use is well selected, and at times even brilliant; she will meet young
people of her own age, and young people fashion and form each other."

"I was thinking myself that I should like to invite her," said Mrs.
Merton; "I will consult Caroline."

"Caroline, I am sure, would be delighted; the difficulty lies rather in
Evelyn herself."

"You surprise me! she must be moped to death here."

"But will she leave her mother?"

"Why, Caroline often leaves me," said Mrs. Merton.

Mrs. Leslie was silent, and Evelyn and her new friend now joined the
mother and daughter.

"I have been trying to persuade Evelyn to pay us a little visit," said
Caroline; "she could accompany us so nicely; and if she is still strange
with us, dear grandmamma goes too,--I am sure we can make her at home."

"How odd!" said Mrs. Merton; "we were just saying the same thing. My
dear Miss Cameron, we should be so happy to have you."

"And I should be so happy to go, if Mamma would but go too."

As she spoke, the moon, just risen, showed the form of Lady Vargrave
slowly approaching the house. By the light, her features seemed more
pale than usual; and her slight and delicate form, with its gliding
motion and noiseless step, had in it something almost ethereal and
unearthly.

Evelyn turned and saw her, and her heart smote her. Her mother, so
wedded to the dear cottage--and had this gay stranger rendered that dear
cottage less attractive,--she who had said she could live and die in
its humble precincts? Abruptly she left her new friend, hastened to her
mother, and threw her arms fondly round her.

"You are pale; you have over-fatigued yourself. Where have you been? Why
did you not take me with you?"

Lady Vargrave pressed Evelyn's hand affectionately.

"You care for me too much," said she. "I am but a dull companion for
you; I was so glad to see you happy with one better suited to your gay
spirits. What can we do when she leaves us?"

"Ah, I want no companion but my own, own mother. And have I not Sultan,
too?" added Evelyn, smiling away the tear that had started to her eyes.

CHAPTER VIII.

FRIEND after friend departs;
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts
That finds not here an end.--J. MONTGOMERY.

THAT night Mrs. Leslie sought Lady Vargrave in her own room. As she
entered gently she observed that, late as the hour was, Lady Vargrave
was stationed by the open window, and seemed intently gazing on t