she fretted both outwardly and silently at the good chance of marriage which her daughter had thrown away. Milicent's life became a burden to her that autumn time, because of her mother's complaining, and not a few bickerings resulted between the two women on the subject.

On the principle that continual dropping wears away a stone, Mrs. Gray hoped by constant allusions to Gilbert's love, and his worldly circumstances, to wear away Milicent's objection to his suit, and by thus uniting her daughter to the well-to-do miller, secure a comfortable home for her own old age. But Milicent Gray was firm. She steadily refused to incline her ear to praises of Gilbert Armstrong's character and attainments, and above all, of his love for herself, and persistently declined to believe in the probability of a renewal of his offer. Her mother's constant allusions to these unwelcome topics produced a result in the girl's mind contrary to that which was intended, and she became silent and even sullen when alone with her mother.

In these bright autumn days, Milicent Gray spent most of her leisure time in out-door exercise. On holiday afternoons she wandered over a distant common clad in its raiment of gold and purple, and sat among the gorse and heather, dressed in homely garb, the autumn breezes blowing among the braided waves of her dark hair, and deepening the rare bloom on her oval face. She took a book with her always, being anxious in her girlish, shallow way to improve what little mind she had, but how often that unformed mind wandered from the page before her, and was lost in girlish mazy day-dreams, while the dark eyes, full of vague longing, swept over the landscape unconscious of its beauty.

Ever since the day of the fête Milicent was altered, she had had a glimpse of a brighter life than the dull routine which was her present lot, and that foolish heart yearned like simple Maud Muller's, for

"Something better than she had known," and in the visions which filled her mind while dreaming on the breezy moor, her isolated life, her poverty and its cares, her mother, and Gilbert Armstrong with his unwelcome suit, were all forgotten.

Wilfred North had taken possession of Cleethorpe Manor, which was distant eight miles from Colemarsh, but Milicent had seen him many times since the day of his birthday fête, and as that young gentleman had been at great pains to render himself agreeable to the "village

beauty" as he called her, it was no wonder that his image came oftener on the mirror of her maiden fancy than was wise or safe for her happiness, or that he was the hero of all her day-dreamings on the moorland.

As September drew to a close, the accidental meetings between Wilfred and Milicent became more frequent, and at length the girl grew to look for his familiar figure pacing the heath, when she hurried to her favorite spot on holiday afternoons.

Milicent would not admit to herself that these meetings were assignations, nor, strictly speaking, were they so, but she knew that Wilfred North was aware of her hours of liberty, and also of her predeliction for the spot to which she was now so easily drawn by the silent promptings of her too-readily won heart. She did not however go to the rendezvous with a clear conscience and undisturbed mind. Now and then, alarmed at her own temerity, she had tried to turn her steps another way, but her walk always ended by way of the moor, where she came in time to hear tender reproaches for her lateness.

Yes! it had gone so far as that. Wilfred smiled to himself sometimes at her timidity, at her evident fear of public opinion, at her easiness of persuasion, and evident admiration of himself. He had no fear of consequences; he took his gun in his hand on those stated afternoons, and followed by his dogs, he walked from Colemarsh Hall, past the mill, past the cottage, and through the busy gossiping town with supreme boldness, and when he reached the lonely moor, and saw the burst of sunshine on the face of the lovely girl who had tacitly come there to meet him, no feeling of shame clogged his utterance in the greeting words, no inward reproachful voice bade him pause, no ominous shadow of the evil to come fell across the pathway which he and his companion were treading, to warn him while he had yet the power to desist.

But let me speak the truth of Wilfred North, let me tell the bare case as it was known to this man and his Maker. His mind was set to do evil. He meant to bring destruction of soul and body upon this woman, who foolishly played with the fire of his unhallowed love, and fancied it a stedfast flame which would warm and comfort her all life long. Beneath the outer crust of refinement and education, Wilfred North's mind was coarse and sensual, and it was with the eyes of his true soul, with the selfish sentiments of his real heart that he regarded Milicent Gray. His life-young as

he was, had not been a good one, and the deed he contemplated concerning this rustic beauty, was no new thing for him to do. I cannot clothe his conduct with a flimsy covering of romance, by letting you believe that he was, like Milicent, drifting on the stream of fancy, led on by the rosy passions of youth and inexperience. Wilfred North was deliberately luring this girl from the paths of rectitude and honor; with the full knowledge of the consequences, he was winning her foolish heart, perverting her ill-balanced judgment. Remember this, my reader, when the man's fate, sudden and awful, meets him in the way he deliberately goes; then, if you can, pity him.

CHAPTER IX.

IN CROWHURST LANE.

A long bright day early in October was drawing to its close, as Gilbert Armstrong shut his garden gate behind him, and walked along the road to Colemarsh. A little crescent moon was in the sky, upright and clear, denoting continued fine weather, and a sharp, frosty air touched Gilbert's face with a pleasant freshness. He was going into the town to transact business with the landlord of the White Hart, a regular customer of his, who united in his proper person the callings of baker, farmer, and innkeeper.

Gilbert Armstrong must needs pass the Grays' cottage on his way, and as he came in sight of the house, he saw Mrs. Gray standing at the gate, her white cap and kerchief shining in the dusk.

Although he had avoided the cottage, and had not spoken to Milicent since the 11th of August, Gilbert and Mrs. Gray had seen a good deal of each other, and much conversation had taken place between them on the subject nearest to the hearts of each, therefore as he approached he was not surprised to see the widow beckon him, and obeying her summons he stopped at the gate.

"It seems an age since I saw you, Mr. Armstrong," she said, "do stop a minute or two, Milicent is at the Rectory."

Gilbert declined to go in, but remained a few minutes in conversation with Mrs. Gray. While they were speaking, Wilfred North came up the road. A dark frown knit Gilbert's brow, and his eyes flashed as they rested on the tall, well-made figure of the heir of Colemarsh, who was rapidly approaching them with his swinging, semi-military gait.

passed, speaking the words in a tone half-condescending, half-contemptuous, a tone that might have aroused Milicent Gray's suspicions had she heard her mother so addressed by the man who professed to love her.

"Good evening, sir," said the widow with a profound curtsey. The Norths of Colemarsh were as the salt of the earth to her unsophisticated, unsuspicious mind.

Mr. Wilfred North deigned a salutation likewise to Gilbert, who acknowledged it in a sullen way, and the young man passed on.

"What a handsome man he is," said Mrs. Gray before he was quite out of hearing.

"Yes," answered Gilbert Armstrong steadily, "he is handsome enough to look at certainly, but I don't think his heart will wear well." "La! Mr. Armstrong, you are so suspicious of people. I am sure Mr. Wilfred seems beloved by every one." Gilbert turned the subject abruptly.

"I must go now," he said, "I want to catch Davies before he gets busy with his night customers."

He shook hands with Mrs. Gray, and walking briskly forward, was soon lost in the grow ing darkness.

"I wish Milicent was at home," said the widow to herself as she walked through the little garden, now lying in darkness. "I don't like her coming through the town after dark alone."

Meanwhile Gilbert Armstrong went to the "White Hart," but the landlord was out on his farm, which lay distant two miles over the

common.

"If you like to walk that way, sir, you will very likely meet him coming back," said the landlady, "and it would save time."

66

So it would," said Gilbert Armstrong, and after a civil good-night, he stepped from the well-lighted cosy little bar into the dark road, and took the path to the common.

The approach from the town to the common, was through Crowhurst Lane, a narrow grassy road bordered with high hedges, from which the leaves were thinning rapidly. Gilbert walked quickly up the lane, his footsteps making no sound on the thickly-swarded path, but about half-way through, he stopped suddenly, his heart beating quickly in the darkness.

Surely that was the voice of Milicent Gray! He listened again, the voices came nearer, and suspicion became certainty. Without a moment's hesitation, Gilbert Armstrong threw himself silently on the grass by the hedgerow, and lay perfectly still, the only sound being

the fierce throbbing of his wild unhappy heart. Close to the spot on which he lay, was an old bench, which was much affected by lovers who plentifully frequented this lane and the adjoining common at all seasons of the year.

The voices, speaking in low whispers, came nearer, and presently Gilbert became aware that Wilfred North and Milicent Gray had seated themselves upon the bench. Not a sound save the whispering voices, broke the silence of the autumn night, and Gilbert Armstrong listening in his agony, heard every word spoken in the dense darkness of the lane.

Two months before, when the unhappy man had surprised the same couple in the tent at Colemarsh Park, and Wilfred North had kissed the hand he fondly hoped to win, he had sprung upon them at once and separated them. But it was not so now, jealousy had done its mean work since that day, and now its power over this wretched man was such, that he feared to stir a hair's-breadth from his ignoble position, lest he should miss one word of that whispered conversation which was driving him to madness.

He did not at once clearly understand the nature of what he heard, he could only gather vaguely that Wilfred North was pressing the girl hard to comply with some plan he had formed. But as their talk proceeded it became plainer to the hidden listener.

"But Milicent," urged Wilfred North in an eager whisper, "there is not the slightest risk or danger. You have merely to be in your little garden at half-past one, wearing the darkest clothes you have. I will not keep you waiting. We will then walk to Gainsly station. It is only four miles, you will not mind that?" "No," faltered the girl.

"We will travel in separate carriages to Mayford Junction, where I will join you, and in two hours we shall be in London. Best, my man, you know, has undertaken to answer all questions concerning my absence."

"But," said Milicent timidly, "have you made all the other arrangements as safe as this? Will all be ready at our journey's end for our-"

She hesitated to pronounce the word, but her companion took it up lightly enough."

"For our marriage," he said, "oh! yes, we shall be tied up tightly enough before this time to-morrow. Come, Milicent, give me your word that you will be ready, for I must go; I must look in at the rectory as I go, to say a few words, and I have to go back to the hall, for I left a most important pocket-book behind me

when I said good-bye to my father this evening. Give me your promise, Milicent."

"It is so sudden," murmured the foolish girl, "you are so hasty."

"If I gave you a longer time you would refuse perhaps, and I must have you for my own, Milicent."

Whispered words of love-broken by passionate kisses-followed, arguments that broke down the poor girl's weak resolves, and Gilbert Armstrong heard the woman he adored, promise to leave her parent's roof in that night's darkness with Wilfred North. A cold sweat broke out over him, as he listened, and a mocking demon entered in and took possession of his soul.

The lovers rose, and went towards the town. For some time Gilbert Armstrong lay on the damp grass with his white despairing face turned up to the densely-black sky; with a blackness as dense in his heart, and curses upon his lips. At last he rose.

"He thinks to take her from me, but I have a word to say to that," he muttered.

He walked through the lane, and into the quiet streets of the town. Passing the Rectory, he heard Wilfred North's clear voice, and farther on he saw the cottage, with a light in Milicent's room.

He went on steadily towards the Mill. The town clock struck ten as he reached his own gate.

The house was quiet and dark, and though it was his usual time for repose, Gilbert Armstrong did not unlatch the wicket gate, but walked steadily to and fro on the road beyond Colemarsh Mill.

(To be continued).

A BEAUTIFUL THOUGHT.-When the summer of youth is slowly wasting away on the nightfall of age, and the shadow of the past becomes deeper and deeper, and life wears to its close, it is pleasant to look through the vista of time upon the sorrows and facilities of our earlier years. If we have a home to shelter and hearts to rejoice with us, and friends have been gathered together around our firesides, then the rough places of wayfaring will have been worn and smoothed away in the twilight of life, while the many dark spots we have passed through will grow brighter and more beautiful. Happy, indeed, are those whose intercourse with the world has not changed the tone of their holier feeling, or broken those musical chords of the heart, whose vibrations are so melodious, so tender and so touching in the evening of their life.

ALEXANDRA.

(MARCH 10th.)

Now sixteen times the freshening winds of Spring
Have swept our island valleys, making sweet
With breath of violets all the wakening land,
Since England stretched her hands across the sea,
And wooed thee, Princess, from thy northern home,
To be the bride of Britain's Hope and Heir.

We saw thee, Lady, in the flush of youth,
In beauty peerless as the morning star,
Girdled with maiden innocence, and crowned
With lilies white of virgin modesty :

We saw thee standing in the light of love,
Troth-plighted to thy bridegroom, gallant, young,
We caught the reflex of that happiness
Which, star-like, shone upon a mourning court,
(Mourning for one too little known till lost,)
And in the sunshine of thy marriage-morn,
The people stretched their loyal hands to thee,
Thy fresh young beauty dried the nation's tears,
The sweetness of thy smile revived its joy,
Thine eyes, deep tenderness bespoke the love,
Born in thine heart for Britain's rugged isle :
Thy wifely promise bound thee to the land
Not less than to thine husband:-solemn troth
Was pledged that day between our hearts and thee!

Have rolling years redeemed that mutual troth ?
Yea, Princess, nobly is thy promise kept:
Like fair broad map by careful student planned
Thy stainless life lies open to our view.
Thou movest on thy native royal heights
With God's nobility upon thy soul,
And light as from some heavenly hemisphere,
Shines in thy face for love of human kind.
The tale of sorrow is not told in vain
To thee, thy hands do strengthen all
In honest labour, and in arts' wide ways.
The royal promise of thy youth is kept,

The troth-plight pledged to thine adopted land.
How keeps the land its promise unto thee?

As thou and thine are ours, since thou did'st choose
To trust thyself to loyal British hearts,
That bluff March morning sixteen years ago!
Whatever faction stirs on foreign soil,
Rest thou at home upon thy people's love:
Though other powers' long-laid foundations shake,
A throne is builded in great England's heart
For thee and thine,-and millions yet unborn
Shall speak thy praise in all our country's gates:
Great Princess, daughter of the great Sea-Kings,
Chaste Wife, thy husband's blessing and his crown,
Fond Mother, circled by thy children's love,
True Woman, crowned and throned in Britain's heart,
Till crowns and thrones, and BRITAIN, pass away!
H. S.

THE

FULL-SIZED PATTERNS.

All allowances necessary for the seams, are already given to these Patterns, so that the seams NEED NOT be allowed for when cutting out, except in materials that require extra wide turnings in.

The Patterns are all suited for Ladies of medium height and of proportionate figure: measuring 34 inches round the chest and 24 waist, unless otherwise stated in the description.

The greatest care is always taken by the binders to ensure the whole of the pieces composing each pattern being folded up in it. If at any time, through accident, our subscribers should find any pieces missing, the Editors will be happy to supply the deficiency post free, during the month after publication, on receipt of a letter or post card addressed to them at 1, Kelso Place, Kensington, London, W.

THE DUDLEY CORSAGE A REVERS. Our first full-sized pattern is the close-fitting Corsage à revers, which is shown on the third figure of our second colored plate. This pattern consists of Gilet, Front, Revers, Sidepiece and Back. The line of the gilet to which the front is sewn is indicated by a pricked line, and the fishes or puffs in the front are also marked by pricking. The sleeve of our second full-sized pattern, lengthened so as to reach to the hand, will suit this pattern.

THE MARGARETHA CORSAGE
FOR DINNER DRESS.

Our second pattern (all the pieces of which are marked by one round hole near the top) is the Corsage with square opening back and front, which is represented on the Dinner Costume, fig. 2 of plate 3. This pattern is given complete, and consists of five pieces, viz:--Gilet,, Front, Side-piece, Back, and short Sleeve. In the gilet the pricked line shows where the front is sewn to it: the curved edge is the middle of front.

50.-Wedding dress, Polonaise and draperies, fig. 2.

51.-Demi-Saison Pelisse with wide sleeves, fig. 3.

Plate 2.

52.-Polonaise Princesse, with draped Tablier, fig. 1.

53.-Little Boy's Costume, fig. 2.

54.-Abercorn Visiting Costume: Corsage, upper

skirt, and drapery, fig. 3.

55.-Upper skirt and train, fig. 4. The Dudley

Corsage is given gratis with the Magazine.

Plate 3.

56.-Polonaise a gilet for Ball Dress, fig. 1. 57.-Upper skirt and straight Tablier, fig. 2.

The Margaretha Corsage is given gratis with the Magazine.

58.-Corsage à revers and upper skirt for Ball Dress, fig. 3.

Plate 4.

59.-Visite Mantle, fig. 1.

60.-Carmen Costume. Corsage and upper skirt, fig. 2.

61.-Demi-Saison Paletot, fig. 3.

62.-The Canadian, a Lady's double-breasted Ulster Coat, with hood and belt.

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