dued sadness that will sometimes come over a plain woman in the presence of striking beauty was discernible in her manner. Dym ceased to wonder over it: her shrewd eyes soon guessed the young lady's secret. Adelaide Beauchamp's mild blue eyes grew pathetic and then suffused with tears as evening after evening George Lintot lingered by Beatrix's side, as though fascinated in spite of himself.

If Beatrix guessed her pain, she never spared her. She ruled over her cousin's drawing-room most despotically, to his infinite amusement. It was not his way to pay court to any woman; but he was very indulgent to her caprices, and treated her with frank kindness-contriving little plans for her diversions, and installing himself as her cavalier on all occasions of ceremony.

Poor Dym that first evening would have been very dull but for Miss Beauchamp's kindness. Night after night she crept away to her distant corner, in spite of Mrs. Chichester's solicitations, fearing lest her presence should provoke a fresh sneer from Beatrix.

Beatrix was not actively unkind. She left Miss Elliott alone for the most part, but there was a suppressed scorn in her manner when she addressed her that roused all the old bad feelings. While the other ladies took Mrs. Chichester's cue, and treated her with marked kindness, Beatrix would give her trifling commissions, not always civilly, in a way that brought her dependent position more prominently into notice.

"Had you not better ring for Randall ?" Mr. Chichester said once, in a tone of reproof, when Beatrix had hunted Dym out from a distant corner to fetch her some article she had mislaid. Dym, who never dared to rebel in his presence, brought it with heightened color and laid it down.

Beatrix said not a word of thanks; and, as though to punish her for her incivility, her cousin left her side abruptly and went to the other end of the room. There was certainly a little malice in Beatrix's treatment of Dym. She had always thoroughly disliked her; but Guy's chivalrous defense had deepened this into an active enmity. Beatrix had never forgiven her cousin for taking Miss Elliott to Ingleside; she had not forgotten his warm speeches on her behalf, and the anger with which he had rebuked her. He had parted from her with bitter words on both sides, and Beatrix was not likely to

forgive the innocent cause of it all. Dym's presence at Ingleside was an affront to her-nay, more, a constant reproach; and her haughty nature could not brook it quietly. Dym's pride often writhed under a covert sarcasm or a cutting speech that she alone understood. The squire was not always there to defend her. In his absence Beatrix often contrived to make herself very disagreeable. Neither Guy nor his mother guessed the misery those days were to Dym. True to her motto, Dym scorned to complain, but she endured as badly as possible.

Men cannot understand this petty spite of women, for, with shame be it said, it is purely and entirely feminine. If Mr. Chichester had witnessed it all, he would have understood it as little as later on he did Dym himself.

Whether purposely or not, he certainly took very little notice of his protégée at this time. Dym often went to bed weary and dispirited, to cry over her lost happiness, as she called it. "You are so triste, as Mrs. Vivian calls it," Edith said to her, one day. Edith scarcely recognized her light-hearted governess sometimes.

Ah, this sadness! it is a traitor in the citadel of the heart; it sits brooding over fancied ruins, while the enemy is taking the outworks. "Above all, beware of sadness," says an old father of the faith; and indeed despondency helps no one. Dym's outworks were unguarded. While she indulged discontent or envious thought, she grew less watchful, and, alas, less prayerful, over her words and acts; sometimes her abruptness startled Mrs. Chichester, and called forth a few chiding words. Dym was in no mood for reproof. Instead of waxing gentle, she relapsed into moodiness. The charge of her little pupil became a weariness instead of a pleasure; it hindered her visits to Woodside, which would have done her good. Sometimes when she and Edith took their walk, they would hear the voices of the shooting-party; when the weather was mild, the ladies would carry out their luncheon; Dym caught a glimpse of them once. Guy was sitting under a hedge, laughing and talking with Frank Delaire, and Beatrix was leaning against the fence, holding her cousin's gun. She had her green dress looped up picturesquely, and one of the sportsmen's bags slung across her shoulder. "You would do for Maid Marion, Trichy," Dym heard Mr. Chichester say.

She turned away with an envious sigh as they plodded on through the rutty lane.

It was the evening of the ball; five-o'clock tea was over, and most of the party had dispersed to prepare themselves for the evening; all but Dym, who always presided at this meal, and was waiting for Mr. Chichester and Mrs. Delaire, who was trying to finish a novel by the firelight.

"You will be late for dinner, Beatrix," remonstrated her husband, as he left the room; but Beatrix only shook her fair head pettishly, and read on.

Dym sat listlessly watching the shadows and the play of the firelight on the walls, till the squire came in, bringing a rush of cold air with him.

“What, Trichy, not dressing? I warned every one to be in time; to-night dinner waits for no man."

Beatrix shut up her book with a light laugh.

Very well, most potent cousin ;" and, as Guy brought his teacup to the rug with a sociable air, "Well, what have you been doing with yourself this afternoon?"

"Ask Mahomet."

"What, have you been riding?"

"Cela va sans dire."

"Oh, Guy, and never to ask me to join you!"

"I thought Frank wanted you."

Beatrix made a gesture of impatience. "Frank is always wanting me. I never thought one's husband would bore one So. Frank never seems able to write a letter now without my dictation."

"He shows he knows how to value a clever wife."

Guy, when you pay compliments I always know you are in a good humor."

"So I am. Trichy, I have got a surprise for you. Guess who is coming this evening."

Beatrix's eyes questioned her cousin's face closely before she answered. Guy's eyes were bright and dark; his whole mien was joyous.

"As though I need to guess," returned Beatrix, a little contemptuously; her manner had changed.

"Oh, wise young judge-a second Daniel come to judgment! So you knew it was Miss Nethecote?"

"Of course," spoken calmly, but with a slight frown, and

as though the subject did not interest her. She reopened her book.

Mr. Chichester looked a little disappointed at the reception of his news, and, after lingering for a minute or two, left the room rather hurriedly.

When he was gone, Beatrix laid down her book again, and, leaning her chin on her hand, sat for a little while lost in thought. Dym, who was tired of her position, ventured to remind her that the second bell would soon ring.

"I am afraid you will be very late, Mrs. Delaire."

"What if I be?" was the haughty answer; but she rose notwithstanding, and then, as though a sudden thought struck her,—

"Miss Elliott, do you know when Miss Nethecote returned ?"

"I was not aware till this moment that she had returned," answered Dym, with perfect truth.

"Oh, perhaps you are not acquainted with her."

"On the contrary, we are very good friends," returned Dym, rather abruptly; "but I have not seen her brother for some days."

66

What, you know him too? A pretty fair specimen of a rustic farmer, is he not? I suppose," turning her long neck aside and speaking carelessly, "that she is still as handsome

as ever?"

"Handsome is not the word," was the brief answer.

"Indeed!" looking at her now in surprise; "and what would you call her, Miss Elliott ?"

"I should call her beautiful.

I have never seen a face like Miss Nethecote's-never," returned Dym, with sudden effusion.

"You have such a large experience, have you not?" spoken with Beatrix's old disdain; but she was evidently vexed and startled by Dym's earnestness.

Dym was not likely to abate her enthusiasm on that score. "And she is as good as she is beautiful; I know Mr. Chichester thinks so."

Dym never knew why she made this rash speech; she said it thoughtlessly, and without attaching much importance to her words.

"What do you know about Mr. Chichester's likes and dis

2

"Do you

likes?" returned Beatrix, in an irritated manner. think such observations are fitting in your position? Take care what you are about, Miss Elliott. My cousin will not brook a word on this subject."

"I-what have I said?" stammered Dym. "Every one praises Miss Nethecote; it cannot be any harm to say she is good." Then, as though rebelling against Beatrix's harsh manner, "And she is goodness itself."

A sudden passion whitened Beatrix's fair face—a sort of spasm crossed it.

"Good!" with a little laugh, as she turned to leave the room. 'Ay, if it be good to be the curse of Guy Chichester's life, as that woman has been his curse, and will be till he dies."

CHAPTER XVI.

HALF-TRUTHS MAKE MISCHIEF.

"As that woman has been his curse, and will be till he dies."

At Beatrix's terrible words Dym had shrunk back appalled. Honor, Guy Chichester's curse? Impossible! his good angel, rather. Mrs. Delaire's angry speech discomposed Dym sadly: she was getting loosed from her moorings; everything was wrong; there was mystery and discomfort round her, an undercurrent of trouble and bitterness that colored everything. Mrs. Delaire's manner was insupportable. "I will not bear it-why should I?" said Dym's old enemy.

Dym went up to dress for the evening, miserable and out of tune with everything. She had been looking forward to the party, but now she could enjoy nothing. She put on her beautiful dress listlessly, and went down-stairs. In the corridor she came suddenly on Beatrix and Adelaide Beauchamp.

"Do let me help you," she heard Miss Beauchamp say, persuasively; "the maids are so busy, and there is nearly half a yard of that beautiful lace torn."