of the dewy fields. Her simplicity, and her genuine delight in the loveliness of the scene, was gone for the time, and though she spoke much of her enjoyment, it was in a high-flown affected style.
When the last good-night had been exchanged, and Lily had turned homeward, she felt the stillness which succeeded their farewells almost oppressive; she started at the dark shadow of a tree which lay across the path, and to shake off a sensation of fear which was coming over her, she put her arm within Claude's, exclaiming, 'You naughty boy, you will be stupid and silent, say what I will.'
'I heard enough to-night to strike me dumb,' said Claude.
For one moment Lily thought he was in jest, but the gravity of his manner showed her that he was both grieved and displeased, and she changed her tone as she said, 'Oh! Claude, what do you mean?'
'Do you not know?' said Claude.
'What, you mean about Eleanor?' said Lily; 'you must fall upon Miss Jenny there-it was her doing.'
'Jane's tongue is a pest,' said Claude; 'but she was not the first to speak evil falsely of one to whom you owe everything. Oh! Lily, I cannot tell you how that allusion of yours sounded.'
'What allusion?' asked Lily in alarm, for she had never seen her gentle brother so angry.
'You know,' said he.
'Indeed, I do not,' exclaimed Lily, munch frightened. 'Claude, Claude, you must mistake, I never could have said anything so very shocking.'
'I hope I do,' said Claude; 'I could hardly believe that one of the little ones who cannot remember him, could have referred to him in that way-but for you!'
'Him?' said Lilias.
'I do not like to mention his name to one who regards him so lightly,' said Claude. 'Think over what passed, if you are sufficiently come to yourself to remember it.'
After a little pause Lily said in a subdued voice, 'Claude, I hope you do not believe that I was thinking of what really happened when I said that.'
'Pray what were you thinking of?'
'The abstract view of Eleanor's character.'
'Abstract nonsense!' said Claude. 'A fine demonstration of the rule of love, to go about the world slandering your sister!'
'To go about the world! Oh! Claude, it was only Robert, one of ourselves, and Alethea, to whom I tell everything.'
'So much the worse. I always rejoiced that you had no foolish young lady friend to make missish confidences to.'
'She is no foolish young lady friend,' said Lilias, indignant in her turn; 'she is five years older than I am, and papa wishes us to be intimate with her.'
'Then the fault is in yourself,' said Claude. 'You ought not to have told such things if they were true, and being utterly false-'
'But, Claude, I cannot see that they are false.'
'Not false, that Eleanor cared not a farthing for Harry!' cried Claude, shaking off Lily's arm, and stopping short.
'Oh!-she cared, she really did care,' said Lily, as fast as she could speak. 'Oh! Claude, how could you think that? I told you I did not mean what really happened, only that-Eleanor is cold-not as warm as some people-she did care for him, of course she did-I know that-I believe she loved him with all her heart-but yet-I mean she did not-she went on as usual-said nothing-scarcely cried- looked the same-taught us-never-Oh! it did not make half the difference in her that it did in William.'
'I cannot tell how she behaved at the time,' said Claude, 'I only know I never had any idea what a loss Harry was till I came home and saw her face. I used never to trouble myself to think whether people looked ill or well, but the change in her did strike me. She was bearing up to comfort papa, and to cheer William, and to do her duty by all of us, and you could take such noble resignation for want of feeling!'
Lilias looked down and tried to speak, but she was choked by her tears; she could not bear Claude's displeasure, and she wept in silence. At last she said in a voice broken by sobs, 'I was unjust-I know Eleanor was all kindness-all self-sacrifice-I have been very ungrateful-I wish I could help it-and you know well, Claude, how far I am from regarding dear Harry with indifference-how the thought of him is a star in my mind-how happy it makes me to think of him at the end of the Church Militant Prayer; do not believe I was dreaming of him.'
'And pray,' said Claude, laughing in his own good-humoured way, 'which of us is it that she is so willing to lose?'
'Oh! Claude, no such thing,' said Lily, 'you know what I meant, or did not mean. It was nonsense-I hope nothing worse.' Lily felt that she might take his arm again. There was a little silence, and then Lily resumed in a timid voice, 'I do not know whether you will be angry, Claude, but honestly, I do not think that if-that Eleanor would be so wretched about you as I should.'
'Eleanor knew Harry better than you did; no, Lily, I never could have been what Harry was, even if I had never wasted my time, and if my headaches had not interfered with my best efforts.'
'I do not believe that, say what you will,' said Lily.
'Ask William, then,' said Claude, sighing.
'I am sure papa does not think so,' said Lily; 'no, I cannot feel that Harry is such a loss when we still have you.'
'Oh! Lily, it is plain that you never knew Harry,' said Claude. 'I do not believe you ever did-that is one ting to be said for you.'
'Not as you did,' said Lily; 'remember, he was six years older. Then think how little we saw of him whilst they were abroad; he was always at school, or spending the holidays with Aunt Robert, and latterly even farther off, and only coming sometimes for an hour or two to see us. Then he used to kiss us all round, we went into the garden with him, looked at him, and were rather afraid of him; then he walked off to Wat Greenwood, came back, wished us good-bye, and away he went.'
'Yes,' said Claude, 'but after they came home?'
'Then he was a tall youth, and we were silly girls,' said Lilias; 'he avoided Miss Middleton, and we were always with her. He was good-natured, but he could not get on with us; he did very well with the little ones, but we were of the wrong age. He and William and Eleanor were one faction, we were another, and you were between both- he was too old, too sublime, too good, too grave for us.'
'Too grave!' said Claude; 'I never heard a laugh so full of glee, except, perhaps, Phyllis's.'
'The last time he was at home,' continued Lily, 'we began to know him better; there was no Miss Middleton in the way, and after you and William were gone, he used to walk with us, and read to us. He read Guy Mannering to us, and told us the story of Sir Maurice de Mohun; but the loss was not the same to us as to you elder ones; and then sorrow was almost lost in admiration, and in pleasure at the terms in which every one spoke of him. Claude, I have no difficulty in not wishing it otherwise; he is still my brother, and I would not change the feeling which the thought of his death gives me-no, not for himself in life and health.'
'Ah!' sighed Claude, 'you have no cause for self-reproach-no reason to lament over 'wasted hours and love misspent.''
'You will always talk of your old indolence, as if it was a great crime,' said Lily.
'It was my chief temptation,' said Claude. 'As long as we know we are out of the path of duty it does not make much difference whether we have turned to the right hand or to the left.'
'Was it Harry's death that made you look upon it in this light?' said Lily.
'I knew it well enough before,' said Claude, 'it was what he had often set before me. Indeed, till I came home, and saw this place without him, I never really knew what a loss he was. At Eton I did not miss him more than when he went to Oxford, and I did not dwell on what he was to papa, or what I ought to be; and even when I saw what home was without him, I should have contented myself with miserable excuses about my health, if it had not been
