"No, ma'am, thank you; I feel it's no use trying to swallow anything more," said poor Phœbe, faintly.

"While there's life," whispered Miss Aubrey, in a subdued, hesitating tone, "there's hope they say." Phoebe shook her head mournfully.

"Don't stop long, dear lady-it's getting very late for you to be out alone. Father will go"

"Never mind me, Phoebe - I can take care of myself. I hope you mind what good Dr. Tatham says to you? You know this sickness is from God, Phoebe. He knows what is best for his creatures."

"Thank God, ma'am, I think I feel resigned. I know it is God's will; but I'm very sorry for poor father and mother they'll be so lone like when they don't see Phoebe about." Her father gazed intently at her, and the tears ran trickling down his cheeks; her mother put her apron before her face, and shook her head in silent anguish. Miss Aubrey did not speak for a few moments. "I see you have been reading the prayerbook mamma gave you when you were at the Hall," said she at length, observing the little volume lying open on Phoebe's lap.

"Yes, ma'am -I was trying; but somehow lately, I can't read, for there's a kind of mist comes over my eyes, and I can't see."

"That's weakness, Phœbe," said Miss Aubrey, quickly but tremulously.

"May I make bold, ma'am," commenced Phoebe, languidly, after a hesitating pause, "to ask you to read the little psalm I was trying to read a while ago? I should so like to hear you."

"I'll try, Phoebe," said Miss Aubrey, taking the book, which was open at the sixth psalm. 'T was a severe trial, for her feelings were not a little excited already. But how could she refuse the dying girl? So Miss Aubrey

began a little indistinctly, in a very low tone, and with frequent pauses; for the tears every now and then quite obscured her sight. She managed, however, to get as far as the sixth verse, which was thus:

"I am weary of my groaning: every night wash I my bed, and water my couch with tears: My beauty is gone for very trouble.”

Here Kate's voice suddenly stopped. She buried her face for a moment or two in her handkerchief, and said hastily, "I can't read any more, Phœbe!" Every one in the little room was in tears except poor Phoebe, who seemed past that.

"It's time for me to go, now, Phoebe. We'll send some one early in the morning to know how you are," said Miss Aubrey, rising and putting on her bonnet and shawl. She contrived to beckon Phoebe's mother to the back of the room, and silently slipped a couple of guineas into her hands; for she knew the mournful occasion there would soon be for such assistance! She then left, peremptorily declining the attendance of Phoebe's fathersaying that it must be dark when she could not find the way to the Hall, which was almost in a straight line from the cottage, and little more than a quarter of a mile off. It was very much darker, and it still snowed, though not so thickly as when she had come. She and Margaret walked side by side, at a quick pace, talking together about poor Phoebe. Just as she was approaching the extremity of the village, nearest the park —

"Ah! my lovely gals!" exclaimed a voice, in a low but most offensive tone - "alone? How uncommon". - Miss Aubrey for a moment seemed thunderstruck at so sudden and unprecedented an occurrence: then she hurried on with a beating heart, whispering to Margaret to keep close to her, and not to be alarmed. The speaker, however, kept pace with them.

"Lovely gals!-wish I'd an umbrella, my angels! Take my arm? Ah! Pretty gals!"

"Who are you, sir?" at length exclaimed Kate, spiritedly, suddenly stopping, and turning to the rude speaker.

[Who else should it be but Tittlebat Titmouse !] "Who am I? Ah, ha! Lovely gals! one that loves the pretty gals!"

"Do you know, fellow, who I am?" inquired Miss Aubrey, indignantly, flinging aside her veil, and disclosing her beautiful face, white as death, but indistinctly visible in the darkness, to her insolent assailant.

"No, 'pon my soul, no; but lovely gal! lovely gal!— 'pon my life, spirited gal!- do you no harm! Take my

arm?"

"Wretch ruffian! How dare you insult a lady in this manner? Do you know who I am? My name, sir, is Aubrey I am Miss Aubrey of the Hall! Do not think ".

Titmouse felt as if he were on the point of dropping down dead at that moment, with amazement and terror; and when Miss Aubrey's servant screamed out at the top of her voice, "Help!-help, there!" Titmouse, without uttering a syllable more, took to his heels, just as the door of a cottage, at only a few yards' distance, opened, and out rushed a strapping farmer, shouting "Hey! what be t'matter?" You may guess his amazement on discovering Miss Aubrey, and his fury at learning the cause of her alarm. Out of doors he pelted, without his hat, uttering a volley of fearful imprecations, and calling on the unseen miscreant to come forward; for whom it was lucky that he had time to escape from a pair of fists that in a minute or two would have beaten his little carcass into a jelly! Miss Aubrey was so overcome by the shock she had suffered, that but for a glass of water she

might have fainted. As soon as she had a little recovered from her agitation, she set off home, accompanied by Margaret, and followed very closely by the farmer, with a tremendous knotted stick under his arm- (he wanted to have taken his double-barrelled gun) and thus she soon reached the Hall, not a little tired and agitated. This little incident, however, she kept to herself, and enjoined her two attendants to do the same; for she knew the distress it would have occasioned those whom she loved. As it was she was somewhat sharply rebuked by her mother and brother, who had just sent two servants out in quest of her, and whom it was singular that she should have missed. This is not the place to give an account of the eccentric movements of our friend Titmouse; still there can be no harm in my just mentioning that the sight of Miss Aubrey on horseback had half maddened the little fool; her image had never been effaced from his memory since the occasion on which, as already explained, he had first seen her; and as soon as he had ascertained, through Snap's inquiries, who she was, he became more frenzied in the matter than before, because he thought he now saw a probability of obtaining her. "If, like children," says Edmund Burke, cry for the moon, why, like children, we must · cry on." Whether this was not something like the position of Mr. Tittlebat Titmouse, in his passion for CATHERINE AUBREY, the reader can judge. He had unbosomed himself in the matter to his confidential adviser, Mr. Snap; who, having accomplished his errand, had the day before returned to town, very much against his will, leaving Titmouse behind, to bring about, by his own delicate and skilful management, an union between himself, as the future lord of Yatton, and the beautiful sister of its present occupant.

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we will

CHAPTER IX.

MR. AUBREY and Kate, some day or two after the strange occurrence narrated in the last chapter, were sitting together playing at chess, about eight o'clock in the evening; Dr. Tatham and Mrs. Aubrey, junior, looking on with much interest; old Mrs. Aubrey being engaged in writing. Mr. Aubrey was sadly an overmatch for poor Kate he being in fact a first-rate player; and her soft white hand had been hovering over the three or four chessmen she had left, uncertain which of them to move, for nearly two minutes, her chin resting on the other hand, and her face wearing a very puzzled expression. "Come, Kate," said every now and then her brother, with that calm victorious smile which at such a moment would have tried any but so sweet a temper as his sister's. "If I were you, Miss Aubrey," was perpetually exclaiming Dr. Tatham, knowing as much about the game the while as the little Blenheim spaniel lying asleep at Miss Aubrey's feet. "Oh dear!" said Kate, at length, with a sigh, "I really don't see how to escape"

"Who can that be?" exclaimed Mrs. Aubrey, looking up and listening to the sound of carriage wheels. "Never mind," said her husband, who was interested in the game "come, come, Kate." A few minutes afterwards a servant made his appearance, and coming up to Mr. Aubrey, told him that Mr. Parkinson and another gentleman had called, and were waiting in the library to speak to him on business.

"What can they want at this hour?" exclaimed Mr. Aubrey, absently, intently watching an anticipated move