hat she does not refuse me. I will make my first
advances this very afternoon; that is, if it does not clear up, and I
can take out the pointers."

"You surely are joking, Frank?"

"Never was more serious. I have my mother's recommendation, backed by
fate. Marry I must, but choose I will not. I feel myself desperately
in love with the fair Louisa already. I will report my progress to you,
my dear madam, in less than a fortnight."

Lord Aveleyn adhered to his singular resolution, courted, and was
accepted. He never had reason to repent his choice; who proved to be as
amiable as her countenance would have indicated. The fruits of his
marriage was one son, who was watched over with mingled pride and
anxiety, and who had now arrived at the age of fifteen years.

Such was the history of Lord Aveleyn, who continued to extend his
friendship to Edward Forster, and if he had required it, would gladly
have proffered his assistance, in return for the kindness which Forster
had shown towards him when he was a midshipman. The circumstances
connected with the history of the little Amber were known to Lord
Aveleyn and his lady, and the wish of Forster, that his little charge
should derive the advantage of mixing in good female society, was gladly
acceded to, both on his account and on her own. Amber would often
remain for days at the mansion, and was a general favourite, as well as
an object of sympathy.

But the growth of their son, too rapid for his years, and which brought
with it symptoms of pulmonary disease, alarmed Lord and Lady Aveleyn;
and by the advice of the physicians, they broke up their establishment,
and hastened with him to Madeira, to re-establish his health. Their
departure was deeply felt both by Forster and his charge; and before
they could recover from the loss; another severe trial awaited them in
the death of Mrs Beazeley, who, full of years and rheumatism, was
gathered to her fathers. Forster, habituated as he was to the old lady,
felt her loss severely; he was now with Amber, quite alone; and it so
happened that in the following winter his wound broke out, and confined
him to his bed until the spring.

As he lay in a precarious state, the thought naturally occurred to him,
"What will become of this poor child if I am called away? There is not
the slightest provision for her: she has no friends; and I have not even
made it known to any of my own that there is such a person in
existence." Edw