"You have sent for me, sir," using the forbidden word. It certainly did not help to clear Mr. Chichester's brow, as he placed a chair for her, and took up his old position against the mantelpiece.

Yes, I have sent for you. Though you are my mother's companion, Miss Elliott, I must remind you again that I am master in this house, and that I do not choose my friends to be insulted."

แ

Dym's mouth closed rebelliously.

"I will waive your behavior to my cousin," he went on. Perhaps there may be faults on both sides; but let me tell you that nothing-nothing," speaking still more decisively, can justify your constant rudeness to her. Last night I could not help wondering what your brother would have said to you."

"I will not have you speak to me of Will," returned Dym, her cheeks flaming again.

Mr. Chichester bowed his head, but his tone increased in severity.

"You compel me to tell you that you are wronging him and your better nature too, when you behave so. Your conduct last night to Miss Nethecote was foolish and ungrateful in the extreme. I would use a harsher word, but your conscience will apply it. I confess I am greatly disappointed in you, Miss Elliott."

It was hard; but she deserved it.

"Let go,

me ," exclaimed Dym, in an agitated voice; not bear this."

"I can

"Pardon me, but you must bear to be told of your faults," he returned, coldly.

"No, no," she repeated, still more wildly. "I disappoint every one. I am not meant to be good; I have a temper, and every one provokes it. You are all so harsh and stern, Mr. Chichester; let me go home. I cannot stay here any longer."

"That is sheer nonsense, Miss Elliott."

"I tell you I will go," still more sullenly.
"This is worse than foolish," he replied, severely.

"It is

childish and undignified; neither my mother nor I will receive your resignation in this spirit. We will not allow you to quit us for such a cause."

"How can you help it, Mr. Chichester?"

Dym was almost beside herself. A ghost of a smile flitted across Mr. Chichester's stern face at her childishness, and then he braced himself up to fresh severity.

"You are wasting my time and your own; I cannot keep my guests waiting. I have sent for you this morning to give you an opportunity of making some apology; but I see I am mistaken."

"May I go, then, sir?" Certainly Dym knew how to be provoking.

"You may go when I have finished what I have to say," he returned, in his haughtiest manner. "I am sorry you oblige me to speak so peremptorily. Your apology to me is of small moment; but I request-nay, I insist that you make one without delay to Miss Nethecote."

Dym rose without a word.

"Do you understand me, Miss Elliott ?”

"I understand you well, Mr. Chichester," turning very pale, and speaking as proudly as he.

"And you mean to comply with my wish?"

"If not-you have my resignation," spoken with a little

scorn.

"What folly! what madness!" he muttered, walking to the window; "the girl must be crazy. Miss Elliott," turning to her with a heavy frown on his face, "I think we have talked long enough. When I hear you have made amends to Miss Nethecote, we will think about your leaving us."

CHAPTER XVII.

UNDER THE STARS.

COBWEBS again! A few poor pitiful meshes.

Half-truths magnified; a little leak widening into a dangerous breach; a few hasty words uttered at random, to be wiped out by bitter tears.

After all, how often are we like the Midianites!—a few broken pitchers, a slight confusion of lights, a sudden terror

in the host, and we turn our hands against each other. We war with our best friends; we fall upon swords stretched out in our defense.

There is a wonderful axiom in philosophy-God help us if it be true!-that sound never dies; that a word once spoken goes echoing on through space forever. Think of that vast inconceivable torrent of sound rolling up among the stars; think of the horrible blasphemies of earth, the foul words, the foolish utterances, that add volume to that dread accusation: an eternity of sound, never to be silenced till time shall be no more!

When the books are opened what if for the space of half an hour there shall again be silence in heaven?—and that pitiful wave of sound reverberate to the everlasting doors, shall we not be judged beforehand who speak so leniently of the sins of the tongue, who laugh lightly over words that will make the angels veil their faces ?

"Let your words be few," says the wise man.

Speak much and often," is the counsel of fools. "Little by little, by degrees," is the devil's motto. The father of lies is a wary diplomatist. If we fell too quickly, we should rise too humbly; no one slips the whole way downhill. We first lay plenty of those paving-stones which we are told line the nether world; we are full of good intentions; we are a little too long in groping our way upward, perhaps; there is dust that blinds us; stumbling-blocks, rough stones, that trip us up. Sometimes we fall prone; at other times we gather fresh strength and rise; now and then we cast our staff away. Ah, well for us that in the wilderness God's providence and our good angel do not desert us, for there are many whose beginnings of evil were small, whose end is a lost eternity.

"Let not the sun go down on your wrath." I wonder how many of us appreciate the wisdom, the intense common sense, to speak with all reverence, of those words. "To strike when the iron is hot," is homely parlance, but it conveys the same truth.

It is as though we

We should never sleep on our anger. called an evil spirit to our couch and bade it watch beside us. There is no hatred so intense as the hatred begotten of love. There is no wrath so cruel as that we cherish against a beloved object.

As religious wars have been the bloodiest ever known in this world's history, so is our antagonism the strongest when a friend has provoked it. The cruelest passion of which human nature is capable is jealousy; and jealousy is begotten of love.

Dym had entered Guy Chichester's presence subdued and saddened, conscious of her fault, but not willing to own it; but she left it feeling as cold and hard as a stone. She was waiting for her olive-branch to come to her, without sending out the messenger for it. Ah, when our flood-tides are ebbing, how few of us ever stretch out our bands and pull "the dove into the ark"!

If it comes to us, well and good; but Pride the foremost of the rank and file of the "Devil's Own"-forbids us to make the first advances. In her present mood, which was Esau-like, Dym would have died rather than ask Honor's pardon.

"Let him turn me away, as he wanted to turn Stewart," she said to herself, with a bitter laugh.

As she sat among the guests that evening, people wondered what had come to Miss Elliott. In lieu of her former dreamy silence and timid shrinking, she talked, and talked well; her dark eyes shone with strange fitful light; a sort of fever burned in her veins, and gave color to her olive skin; the pale, prettylooking girl had warmed almost into beauty. Mr. Lintot for the first time entered into conversation with her. Humphrey, who was present, stood beside them perfectly silent: he could not understand this new phase. Dym talked feverishly; but there was method in her madness. She grew argumentative, sparkling, witty; some of her racy sayings provoked peals of laughter, and reached Guy himself. As though the dark, moody figure added zest to her mirth, she redoubled her efforts.

An hour afterwards, Mrs. Chichester found the girl sitting wan and exhausted on her little bed, with all the light gone out out of her face; but she made an effort of gayety when she saw her friend.

66

Ah, you are coming to scold me. Did you think I wanted a cap and bells to-night, Mrs. Chichester ?" with a miserable little laugh.

66

'My dear, that will do. We have had enough of this folly."

"If you knew how tired I was of being sensible, and Mr. Lintot was so amusing," pleaded Dym.

"Do you think I have come at this time of night to talk to you about Mr. Lintot?”

66

No; oh, no;" then, hypocritically, "but I must confess I was rather too bad this evening."

Mrs. Chichester sighed at the flippant tone; and then she took Dym's hot hand and stroked it gently.

66

My dear, you are tired and feverish.

better talk to-morrow."

Perhaps we had

"As you please;" then, affecting to yawn, very tired too, Mrs. Chichester."

"You must be

"I think I should sleep better if you would let me speak to you now," went on her friend, gently. "My dear, what I have heard to-day has distressed me greatly."

A restless tapping of Dym's foot against the floor; the tired face was beginning to grow sullen again. She was still in her white dress; but her braids of hair had been loosened, and fell over her shoulders in dark, shining masses. As she sat there curled up on the foot of the bed, she looked such a child that Mrs. Chichester could almost have taken her in her arms and kissed the willfulness away; but no child's naughtiness shone in Dym's heavy eyes.

My dear, I thought you loved me."

"Do I not, Mrs. Chichester?"

But the tone was cold.

"If you loved me, would you think of leaving me, when you know," her voice sinking in spite of herself, "how helpless I am likely to become?"

Dym pushed back the hair from her temples with a movement of irritation. "You need not have reminded me of that, when you know I must go."

"Has Guy told you so?"

Dym was silent, and then her honesty was too much for her.

"No, Mrs. Chichester; I am sending myself away. It is no use trying to be good, and so I have given it up."

"But why must you go, my child?"

"Because I cannot stop here. Oh, why do you question me so? I cannot be good, like you and Miss Nethecote, and so I had better go. I never meant to leave you, Mrs. Chichester," her bosom heaving in spite of herself. "You