barracks in a few days; let all be settled before thenfor my sake, Nelly. I shall leave Dublin for a time; this I must do, dearest; I shall be better away-I could not remain here just at first. When I return, we shall begin a new life, the past all forgotten. Your engagement will be an old story then; and I shall escape all the first questionings and congratulations. It may be imagined that I was in the secret all along, and so we shall all avoid much that might be unpleasant."

"I shall leave everything to you, dear Charley; I shall do all that you wish."

"You may trust me, my darling; I shall do nothing of which you can disapprove. And now I must return to Percy; he must already be surprised at my long absence; but before I leave you, Nelly, promise me that you will never again let a cloud. come between us, if you can possibly help it; and if, at any time, you wish for my advice or assistance, that you will come to me as readily as you would to your own brother were he now alive. Promise me this."

"I do, I do, Charley," she replied, in a faltering voice; "I do indeed. And you have forgiven me all that has seemed cold and unkind in my conduct-ah! Charley, you may-but I can never forgive myself." 'Nelly! do not grieve me by saying this."

66

I looked at her sadly, and met the wistful glance of her gentle eyes. I opened my arms-she threw herself into them and wept long and bitterly; one fond, lingering, last embrace-and my dream of love was over. Nelly O'Brien and I were now nothing to each other.

Friends! Yes we were friends-but friendship is a poor exchange for love. It is the shell without its kernel, the casket without its jewel; and to the young

heart, writhing under the first pressure of disappointment, it sounds very cold and empty.

The hardest part of my task was now over, there remained but little to do.

And yet Percy was harder to persuade than I had expected; it took me a long time and many words to convince him that my resolution was unalterable.

Only when I led in Nelly blushing and tremblingwhen I myself placed her hand in his, and bade them love each other well and truly-then could Percy Lascelles resist no longer.

I marked the glow in his cheek, the sparkle in his eye-I saw her timid and shrinking glance as she half averted her drooping head-and then-I looked no longer-I turned away quickly and left the room—I left them to their happiness and their love.

And now that it is all over, does the reader wish to know how I felt ?

He or she knows me well enough by this time to be pretty sure that I will neither mope nor pine; I shall not lose my appetite nor grow thinner in consequence, neither shall I wander in a disconsolate state by dark winding streams, and murmur my pitiful tale to the willows on their banks and the rushes that fringe their rippling waters. No, I did none of these things.

I felt that a long-cherished hope was now for ever taken from me, a bright dream of happiness for ever dispelled; but I knew that I had acted honestly, unselfishly, and for the best; two people whom I loved very dearly were made happy chiefly through my instrumentality, and these reflections brought me much solid comfort; there is always a certain satisfaction in doing what is right, even when a good deal of pain may attend the performance of our duty.

I had loved Nelly O'Brien well and sincerely, and now that I felt I must no longer do so, there was a blank at my heart that would not very soon be filled; it seemed so strange to think that I had no longer any claim on her-that she was no longer mine!

Under every circumstance it was better that I should leave Dublin for a time; I was a restraint on Percy and Nelly, for as yet they had not recovered from feelings of self-reproach, though I did all in my power to remove this idea; I was not yet reconciled to the consideration that I must now be second where I had so long been first; slight twinges of pain would come over me when I heard her appeal to Percy in her soft, thrilling voice, and remembered how lately she would have turned to me for counsel or aid. They were ever kind and considerate; but little things would keep occurring that sometimes tried me sorely, and I saw that I must go-for a time at least.

It was very cowardly, no doubt-but I confess I also much dreaded the bantering remarks and all the "chaffing" I should have to undergo from the 144th and 21st. I was sure I should betray myself, lose my temper, or do something I should regret; and after a due consideration of what was best to be done, I came to the conclusion that discretion is the better part of valour, and I resolved to absent myself till the matter should be no longer a "new thing."

One curious change I felt had taken place in me. I seemed to be so much older during the last few weeks; the carelessness and light-heartedness of boyhood had for ever passed away; I now felt myself a man. There was a reality and soberness in life that had never before struck me; and I saw that I had crossed a gulf now for ever left behind me, the gulf that separates

thoughtless, aimless boyhood from the stern duties grave realities of watchful manhood.

and

And yet I was not very old; but this feeling comes sooner to some than to others, and I had seen much to sober me.

But let no one imagine that I had become misanthropical, or was ever out of spirits; for I was nothing of the kind.

I joined a large and merry party that Sir Theodore and Lady Anson had assembled at Bromley Court; we were all there; my father and mother; Jack, the incorrigible Tom (a very good-looking boy now, and sedulously cultivating a pair of as yet very dim whiskers); the Nevilles, and a number of gay friends.

We attacked the partridges in the daytime, the claret at dinner, and wound up the evening with charades and deuxtemps; a succession of visitors came and departed, and many weeks passed before I again turned my face in the direction of Dublin and the old 144th.

CHAPTER XI.

THE FAIR INCOGNITA.

I HAD been paying a short visit to Dyne Court, and was returning to London.

Several very pleasant days I spent with Fred Splashton and his wife, who were indeed the happiest of the happy, rich in the enjoyment of every possible blessing.

Mrs. Splashton was greatly improved in every way, much of her former eccentricity had disappeared; she no longer affected the masculine either in dress or deportment, and what little singularity still remained was rather piquante and agreeable than in any degree objectionable. She quite worshipped Fred, who certainly made the kindest and best of husbands; he was a lazy fellow, who loved to take things easily, and hated trouble of all kinds; and the fair Milly had certainly a good deal of her own way. But she had plenty of good-sense to guide her, and there was no fault to be found with her management; and where any matter belonged more especially to Fred's department, she insisted on his undertaking its supervision himself; her last wish was to see him a cipher in his own house.

Nip was still in his glory, but the little son and heir