other on the mountain. The indignant eyes of the one she loved, and the careless, defiant glance of the other, haunted her. She retraced her steps the following morning, but there were no young men, either dead or alive. Several days passed, and she did not meet either of them. Her terror was so great, that her uncle asked her what made her eyes start out of her head; upon which her aunt remarked that those great blue orbs always did look like

saucers.

She had no peace until Sunday came, and then she was more unhappy than ever, for neither Lord Apavon nor his friend was at church. She listened to the talk of the peasants eagerly, in order to discover what had happened; but she gained no intelligence.

The weeks dragged on, and poor Evy wandered about, listless and unhappy, pouring out her complaints to the dogs and mountains. One day at dinner her uncle said that he wondered whether Lord Apavon would be back for the pheasant-shooting; and she nearly upset her plate by the sudden start she made. Her aunt said that she must really dine in her room if she could not conduct herself more quietly, and Evy burst into tears. She had never been seen to cry before, so her affectionate relations were surprised.

'Don't be a fool, child; your aunt didn't mean it,' said Mr. Wynne; and, 'For gracious' sake don't upset me by crying,' exclaimed his wife.

But Evy's mind was relieved, and her eyes resumed their natural shape.

One day when she and her aunt were together, a servant entered with some game, saying, 'With Lord Apavon's compliments.' Evy's heart was in her mouth and her face crim

son.

give the man half a crown. It is polite but annoying, and your uncle is sure to make a hash of his thanks,' said Mrs. Wynne.

Evy thought she must say something, so she blurted out that she supposed Lord Apavon had come for the pheasant-shooting.

That evening Mr. Wynne told his wife that Lord Apavon was back, and particularly wished to make her acquaintance. She said it was impossible, for she did not know what to do with Evy.

'Send her up stairs or out with the dogs,' growled Mr. Wynne.

So on a certain frosty morning Evy was ordered to have a fire in her bedroom and mend her clothes. The sun was lighting up the mountains, and she gazed on them wistfully, but she consoled herself with reading the Heart of Midlothian at intervals, and thinking pathetically of Lord Apavon.

She was aroused from a flood of tears over Jeannie Deans by a ring at the door-bell. Shortly afterwards one of the maids popped her head into the room, and exclaimed, in broken English,

'Miss, Miss, the Lord is here!'

Evy's thoughts went at once to many prophecies, and she was much perplexed. She could not speak Welsh, and had strict orders to hold no communication with servants. She ran down stairs, and was startled by the unusual appearance of a strange hat on the hall-table.

It is Lord Apavon! she cried, but dared not venture into the drawing-room.

"She peeped out of every window, but she did not see him. She returned to her room disconsolate.

The next day' her uncle said, under the very slight shadow of her wing, that Lord Apavon had invited himself to luncheon. He was evidently frightened to death at having to announce this. Mrs. Wynne was

'You are most inconsiderate, Mr. Wynne. I cannot exert myself to give public luncheons to all your

hunt.'

'I don't want him, Mrs. Wynne. He forced himself upon me, saying he was quite charmed with you, for you were the only lady he had met; and I couldn't say, you sha'n't come.'

'I should imagine not. You could scarcely snub an Apavon.'

Evy saw that her aunt was not indifferent to flattery, and wished she could say pretty things like Lord Apavon. And she coloured so in wishing it, that Mrs. Wynne said it would be impossible she could appear at luncheon, for she cried one minute and blushed like a dairymaid the next. All that day she was in a fever of anxiety, and all the night she lay awake tormenting herself with the dread of being excluded from the paradise of the morrow's luncheon-table. However she overheard a few words of angry discussion between her uncle and aunt the following morning, ending in a peremptory, 'She is my niece, and good enough to eat with any lord, and handsome enough too, Mrs. Wynne.'

Accordingly she was ordered to put on her best dress, leave off the apron and necklace, and do her hair fashionably. This was impossible, for she tried in vain to construct the hair-fabrics she had seen in a fashion book; so she appeared before her aunt in such guise as made that lady exclaim, 'What a fright!' and send her back to undo her attempts.

Mrs. Wynne reclined listlessly in an easy-chair, indifferent to Lords and Commons. Mr. Wynne passed from dining-room to pantry and cellar, scolding every one, while Evy trembled over the embroidery which her aunt ordered her to do, because 'young ladies should always be employed.'

'Do behave like a lady, and not a milkmaid,' said Mrs. Wynne as Lord Apavon was announced. 'Bow gracefully, Evy.'

Evy bent over her work, dimples and blushes rivalling one another. 'My niece, Miss Wynne-Lord Apavon.'

She rose-awkwardly it must be confessed-made an attempt at the required grace, and glanced up shyly.

Alas, poor Evy! It was Gurth the swineherd.

'Are you Lord Apavon?' she asked in blunt dismay.

Yes, he was Lord Apavon, and Evy had been mistaken throughout. Where was her imaginary knight? She had much difficulty in restraining tears and indignation, her disappointment was so complete. But Lord Apavon bowed, smiled, and was quite at his ease; very different from the Gurth of the mountains. He made no allusion to their previous meetings, and if they had never met before she might have liked him. He addressed her, whenever he had the chance, with distinguishing politeness, and it was impossible not to perceive how much he admired her. Indeed, she was so fresh and lovely that admiration must have been spontaneous from any man. She answered him in monosyllables, and as her aunt said afterwards, was as awkward and dull as if she were a farmer's daughter instead of an of ficer's. She said abruptly that she did not like Lord Apavon. aunt asked her why.

Her

'He has staring blue eyes, sandy hair, and drawls when he speaks,' said Evy, longing but fearing to tell of their encounters.

'You should not know the colour of a man's eyes and hair,' said Mrs Wynne.

From that time forth Lord Apavon came and went at will. Mr. Wynne was not indifferent to his

evident admiration of his niece if his wife was, and took the law into his own hands. Evy was to see him whenever he came, and was adorned with new dresses in his honour. She avoided him when she could, but as a rule she was seated with her aunt when he arrived, as if his visit had been prearranged, as it was. He flattered Mrs. Wynne so adroitly, that she soon grew to like him, and took him into her nervine confidences. But he made no way with Evy. She kept to her monosyllables rigidly. One day her aunt was ill, and in her room when he came, and she ordered Evy to go and make her excuses. Evy went reluctantly.

'I am glad your amiable aunt's nerves are exhausted, and that I can see you alone,' said Lord Apavon.

'I can't stay a minute,' said Evy. 'There is no Bryn to seize me by the collar, nor Mentor to lecture me, so I am my own master. And there is no tyrannical aunt to oppress you, so you are your own mistress. You must stay a minute,' said Lord Apavon, returning to his mountain manners.

'What do you mean by Mentor?' asked abrupt Evy.

'My old tutor, Allen, who left me in a huff because I said I would carry you off if I could get at you no other way. You know him. We quarrelled furiously about you, and I have never seen him since. He was just trying to knock a little learning into my brains.'

'He wasn't clever enough for that,' said Evy decidedly. "Why did you think I knew him?'

'Because he always bowed to you when he met you, and he is too muffy to do that unless he had been introduced to you.'

'How was he your tutor? He looks as young as you.'

'He is a few years older, and

wanting a travelling tutorship he undertook me.'

'What is his name? I mean his Christian name.'

'I think it is Henry, or some such name.'

Evy's countenance fell. 'Tutors have always dull names. Mine is Montague.'

'I think Henry a beautiful name. Mon-ta-gue takes so long to say.'

'You must learn it, for I want you to speak it quickly; just as you call your dogs.'

'I shall never speak it again, Lord Apavon.'

'You must, for when we are married you will call me by my Christian name.'

'Married! What do you mean?' shouted Evy.

'That I am going to marry you. Your uncle and I understand one another.'

'But I am not going to marry you! My uncle and you have nothing to do with it.'

'Ŏ, it is all settled; only your aunt is not to be told yet. I know you like me, Evy, for your eyes have said so a hundred times, and they sparkle like gems when they speak.'

He tried to seize her hand, but she pulled it away indignantly. 'I don't like you! I won't have you! I rightly called you Gurth, for you are a boor, and no true knight,' she cried.

He laughed, and seemed amused, saying that he loved her all the better for her resistance, and that she looked handsomest when excited. Mr. Wynne interrupted the dispute, and Evy ran off to her room, leaving him and Lord Apavon to settle it.

That evening she, her uncle, and aunt sat in solemn consultation. The secret had come out, and Evy was informed that she was to marry Lord Apavon.

'We might have scoured London

for a finer match,' said Mr. Wynne, rubbing his hands. He is his own master, and has twenty thousand a year, and such hunting and shooting!'

"You have neither of you any consideration for me,' said Mrs. Wynne. 'I am far too ill to undertake trousseaux and breakfasts.'

'I shall not need them, aunt,' interjected Evy, beating her foot.

'Do cease that tattoo, Evy. I never supposed this could happen, or I should not have submitted to receive-'

'I had no choice, aunt. I am sorry I intruded,' interrupted Evy. 'You misunderstand, you are so brusque. I meant no lovers.'

'I don't want any, aunt.'

'Yet you have managed to secure the first in the county,' growled Mr. Wynne. 'You must polish your manners before you become my lady.'

'I would rather not be my lady, uncle.'

'All girls who marry a lord are my lady, you dunce.'

Pray, Mr. Wynne, consider my nerves, and speak more gently. I will exert myself not to ruin your prospects, Evy, though excitement kills me. I am surprised at Lord Apavon's choice of so countrified a girl; but as he has done you this honour, I will endeavour to see that the marriage is carried out as it should be.

'You need not inconvenience yourself, for I am not going to marry. The honour is as much undesired as undeserved,' said Evy decidedly.

Mr. Wynne jumped out of his chair, and Mrs. Wynne exerted herself to sit upright.

'Not marry Lord Apavon, girl?'

cried he.

'What do you mean, Evy?' asked she.

"That I wouldn't marry Lord Apavon if he were as great a king as Richard Cœur de Lion,' said Evy stoutly.

'By, but you shall, though!' exclaimed her uncle.

'After we have gone out of our way to receive and fête him!' said her aunt.

'That was because he was a lord,' said too candid Evy.

'You will change your mind, I can tell you,' said Mr. Wynne, at the top of his voice.

'Have pity on my head, Mr. Wynne! Your uncle has promised, Evy.'

But he can't marry me against my will, as people used to do.'

Will or no will, you will be Lady Apavon,' said Mr. Wynne, bouncing out of the room.

'I must say you are contradictory and unsatisfactory,' said Mrs. Wynne to Evy, who was beating her foot and trying to keep down her tears. I had resolved to have no love-affairs, and now that we have exerted ourselves to give you this fine chance, you turn restive.'

'I did not want the chance, and am sorry you should have inconvenienced yourself on my account.'

It is certainly your last,' said Mrs. Wynne.

'And my first,' retorted Evy, who felt fractious.

'Pray follow your uncle's example, and leave the room. Such scenes are excruciating.'

Evy obeyed gladly, and spent many hours in resolving that she would never marry against her will.

She maintained her resolution. Lord Apavon pleaded, her uncle scolded, her aunt was unnerved in vain. She led a wretched life, and learnt that she was now indeed in the way. She bethought herself of undertaking a situation, but how was she to set about it? She would go forth alone, and offer her services to any one who would accept them. She told her aunt so, who said she had better remain where she was for the present. She chafed

much, having nothing definite to do within doors, and being molested by Lord Apavon without. But she had learned a few good lessons from her parents when a child, and a favourite text of her mother's haunted her, 'Patience hath its perfect work.' She resolved to be patient and wait. She was rewarded, for her aunt fell seriously ill, and Lord Apavon left the country.

She constituted herself sick-nurse, and even her uncle seemed grateful when he saw how tenderly she waited on her aunt, and found that, thanks to her care, he was not needed, and could hunt and shoot as usual. It was indeed astonishing that the abrupt unconventional Evy could adapt herself to the sick-room, and find real pleasure in ministering to the most fidgety and disagreeable of invalids. But she felt a double satisfaction, selfish and unselfish. She was equally well pleased to repay willingly an unwilling bounty, and to be of some use in life.

Mrs. Wynne was long ill, and during this, her last illness, she learnt. that she had thrown away a treasure, in having neglected to win Evy's love: We all learn many hard lessons when too late. Evy bore with her, read to her, prayed for her, with a persistence almost incredible, and she was repaid by a tardy entreaty for forgiveness. The girl gave way to uncontrollable emotion when she heard the words, 'I have not been all I should have been to you, Evy, and you have returned good for evil. Will you forgive me?' Evy forgave her in an embrace that made

her feel that she was loved at last. And then she, penitent in turn, told her aunt of her two instances of deceit her novel-reading and her chance interviews with Mr. Allen. The blushes and tears revealed the treasured love.

Poor, nervous, irritable Mrs. Wynne died, and Evy grieved for

her sincerely. So did Mr. Wynne for a month or so, apparently; and then he took to sport more vigorously than ever. Evy tried to console him and be good to him, but he never forgave her refusal of Lord Apavon, and twitted her continually with it. In less than a twelvemonth he told her that she had better change her mind and marry his lordship, for that he was going to bring a new mistress to Gwyngarth. Evy was indignant. Could he forget his wife so soon? Could he, at his age, marry again? She lost fear in contempt, and got into a passion He could and would, and advised her to make a home for herself, while she had the chance; for Lord Apavon was fool enough to say that he would have her yet if she changed her mind; whereas the future Mrs. Wynne did not desire her at all.

He hurried out of the room, slamming the door so violently that Evy began to think it was no wonder her aunt had been nervous. What was she to do? Here was the Park on one side, poverty on the other. She did not hesitate, but chose poverty. She wrote to her old governess, who had frequently invited her to the rectory, and asked her to receive her until she found a situation of some sort. Awaiting her answer, she packed up such things as belonged to her, then unpacked them, lest she should possess nothing at all; for she suddenly remembered that her very clothes were her uncle's. She was in great perplexity, but courageous still. She had not inhaled the mountain breezes for nothing. The servants looked on compassionate, and declared their intention of leaving Gwyngarth if she left it and another mistress came. Her reign had been lax, and they had liked it; but she had done her best nevertheless.

'I can never leave the mountains and the dogs,' she said, as she