not leave the vessel's side till her straining eyes could no longer catch sight of her father's form. She stood alternately waving her handkerchief and wiping away her tears, regardless of Mrs. Grove's entreaties that she would come away into the shade. At length, as the town began to look indistinct and dim, her hand was gently taken, and a voice whose very tone thrilled through her, said:
"Miss Vinrace, I cannot let you remain here any longer; you must positively come with me."
She looked up in utter astonishment, and her eyes met the deep, earnest gaze of Mr. Neville, and rested on his pale and emaciated countenance. She could hardly stammer out a word of greeting.
"Yes," he said kindly, in answer to her looks, "I am enough to frighten you; I am going to England to recruit, and then I hope I shall look something better than a skeleton. I have to thank the villains for leaving my face alone; as it is I shall carry a scar to my grave, but it is fortunately out of sight."
He led her to Mr. and Mrs. Grove, who were delighted to find he was a fellow-voyager, and wondered what chance had brought them together. Mr. Neville explained that he had met Major Vinrace a few days before, and had had some conversation with him, and discovered to his pleasure that they were going in the vessel he had fixed upon-that he had come on board some hours earlier than they did, and had purposely kept below that he might not embarrass the moment of parting by his presence. He talked with all his old grace and animation, answering all Mr. and Mrs. Grove's inquiries about his accident and illness, about the unsuccessful efforts of "that incomparable fellow Stanley," to discover the perpetrator of the crime, and a hundred other topics of interest common to them all; and so the day wore on. Clara retired to rest that night with a lighter heart than she had known for many a day; with an undefined sense of happiness which she would not stop to analyse. She only felt that he was the same to her, and that this voyage, looked forward to with such unsupportable dreariness, would be brightened by the companionship she had feared to lose for ever. She had consented to every thing that her parents proposed for her, and was willing to stay in England as long as they wished; for, with her present feelings, all places were alike to her. But she had felt acutely the parting with her parents, and with Mrs. Stanley, whom she might never see again, so changing and varied are the vicissitudes of Indian life.
They had a calm and pleasant voyage. Day after day slipped away in agreeable monotony. Mr. Neville and Clara were thrown much together. One day she was seated quietly on deck, watching the waves and the sea-birds, when he came to her, and placing himself by her side, " Miss Vinrace," he said, "you have never asked me why I left Kurrackpore so abruptly; you have never given me one reproachful word for my ap arent neglect. Will you hear me patiently if I tell you all about it?"
Clara answered him with a look, and he went on: "I called on your father shortly after our excursion to the Chilka Lake, and told him—nay, Clara, do not turn away—I told him then of the depth of my attachment to you. He answered—how could I expect otherwise?—that the disparity of years between us made it quite impossible for him to consent, and begged me to think of it no more. I promised I would pursue the subject no further, for I feared that you, too, would be astonished at my presumption, and that, perhaps, after all, you looked on me more in the light of a father than a lover. I could not trust myself to see you once more, and to bid you good bye as a stranger, so I hurried the arrangements for my journey and went off at once. You know what happened next. As I lay between life and death your image was constantly before me, and I learnt that love for you had indeed become part of my being. On my recovery I determined I would make one more etfortto win you. Then I learnt to my great grief that your health was impaired, and that you also were about to leave the country. I followed you and your father to Calcutta, and succeeded in meeting with him a few days ago, as he was taking your passage in the Vcctis. He received me very cordially, came to see me at my hotel, and once more gave me a patient hearing. At last he consented to my speaking to you, and told me, if I could win your love, his objections should be quite withdrawn. He gave me this for you—" and Mr. Neville drew out of his pocket book a note, which he placed in Clara's trembling hands. It ran thus:
My Child—Let your own heart choose. If you love him, say yes; and God bless you. Your affectionate Father.
She sat looking at it some moments, and twisting it in her fingers, while her colour came and went. "And now," said Mr. Neville, "I wait my answer. If you can give your happiness into my keeping, I will take it as a sacred trust. If you cannot love me, say so frankly. To-morrow we touch at Point-de-Galle. I will stay there and wait for the next steamer, that you may not be embarrassed by my presence for the rest of the journey."
She pointed to her father's note in answer—"My heart has chosen," she murmured, and she smiled at him through gathering tears. So he was not left behind in Ceylon, and when, six months afterwards, they made the same journey together, it was as Mr. and Mrs. Edward Neville.
A QUESTION OF DEMOCRATIC ABILITY.
