athered at the grey fountain of
Abbeyweld, because you could not have moss roses like the squire's
daughter."

"Foolish girl!" she answered, "has not perseverance in the desire
obtained the moss roses?"

"Yes," said her cousin, sadly, "but now you desire exotics. I should
despise myself if it were possible that I could forget the affection
of my heart in what appears to me the unsubstantial vanities of life.
Dear Helen, in sickness or sorrow let me ever be your friend; but I
must be free to keep on in my own humble sphere."

It seemed as if poor Rose was doomed to undergo all trials. Helen was
not one to yield to circumstances; and though her physician prescribed
rest, she lived almost without it, avoiding repose, laying herself
under the most painful obligations to obtain her end, and enduring the
greatest mental anxiety. Not only this; she taunted poor Rose with her
increased anxieties, affirming, that if she had not rendered the old
gentleman her foe by the ill-timed refusal, he would have assisted,
not thwarted, her cherished object; that his influence was great,
and was now exerted against them. "If," she added, "you had only the
common tact of any other girl, you might have played him a little
until the election was over, and then acted as you pleased."

This seemed very shocking to Rose, and she would have gone to
Abbeyweld immediately, but that she thought it cruel to leave her
cousin while she felt she was useful to her. "Ah, Rose!" she said,
when poor Rose hinted that in a short time she must return, "how can
you think of it?--how can you leave me in an _enemy's country_? I dare
not give even my husband my entire confidence, for he might fancy my
sensitiveness a low-born feeling. I can trust you, and none other."
Surrounded, according to the phrase, "with troops of friends," and
yet able to _trust_ "none other" than the simple companion of her
childhood! "And yet," murmured the thoughtful Rose, "amongst so many,
the blame cannot be all with the crowd; Helen herself is as incapable
of warm, disinterested friendship as those of whom she complains."

Rose Dillon's constancy was subjected to a still greater trial.
Amongst the "troops of friends" who crowded more than ever round Mr.
Ivers while his election was pending, was a young man as superior to
the rest in mind as in fortune, and Rose Dillon's ready appreciation
of the good and beautiful led her to respect and admire him.

"Is it true, Miss Dillon," he