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 . 5, 1861.] they chose it, for a drive in the park, then home to dress for dinner. It appeared very incongruous that so much spiritual exultation should end so tamely. Nevertheless, if there was nothing absolutely to be done, Lilian could at least fashion out a future more worthy than the past; she would cast aside her old random fickle way; she would cease to act on mere impulse, accepting rather the guidance of reason and conscience.

In her own small humble way she might still be worthy of being his sister, though it might be she would never be called on to make the efforts he had made. She thought thus as she sat quietly in her own room, tracing the dints on the edge of the sword, and musing on the tale they told of danger, and bravery, and heroism.

But there was a duty to be performed. A letter had arrived that very morning, containing an offer from Frank Scott. By one fortunate chance he had won his way to her heart—he had raised her up when she was utterly cast down by the words of Westby, and her sense of their truth, and in the sudden revulsion of her feelings she had turned with gratitude towards him.

Not one word of love had escaped his lips from the period of their momentous conversation up to the present time, yet he had been staying in their house during the season of their deepest sorrow, associated with them in their grief, and showing the truest sympathy by quiet words and acts. She felt through all this that he was loving her. It was so natural, as he was living with them, that she should like to talk with him of the subject most at her heart, the recollections of her brother, and once or twice almost unconsciously she had declared how deep was the consolation she had derived from his words of assurance.

She appreciated too the delicacy with which he avoided all approach to the subject which was evidently dearest to him, and she could not help perceiving that a greater earnestness was developed in his character, and that he seemed to be taking a deeper interest in his profession, and other duties of life.

Frank Scott had left them for awhile to attend to some property belonging to him in the country, and he had chosen the opportunity to make his offer in writing. He was of course unaware that Captain Milton had arrived in England.

Lilian felt that the present was not a time to think of marrying, and being given in marriage—the solemnity that reigned at her heart must not be broken by any thought of her own happiness. After the lapse of a certain time it would be fitting to entertain the idea, but not now; she would not of course refuse her cousin, but pray him to postpone his offer. Certainly not refuse him, because she felt there was none other now, save her father and mother, who had dealt kindly with her faults, and who would appreciate the sincerity of her efforts to do better. So, on the morning succeeding Captain Milton’s visit, Lilian laid Frank Scott’s letter before her, and addressed herself to making a reply.

She began many a copy, and tore many a copy up, and finding it impossible to express what she really felt, she dashed off by happy impulse a few words:

,—I cannot answer your letter now—Captain Milton has just arrived with poor Fred’s things—some other time.

Your affectionate cousin, .

The servant announced Mr. Westby.

“I will see him,” said Lilian. She hid the letters within her desk. “No doubt,” she thought, “he has called in consequence of hearing about Captain Milton.”

That was the reason why Westby had come; indeed, he had seen Captain Milton, who had been good enough to call at his chambers.

“And he told you all the sad account?”

“Yes,” replied Westby. She could perceive a great constraint in his manner, which she attributed to the doubt in his mind as to how she would receive him, for they had not met more than casually since the day he had spoken so severely; and even at those times he had shown a desire to avoid her. She resolved to assure him of her complete forgiveness.

“We expected you to call, Karlo Magno. I should like still to call you Karlo Magno, because it reminds me of that happy time we three spent in Switzerland—for we knew you would like to look at our treasures. Indeed, mamma and I said yesterday that we should wish you to have some slight remembrance, for you and he were such old friends, and we know how much he esteemed you. We have not quite settled what it will be; the interview with Captain Milton was almost too much for mamma; and she is very unwell and nervous to-day.”

Lilian thought that this speech would have placed Westby at his ease, but on the contrary, he seemed to grow more embarrassed. She felt puzzled what to do. She opened a box containing several small articles which had belonged to her brother.

“It will be too painful for you,” he murmured.

“Oh, no! I look at them very frequently. He bought that revolver just before he returned to India. Don’t you recollect the dreadful bother there was to get it through the French custom-house? I should like it to be given to you; however, I must ask mamma first.”

“Something far less valuable will do for me; but I must confess, I should greatly value some small remembrance.”

“He left his sword to me, Karlo Magno. It is priceless in my estimation. I think, dear boy!” she spoke with tears in her eyes, “that there must have been some meaning in his gift: he must have felt I wanted endurance—constancy. I hope I am better than I was—but you were quite right in what you said to me at that time—I had trifled very wickedly with Mr. Newton. Every word you said was true, and he would have spoken just the same. You were quite justified in speaking as you did; indeed you were. I was very fickle,—a jilt and a flirt,—but I am changed now, Karlo Magno; I feel I am.”

“Can you forgive me for what I said?”

“Nonsense about forgiveness! It is nothing to forgive!” she replied, and turning the conversation,—“I made him a present of that little prayer-book the day we parted at Berne. Do you