make you aware that I myself was always doubtful as to whether the blame of that occurrence fell upon the right person." He feigned not to observe the color which mounted to the temples of his listener, and continued: "I suppose you know that at Ferncliffe her reception here is harshly thought of; however, when I heard of it, I immediately concluded that you, like myself, gave no credence to the explanation of that unfortunate affair. To me it has always been enveloped in mystery. I have never spoken of my doubts at home; it would be useless to do so, unless I knew for certain more about it. To you, of course, I can say what my thoughts are on the subject, as from your line of conduct it is evident that you think with me."

Frances, feeling that her silence must appear remarkable, controlled her voice, and replied:

"I do, Wilfred; and one of my motives for having her to live with me is, if I can, to make up to her for all she has lost and suffered."

"I thought so," said Wilfred, "and have always done what I could to defend you in the matter; but it is difficult to change the opinion of others when you feel that you are yourself in darkness as to the truth."

Wilfred had kept his eyes fixed on Frances all the time, and noted every look and change of her countenance. She was unable to reply, and the unpleasant topic was discontinued.

The christening dinner went off very merrily; Frances was in high spirits, and entertained her

company with her usual grace. Mr. Clyde was charmed with her appearance, and hoped that her bright smiles would not be so evanescent as of late he had found them.

CHAPTER XXIII.

LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP.

"It is great wisdom not to be rash in our doings, nor to maintain too obstinately our own opinion."-THOMAS a' KEMPIS.

WE must now conduct our readers to a small town in the north of England. The daily Mass is just over, and the congregation may be seen one by one leaving the little church, and wending their way homewards; having sanctified the day by thus attending the Holy Sacrifice, they now return with light hearts to the performance of their various duties; and within the rails of the sanctuary kneels the young priest of the Mission, making his thanksgiving. At its conclusion he left the church, and soon after entered the small parlor of the presbytery; the breakfast was laid, and, as the housekeeper hinted; had been ready some time. But before he commenced his frugal meal the young ecclesiastic opened a letter which was lying on the table.

"DEAR OLD FELLOW,-Perhaps you are surprised at seeing my handwriting after my long silence. But, strange to say, I want a bit of advice, and, stranger still, it is to you I apply for it. I never stooped so low as this before; but once

when you volunteered your counsel, I reluctantly accepted it. You surely remember the memorable occasion when my mind was made up either to 'call out' the perfect, or to seek tuition in some other establishment. You prevented me from doing either; and though then furious at the very thought of giving up my project, I now feel grateful for the interest you took in my welfare. And having once experienced the benefit of your sound judgment, I now come to ask for that which before was given unasked and undesired. After this preamble, I will return to the point from which I started; I want advice. The beginning and the end of the whole affair is, that my brother IIerbert is in love; but the middle is a long story which I must relate. The young lady upon whom he has fixed his affections was two or three years ago charged with the crime of intentionally destroying a will, in order to secure to herself the property bequeathed. My brother of course never would allow that she had done it. Nor, I may say, did I give in to the idea, although the evidence against her was wonderfully strong, and all the other members of the family quite believed her guilty. The poor girl was compelled to leave this part of the country, being cut by every one. For a long

time we did not know what had become of her, and it is only lately that we have discovered her whereabouts. Now I have watched the proceedings closely all through, and it is my firm belief that another person, known to me, and at the time in uo way connected with it, knows more about the

matter than they choose to divulge. Not that I consider that person to have committed the act, but that they have some reason for concealing that which should be told in justification of the character of the accused. The thing is involved in mystery; but for a long time I have added proofs together, until my suspicions have almost grown into certainty. I cannot so much blame the person whom I suspect for this conduct, as, not being a Catholic, they may see the thing in a different light. My father, knowing nothing of Herbert's sentiments, very rightly urges him to marry, and my brother obstinately refuses; indeed, I know that it is impossible for him to act according to this suggestion, in his present frame of mind. The young person I allude to, though decidedly a lady, and well connected, has neither rank nor fortune, and would therefore not be such a wife as my father would choose for his eldest son. Still, Herbert is certainly unhappy; he fails in health and spirits; I know the reason, and cannot bear to see it, and am determined to do something to set things right; but before taking any step, I want your advice as to the best move to make. Now, old fellow, having told you all that is necessary, I await your learned decision. How are you getting on? Please to tell me any thing that will amuse me, when you write; for time hangs heavily upon my hands. I am getting old amidst many cares; an additional one lately, a godchild. I shall be glad to see you here any