes; and about Holt's offer, and so on. Well, I have been thinking since that you might have some hesitation in accepting that. Now, suppose a little arrangement should be entered into between you two and me, no one else knowing anything about it; there would not be the same objection, would there? Here are two hundred pounds. that would be enough, eh?"

'Oh, yes, Uncle George; but-"

Now, my dear Kitty, it's a loan; you need have no false pride in the matter."

"But I am not sure that we shall want it, Uncle George, at least not just at present. We shall live very, very quietly now-shall we not, Jenny, you and I? and as for Tony, he will soon be off our hands. It is such an indescribable pleasure to us to think that the poor boy will for the next year or two, at all.events, feel no disadvantage from his change of fortune, since you have so kindly offered to send him to Eton."

"To Eton?" said Mr. Campden, reddening. "Yes; to be sure, there was some talk of that. But Mrs. Campden was thinking perhaps some other school-I mean in the boy's own interest-might, under the circumstances, be more suitable."

"Oh, dear, I am so sorry!" said Kitty. "Papa went away so pleased that Tony was to go to Eton; and mamma-I think, somehow, dear mamma had set her heart upon it. Moreover, Uncle George, you promised it," observed Kitty, gravely.

"Well, my dear, I believe I did, and I should. like to do it still; but the fact is, Mrs. Campden thinks However, no matter about that; I promise you the boy shall go to as good a school as Eton."

Subject to what Mrs. Campden thinks."

"O Jenny, Jenny!" cried Kitty, reprovingly. Mr. Campden's face turned from red to white. It was the first time either of the girls had seen Uncle George "put out," except by his wife.

"You should not speak to your father's friend like that, Jenny," said he, severely. "It is not becoming in a young girl."

"It is becoming in no one to break his word, and least of all because-"

46

"Be quiet, Jenny!" cried her sister, with passionate pleading. How can you, can you talk so, when Uncle George has just been so kind?"

"What Jenny says will make no difference as to that," said the squire, coldly. "The two hundred pounds are quite at your service."

"But I am not sure that we shall want them, Uncle George," said Kitty, timidly, and flushing very much at the sight of Mr. Campden's pocketbook. It held the very same notes which had been offered to John Dalton on the eve of his luckless departure from Riverside, and been declined.

"You will certainly want them, my dear," said he; "if not to-day, to-morrow. It is ridiculous to suppose that you can keep house-and pay unlookedfor expenses also on your little income, without any hope of its being increased."

"We have hope, Mr. Campden," said Jenny, slowly. "And I, for my part, at least, would rather

not take-"

"You talk very foolishly, girl," interrupted Mr. Campden, with irritation: "if you suppose you can earn your own living, you must be mad. I know you are thinking of your lace-work; but Lady Skipton was writing about it only the other day to Mrs. Campden, and assured her that, commercially speaking, it was valueless."