and esteemed should indulge in such speculations, or connive at such schemes, was a thought that had never entered her mind, and had it done so, she would have rejected it indignantly, and reproached herself for its involuntary entrance.

Evelyn's thoughts upon marriage, when she did think about it, were simple and true. She did not look upon it as absolutely necessary to happiness, but she fully appreciated the blessing and privilege of being first upon earth to some one, and of concentrating her affections in return upon that object. She had often thought that if she could live with Georgy, and feel sure that they were dearest on earth to each other, she could be very contented and happy to be single all her life. She had heard and read of marriage being looked upon and made use of in a mere mercenary light, and for mercenary results; but it appeared to her so sad and unnatural, that she could not believe it a thing of every day occurrence, or realize that gentle, amiable girls, with warm hearts and home feelings could bring themselves to look upon it in such a light.

But enough upon this subject. That such thoughts and actions are common and little thought of in the world, it is superfluous to add.

It was Sunday morning, Evelyn had risen half an hour earlier than usual, and in spite of the headache which was the invariable consequence, was trying to rivet her attention upon the book which she had been accustomed to read with Georgina on Sunday mornings at Redbourn. She had succeeded tolerably well for the space of ten minutes, when Mary's voice was heard at the door, "Evy love, Hunter told me you were up and dressed, and so I thought, perhaps, you would show me how to do my hair in the way Augusta was speaking of yesterday. You said you thought you could do it, if you remember."

Evelyn sighed, "Would not to-morrow do, Mary dear? you know it is Sunday morning, and I particularly wish to read till breakfast time."

"O, Evy, you are such a good tempered darling!" exclaimed Mary, throwing herself on the sofa beside her sister, and putting her arm round her neck. "It will be so good and kind of you if you will only do it. What are you reading? The Christian Year?' You good child! But why shouldn't it do just as well after breakfast ?"

"I would rather not read it downstairs," said Evelyn, the colour mounting to her cheeks, as she closed the book quickly. "Indeed, Mary, your hair looks very pretty as you generally wear it, if you will only wait till to-morrow

"Then it will be too late," said Mary, with a slight accent of impatience in her voice. "I particularly wanted it to-day. It will not take above ten minutes, and then you can come back and finish your

book."

"Then it will be too late," echoed Evelyn, laying aside her book with something between a smile and a laugh.

"There, you kind little Evy!" cried Mary, kissing her, and dancing before her to her own room. "I had set my heart on having it done to-day, I knew you wouldn't refuse me."

After Mary's hair was done it looked so nice, and suited her so well, and they were so accustomed to be dressed alike, that Evelyn must do Augusta's too; and before Augusta's was quite finished the breakfast bell rang, and Evelyn had only time to return to her room for an instant, and run down stairs.

"You will go to church with us this morning, Evelyn, love ?" said Mrs. Falconer when breakfast

was over.

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"Yes, certainly, dear mamma," responded Evelyn. "The carriage will soon be here, I think you had better put on your things.'

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Evelyn went to her room and put on her usual Sunday bonnet and mantle. Georgina Berkeley and herself had always agreed to keep their best clothes for Sunday, not because they were more likely to be seen and admired on that day, but out of a feeling of reverence for GOD's day, and because they liked to feel that they were better and differently arrayed on that day from every other day of the week.

On leaving her room she met Augusta in the corridor. She was dressed just as usual, and as soon as she saw Evelyn, she exclaimed, “My dear Evelyn! how like a shop-keeper to put on your best clothes on Sunday. Do change them, my dear child; no one thinks of doing such a thing who knows anything about it."

"I don't the least mind looking like a shopkeeper, Augusta, at least a respectable shop-keeper, and I would rather do as I have been accustomed to do at Redbourn."

"I never heard any thing so silly!" exclaimed Augusta rather angrily. "No one will think you are a lady, Evelyn! Why the Phillipsons wouldn't do such a thing, and you a Miss Falconer of Everley."

"The respectability of the Falconers of Everley doesn't depend on a cloak or a bonnet, I hope, Augusta dear ?"

Really, Evelyn, I didn't think you were so foolish. However, come down stairs and see what mamma says, if she doesn't notice it, I will say nothing more."

Evelyn followed her sister down stairs, and thought how absurd it was to think so much about such an insignificant thing, but she consoled her

self by repeating mentally, "Mamma at all events will be above caring for such trifles."

Poor Evelyn! she was doomed to be disappointed.

"My love," said Mrs. Falconer when they entered the room, in her mild, subdued voice, "the bonnet you wore yesterday was a very pretty one, why have you not put it on to-day? I don't like the idea of Sunday clothes. The carriage won't be here for ten minutes."

Evelyn silently obeyed, and a feeling of disappointment crossed her mind. She did not care for the dress or the trouble of changing, or the peculiarly disagreeable, triumphant smile that was on Augusta's face, as she passed her, but it seemed worldly and trifling to think about such a thing at such a time, when the mind ought to be so differently employed. She tried not to feel impatient or annoyed, and would not suffer herself to draw any comparison between Everley and Redbourn. Before she had quite finished changing the unfortunate bonnet that had so disturbed her equanimity, Mary's voice was heard at the foot of the stairs, telling her that the carriage was waiting. She ran down stairs as quickly as possible, and did not discover until the carriage had passed the lodge, that she had left her Bible and Prayer Book upon the toilet table. This compelled her to look over Mary's, a thing she very much disliked, and altogether she felt so disturbed and unsettled, that as she stood up in Wortley church to join in the Psalms, the remembrance of the calm, tranquil feelings with which she had been used to do the same at Redbourn, in a quiet corner of the long seat, by Georgina's side, filled her mind with sad thoughts, and she had to turn aside her head that Mary might not see the tears that stood in her eyes.

It was not that she was pining for Redbourn, or wishing that she was still there, but it was the first time that she realised that home was not all that her vivid imagination once painted it; that the vague indistinct forebodings of disappointment, which had haunted her for the last few weeks of her school life were about to come true. But still, she reasoned with herself, it was too soon to feel sure that it was so, it was uncharitable to form a judgment after such a short trial. She tried to keep it out of her mind altogether, and to rivet her thoughts to her book, but it was so hard with Mary's little elegant Prayer Book with its tiny print, and Mary's unsteady hand constantly shaking it. However, there is nothing like perseverance, and although Evelyn did not succeed sufficiently to satisfy her conscience, she felt more composed at the end of the service, and comforted herself by resolving to bring her own books in the afternoon, and then it would be easier.

There were many carriages waiting at the churchyard gate when they went out. The Kynastons' came up just as they had reached their own carriage, and stood for some time talking. Augusta and Mary had so much to say to Harriet, that Evelyn got really tired at last, and went and sat in the carriage. At last, when they came to it, Harriet came with them, as Mrs. Falconer had asked her to, and they all drove home together.

Evelyn did not like Harriet much. She thought there was a low, frivolous tone about her, which was calculated to have a bad effect on her sisters, and she especially disliked having her at Everley on Sunday, when everything she said and did seemed out of character with the day. There was much that was good in her too, although, owing to her education, it had never been cultivated or brought forward; she was good-natured and warm-hearted,