spoiled her tête-a-tête with Grace; and she made up her mind with Dymphna-like obstinacy that if his sister were like him she must be very plain indeed.

"That was a queer idea of the squire's, taking up his residence in Kentish Town, wasn't it?" went on Humphrey, in his gruff, good natured voice. "There's no notion what a man may do when he is once off his balance. I daresay, if your brother were here, he could tell us plenty of amusing anecdotes. No matter where he goes or what he does, our squire is sure to be talked about."

Dym, who was very shrewd, gathered three things from this speech-first, to quote common parlance, "that there was a screw loose somewhere;" but this was no news to her. Only the expression "off his balance" set her thinking whether Mr. Chichester might be somewhat wrong in his head; but after a minute she rejected this idea with disdain; the very thought was disloyal to her hero. Next she discovered that this worthy Humphrey was bitten with the same enthusiasm, and that in some sort of way he was a sturdy matter-of-fact prop to the erratic genius of Guy Chichester.

"Ho, ho! so the squire has his mentor too," she thought gleefully; but in this respect she was wrong. Humphrey Nethecote was not Guy Chichester's mentor.

On the contrary; she found out afterwards, though Humphrey in his canine-like fidelity would have laid down his life for his friend, he did not possess the slightest power or influence over the squire his next speech proved the truth of this. "Eh, it was an odd idea," he continued musingly. Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned in my notions-Honor says I am-but I never can see the sense of a man kicking over the traces. That's the squire's fault; he gets the bit in his teeth, a wrong idea in his head, and he bolts off with it. Why, if he had stuck to my advicewhich he never does, bless you-he would have just taken the home farm off my shoulders, and worked all those new-fangled ideas of his. But no; he must be off to Kentish Town, and teaching ragged boys in the night school, and doing good ness knows what besides; and for all I can say, Honor only laughs at him."

Evidently Mr. Nethecote thought that Mr. Elliott's sister would be pretty conversant with

the squire's vagaries. She hardly knew what answer to make to this strange confidence; and afraid of saying too much, she merely asked, “Is Honor your sister ?" which was a little bit of hypocrisy on her part.

"What's to do now ?" he returned, looking at her in surprise. "Of course Honor Nethecote must be my sister-my half sister, I should say, for the same mother couldn't have the pair of us." "Then she is not like you?"

Humphrey Nethecote wrinkled up his light eyebrows; and light eyebrows on a freckled face are no beauty.

"Coom, coom, Miss Elliott, you are trying your fu-un on me;" for Mr. Nethecote's speech was very broad. "I must tell the Duchess thatlike me, indeed!" and Mr. Nethecote laughed heartily.

"How was I to know ?" returned Dym, a little pertly. "I have not seen your sister."

"Do you know what a farmer once said to her? Thee art t' tightest lass, Miss Nethecote,' he said, 'not only in the West Riding, but in the whole of Yorkshire; and I'd drive a hard bargain to buy thee if thy cheeks weren't but a verra little bit redder.' How the squire laughed and advised Honor to rub her cheeks!"

Dym was very perplexed, but she began to like honest Humphrey in spite of herself.

"Honor would have been up at the Great House to see you this morning," he continued, "but for the bustle of this flower show. It is early days to ask you, but I suppose madam, as we call her, is very kind to you?"

"Very, but I like the squire best," returned Dym, with the fearlessness, but hardly the reticence of eighteen. Humphrey gave a low prolonged whistle, and stared at her; but Dym's piquant, innocent little face evidently disarmed him, and he broke into a candid smile.

"Ah, everybody's alike, high and low, rich and poor, man or woman. I believe there's the bell for the prizes-see how the people are crowding in. Shall I elbow you a passage, Miss Elliott, or do you prefer the fresh air outside ?"

"Yes, yes; don't wait for me, please-I know you are wanted;" and afraid of monopolizing him, Dym ran down the tiny slope and wandered about the field by herself rather aimlessly, thinking every now and then that even that stupid Humphrey was better company than none; and keenly

alive to the discomfort of being alone in a crowd, before many minutes were over she was ready to envy Phillis, who was walking with a trim looking. lad, evidently a mechanic by his dress.

Phillis blushed and curtsied in answer to Dym's nod; and then Dym came upon Grace Dunster sitting in a shady nook with a shock headed girl in a flaming red frock and white pinafore, evidently Phil, but both looked so happy that she would not disturb them, and wandered on disconsolately till she found an empty seat near a stand of exotics; there were very few people about, and in watching them Dym got drowsy, and nearly went to sleep. She really was dreaming, or something like it; for she opened her eyes and said, "Will!" when a band was laid on her shoulder.

"Will! no such luck. Here, I've found her asleep, I do declare !" cried Guy Chichester's cheery voice; at which Dym was wide awake in a moment. "Here, Honor, come and take this child home with you, and give her some tea; my mother will not want her-we have twenty to thirty people up at the house."

hand." Here it was; woman's hand as it was, Dym's lithe little fingers seemed quite lost in it. Strange that that first moment of greeting should bring pain to Dym! Might it not be ominous of the strange power and fascination that, in spite of all her efforts, Honor Nethecote was to exercise over our little heroine? For as time went on Dym could have wished she had never seen Honor Nethecote's face; while all the while she loved and clave to her, as women have loved and claved since the days of Ruth the Moabitess.

Miss Nethecote, after her brief word of assent, seemed to think further delay unnecessary, for she turned aside as though to lead the way, but Mr. Chichester stopped her.

"If I were you, I would take the short cut across the fields; she seems very tired. I will make it all right with my mother."

Miss Nethecote nodded. "Come, Miss Elliott." "Good-night, Honor," looking wistfully after

them.

Dym turned quickly round, and at last found herself face to face with the owner of it.

And her first impression was that Miss Nethecote was the most singular person she had ever met, and her next that she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her life. And this opinion was confirmed when she saw her in her own home, when the shady hat no longer concealed the broad white forehead and wide-open gray eyes. The Yorkshire farmer was right. Miss Nethecote was very pale, but the shape of the face was perfect; and Dym had never before seen that peculiar shade of brown hair which looks as though the sun were always shining on it.

The singularity, after all, lay chiefly in her dress; in spite of the warmth of the evening and the festivity of the occasion, Miss Nethecote wore a dark-blue cashmere dress, fitting almost as closely as a riding habit, and a low riding hat and feathers. "Very well," was all she said; but the pleasantness of her smile made up for the brevity of her greeting, and she held out her hand to Dym. It was ungloved, and even in that moment of soft pressure a vivid remembrance of Mr. Chichester's words in the porch rushed to her memory: he had said he liked a large benevolent-looking

next time."

Dym, who felt, lamb like, that she was going to be sacrificed to a fresh injury, and was not quite easy in her mind as to what Mrs. Chichester would say to this proceeding, could not help looking around as they walked on. Mr. Chichester was still standing in the tent door, shading his eyes and watching them. They were crossing on the unfrequented part of the field. "Can you climb a fence?" asked Miss Nethecote abruptly. Here was a new inconsistency; fancy this tall magnificent looking woman climbing a fence ! But to Dym's surprise she achieved it far more lightly than even Dym herself.

"I hope you are not afraid of bulls," was the next observation; to which Dym, without any hesitation, replied that she was very, very much. afraid of them, and that, if Miss Nethecote would allow her, she would rather go back; and so on.

This brought matters to a standstill; and Miss Nethecote walked on for a minute, as though gravely considering the position of affairs.

"If we go back through the village and around by the Mill, it will make the difference of more than three-quarters of a mile; and Mr. Chichester says you are very tired. So am I," she added, seeing Dym was ready to disclaim this eagerly.

"Mr. Trevor's cattle will certainly be out in the field; I passed them this afternoon, but old Cerberus his black bull, was not among them. Yes," she continued, with the decision of a general who had just reviewed his forces, and had inade up his mind to do battle-"yes, I think we can venture; if you are afraid, you shall take the side nearest the hedge. I'll promise you for your comfort, Miss Elliott, that I will be thoroughly tossed before I let them touch you."

All this was very terrible to Dym; but there was a "no-appeal" sort of tone in Miss Nethecote's voice which made her think an argument would be fruitless; evidently there was more than one strong will in Birstwith. A consciousness of not wishing to be laughed at made her determined to go through with it. She quaked visibly though when they came to the meadow, and found it full of moving black bodies and formidable horns; though Miss Nethecote pretended not to see it. "Fortune favors the brave," they say; there was no awful catastrophe or hairbreadth escape of two females down in the Pately Bridge, Nidderdale, and Ripon Herald that week. Tossing and goring may be Taurus-like qualities; but Squire Trevor's cattle preferred quietly ruminating and whisking off flies to any such amusement; and only one sound resembling a bellow made Dym's heart beat more quickly.

"There, the danger is over; as usual anticipation is worse than reality. But I know what our black cattle are to a Londoner's eyes. You would have good nerve, Miss Elliott, if you had not a trick of turning so pale; in six months you will think nothing of going through these fields alone."

to go to London, Paris, or Rome, or even to Kentish Town, when one wished, it might be different; but a woman is such a cooped up creature," with a sigh ending in a smile. "Why I should be obliged to stop in from week end to week end, and repent in dust and ashes, whenever I add a fresh trimming to my dress, or get a new bonnet. I have left off dressing in Birst with."

Dym was getting new lights now. "You mean that every one notices what you have on, and talks about. I have heard it is always the case in villages."

"Oh, the talk would not hurt me. I never hear gossip; it is the base imitation of the real article that tries my woman's soul. Never believe a woman is above this weakness, Miss Elliott; it is a libel on our sex. All the good women in the Bible were fond of dress. Oh, I am no Puritan, not I."

"I think it is too bad to copy fashions,” exclaimed Dym, who was enjoying this thoroughly feminine conversation.

"Do you? You have a pink bonnet on to-day. Yes, it is very pretty-inexpensively trimmed too; it will just come within the means of Phillis and her sisters; uniess, not being Mrs. Fortescue's or Miss Nethecote's, it is not fashionable enough for them." Then as Dym laughed: "I assure you once, Miss Elliott, I wore a gray silk-I adore gray silk. The following Sunday-no, the next but one-half the church was in gray. I was not in a devout mood, and I counted fifteen, in ali materials, from gray rep and poplin down to mousseline de laine and gray duffle. Absurd, was it not?" as Dym laughed. "Now you may form some sort of conjecture why I dislike living in a

"By choice, and not from nece..ity," was the somewhat singular reply; and as Dym looked surprised. "Before Mr. Tievor came to Birst with my brother wished very much to take his house; but I told him it was far too near the Great House and the Vicarage, and he gave it up, though it was larger and more convenient for him, poor fellow; but I could not tolerate living in the village."

"Mr. Chichester seems to like it."

adhering closely to one costume; but in other ways how is Birstwith's curiosity to be baffled?"

Miss Nethecote had a slow, musing way of talking occasionally, but she looked up now and spoke more quickly.

"Ah, there's our house-Nidderdale House, or Cottage we will call it-you can see the low gray roof shining through the trees.”

"And that other one?" asked Dym, pointing to a building a little farther down the road.

Do you like her? Is she nice?" For Dym had a laudable desire to learn all she could of her future neighbors..

"Yes, I like her very much; she is the nicest woman in Birst with," was the frank rejoinder. "What, nicer than Mrs. Chichester ?" But Dym was sorry for her thoughtless remark afterwards. A slight, almost imperceptible, change came over Miss Nethecote's fine face; but when Dym looked again it was gone. Possibly Miss Nethecote thought honesty was the best policy, for her answer was very straightforward.

"Well perhaps I am not a fair judge; I like Mrs. Chichester extremely, but then we never can get on together. When two women have two such wills, it would be wonderful if they were not to clash sometimes. Don't you like a thoroughly helpless woman ?"

"No," returned Dym promptly, finding it was necessary to assert her own individuality, "not at all."

"That is because you are helpless yourself. What," as Dym seemed bent on defending herself, "don't you like to lean all your weight on somebody? Is not it "Will, Will!" from morning to night? You see, a little bird tells me all manner of things, Miss Elliott. One of these days it will not be "Will," but somebody else."

"I am sure I shall not like Mrs. Grey," returned Dym viciously. What was the use of asserting herself? Already she was worsted in her argument. Of course she was helpless, and she knew it; but Miss Nethecote need not have found it out so soon; she was as bad as, or even worse than the squire himself.

"You are deciding on poor evidence. If we were not both so tired, I would take you on to Woodside, and make you retract your words before tea. As it is, I will content myself with observing that Esther Grey is the sweetest woman and the worst wife I ever saw; if she were not such a good mother, I might declare her unredeemable." "My mind refuses to admit such an inconsistency, Miss Nethecote."

They had crossed the last field, and had come out on a little patch of white road shaded with trees, and with a trout stream flowing beside it. Beyond lay a picturesque piece of broken grass land, resembling a miniature common.

"The air is fresher and more bracing up here than if we lived lower down in the valley. Well, welcome to Nidderdale Cottage, Miss Elliott," and unlocking a door in the wall, Dym found herself in a pleasant garden-half garden, half orchard with a trim little lawn and straggling walks, bordered with apple trees, and a long gray cottage, with a bow window, the porch quite smothered with honeysuckle and roses.

"What a dear place!" cried Dym. There was a bubble and trickle of water everywhere; on the lawn was a bed of creamy tea roses, in every corner and even through the trees, gleamed tall turk's cap lillies; a sweetbrier hedge steeped the evening air with fragrance; some doves cooed from the roof. "How sweet and still it all is! Of course it is not so grand, but it is prettier far than Ingleside."

"Oh, don't speak against Ingleside ! I love it," returned Miss Nethecote, rather contradictively. "Yes, it is pretty enough, and Humphrey takes great pains with it. But if women have cages, I should like mine to be a gilded one. The rooms are not high or large enough for my taste; but all the same," continued this singular being, "I suppose I shall live and die here.”

To her Nidderdale

Dym made no answer. Cottage appeared a perfect Paradise. The rooms were not large, certainly, and were evidently few in number, but they were furnished with exquisite taste, and in perfect accordance with the cottagelike exterior. The principal sitting room-Miss Nethecote corrected her when she said drawing room-was fitted up with gray damask, and had rose hangings; and Honor's room was full of beautiful things-Parian statuettes, Swiss carvings, a kneeling figure in Genoese marble, and Roman mosaics were prettily grouped on table and bracket. "After all," as Dym thought, "there was no lack of gilding in Miss Nethecote's cage." Guy Chichester had said that whatever Humphrey Nethecote touched turned to gold. It certainly seered as though it were his hobby to lavish

Her answers always went straight to the point. Honor was always ready with her yea, yea, ari her nay, nay, when other people would have he tated or equivocated. She was perfectly honest

"Very," returned Miss Nethecote, dryly; "especially as I hate gifts, and the friend knows that I do. Miss Elliott, if you are ready, shall we go down stairs? Humphrey will be on the field till nine o'clock, but he will be home in time to walk back to Ingleside with you."

What a pleasant evening that was! Dym put down her first visit to Nidderdale Cottage as one of her red letter days. She had never before enjoyed the society of an intellectual, thoroughly womanly woman; for, with all her eccentricities, Miss Nethecote was certainly that.

They grew very confidential over the cosy little meal, which was laid out in the bow-window of a tiny room looking over the trout stream and the meadow; the grass ran up to the very window; one stepped over the ledge on to the green soft carpet. There was a group of alder-trees at one end, and two beautiful Alderneys, as unlike as possible to Squire Trevor's cattle, were quietly chewing the cud under their shade; a row of beehives stood near the house; a flock of white geese were stretching their long necks and flapping their wings noisily.

"How beautiful!" observed Dym, with something like a sigh.

"Yes, if only cows and grass could fill one's life," repeated Miss Nethecote, with a dreamy smile. She had dropped the slight brusquerie that Dym had noticed-for people said Miss Nethecote could be brusque sometimes, and they were right; she sat opposite Dym, with grand white forehead and bright candid eyes, looking so fair and good that Dym caught herself wondering what Will would think of her, and if she would be right in electing Miss Nethecote as her heroine. Dym's straightforward little soul was charmed with the largeness and simplicity of Honor's With all her reticence, she could be as frank and outspoken as Dym herself.

nature.

No," returned Miss Nethecote quietly; "it was a present from the same kind friend to Humphrey on his birthday. We do not boast heirlooms in our family. I remember the time when Humphrey was quite a poor man-that is, comparatively poor, you know. Ah, he has had his work to do in this world! No wonder he is a little rough, poor fellow. In those days I dd not talk of gray-silk gowns, Miss Elliott."

"I think I heard Mr. Chichester say something of this," replied Dym.

"Did he tell you that we had lodgings at the Mill, and that no one in Birst with would have thought of visiting us? That was when Hamphrey was the old squire's under-bailiff, and I was little more than a child. Poor old Humphrey, his pride had something to bear then. And just look at him now-there is not a man more resp ted in the West Riding; and it is all his own doing too."

"After all there must be something in Humphrey Nethecote," thought Dym remorsefully. "But now I want to know more about you and your brother," continued Miss Nethecote win ningly. She took the girl's hand and drew her gently to the corner of the old-fashioned couch. and then sat down beside her. "Never mind about Humphrey and me-it is a stupid subject, and one that will keep. I have heard so much about Mr. Elliott and St. Luke's, and I am long. ing to hear more."

Dym needed no other encouragement. In few more minutes she was pouring out her little life history of failures and trials. Miss Nethecote listened with admirable patience to the long story of Will's illness, which Dym seeined never weary of repeating, and did not once own she had heard it all before. Now and then she spoke a few words of encouragement and sympathy, as though

to draw her out.

But, as Dym remembered afterwards, Miss Nethecote talked very little.

She sat, in the flower-scented twilight, beside the open window, looking dreamily out on the bed of roses all the time Dym was faltering out