ut Milly's sketching.

Mr. Collingwood took Mrs. Darrell in to dinner, and Mr. Egerton gave
his arm to Milly, and was seated next her at the prettily decorated
table, upon which there was always a wealth of roses at this time of
year. I saw Augusta Darrell's eye wander restlessly in that
direction many times during dinner, and I felt that the dear girl I
loved so fondly was in an atmosphere of falsehood. What was the
nature of the past acquaintance between those two people? and why
was it tacitly denied by both of them? If it had been an ordinary
friendship, there could have been no reason for this concealment and
suppression. I had never quite made up my mind to trust Angus
Egerton, though I liked and admired him; and this mysterious
relation between him and Augusta Darrell was a sufficient cause for
serious distrust.

'I wish she cared for him less,' I said to myself, as I glanced at
Milly's bright happy face.

When we went back to the drawing-room after dinner, the Miss
Collingwoods had a great deal to say to Milly about a grand croquet-
match which was to take place in a week or two at Pensildon, Sir
john and Lady Pensildon's place, fourteen miles from Thornleigh. The
Rector's daughters, both of whom were several years older than
Milly, were passionately fond of croquet and everything in the way
of gaiety, and were full of excitement about this coming event,
discussing what they were going to wear, and what Milly was going to
wear, on the occasion. While they were engaged in this way, Mrs.
Collingwood told me a long story about one of her poor parishioners,
always an inexhaustible subject with her. This arrangement left Mrs.
Darrell unoccupied; and after standing at one of the open windows
looking listlessly out, she sauntered out upon the terrace, her
favourite lounge always in this summer weather. I saw her repass the
windows a few minutes afterwards, in earnest conversation with Angus
Egerton. This was some time before the other gentlemen left the
dining-room; and they were still walking slowly up and down when Mr.
Darrell and the Rector came to the drawing-room. The storm had not
yet come, and it was bright moonlight. Mr. Darrell went out and
brought his wife in, with some gentle reproof on her imprudence in
remaining out of doors so late in her thin muslin dress.

After this there came some music. Augusta Darrell sang some old
English ballads which I had never heard her sing before--simple
pathetic melodi