СПАРТЕR XXIII.

OFF AND ON.

WHEN Josiah Crewdson got home he received such a frigid greeting from his sisters, that he was afraid to say anything about his visit to London. But when the sharp edge of their displeasure had worn off, he said that Dorothy Fox was coming to York to stay with her aunt Abigail; that she had also accepted the invitation which he had given her at their request when in Devonshire, and it only remained for them to write, naming the time which would be most convenient for her visit.

here, we still expect her to come, but it would have better become thee to have consulted us before thou didst renew our invitation."

"I cannot see why you should both be so changed towards her," exclaimed Josiah, now bristling up in defence of Dorothy. "Before I went to Devonshire you were always speaking in praise of the Foxes."

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And now we have nothing to say against them or her; but it is only fair to tell thee that Kezia and I have observed a change in thee, not for the better; and we fear that Dorothy is in some way to blame for it. In our Society it is not considered The Miss Crewdsons had been grimly modest or becoming for young men and satisfied that day by hearing that the unruly women to be talking of loving each other; son of a somewhat lax cousin had disre- a higher principle than mere human affecgarded his parents' wishes, and utterly tion should be the motive for a consistent frustrated their hopes. Kezia and Jemima marriage." had always said that Samuel Snow would turn out badly, and had remonstrated with his mother on the excessive fondness which had made her foolishly blind to her son's failings. Others had said the boy would come right, but Jemima and Kezia knew better; and now it had turned out just as they had predicted. They were not glad at the boy's downfall, but it was pleasant to be so much more shrewd and far-seeing than their neighbours.

At dinner they were more gracious to Josiah, and this change in their manner at once determined him to seize the opportunity, and broach the subject nearest his heart. So, after a little attempt at finesse, he said, Grace Hanbury told me she remembered you both."

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"And why should she not?" demanded Jemina. She was one of the most forward girls I ever saw. I sincerely hope Dorothy does not take after her."

"No," replied Josiah, vainly endeavoring to keep down the colour which would fly to his face whenever that name was mentioned. They are not at all like each other. Dorothy is like her mother. She said she had her father's permission to spend a little time with us on her way to or from York: would it not be best to have her before she goes to Abigail Fletcher's?" The sisters exchanged glances; and then Kezia said, "Did she propose coming herself, or didst thou ask her again?"

"I invited her in Devonshire; and when I saw her again in London I asked her if she were coming. I thought thou and Jemima would wish me to do so."

Josiah was silent. It was impossible for him to argue with his sisters, or to defend his love, about which he often had sore pricks of conscience, not knowing if he were right in cherishing the passion which was daily growing stronger within him.

Jemima's face relaxed; she saw she had touched the boy, as she always called him. So she seated herself more firmly on her chair in order to carry on the good work and improve the opportunity. For the next hour Josiah listened patiently, and with apparent attention, to a jobation, in the form of a duet; for when Jemima stopped, Kezia took up the discourse. Each sister performed her part with such satisfaction to herself that, when they had finished, Jemima extended her hard bony hand to Josiah, telling him to be thankful that he had those about him who would never see him go astray without speaking words of reproof, prompted only by anxiety for his welfare. Kezia afterwards wrote to Dorothy that they would be glad to see her, if convenient, on her way to York.

When the letter reached Dorothy, it suddenly recalled her to a sense of what was expected of her: that she should not unasked give her love to any man; and that if she were asked, she should firmly deny it to one opposed in every way to those principles which she held dear.

Of late, Charles Verschoyle had come frequently to Fryston, and though, when Grace and John were present, he only paid Dorothy the attention demanded by courtesy, when they were alone, by many an expressive look and word he showed her Thy sisters would wish thee to fear lying who it was that drew him constantly there, lips, Josiah," said Jemima, sternly, and and why he was never contented to be abto speak the truth as thou hast been brought sent. Perhaps, had Dorothy been more up to do. As we once asked Dorothy Fox | honest with herself, she might have effect

All in vain, therefore, did Mrs. Hanbury ask eligible Friends to luncheon or dinner. Dorothy made herself very agreeable during their stay, but was quite indifferent whether they ever came again or not.

ually battled with the temptation. But the | him than ever, and resolutely salved her idea of her caring for a man who was not a conscience by saying to herself, that while Friend, and worse still, who was a soldier, she was here it was of no use, but when she was so repugnant to her that she would not went to Headingley she would really try to face the difficulty. She was confident in like Josiah Crewdson. her strength, and certain that nothing could make her disobey her father, or forget her principles. And, though her heart was heavy at the thought of leaving Fryston, she persuaded herself it was so because of her fondness for Grace and the children. So without allowing herself time for reflection she wrote accepting Kezia Crewdson's invitation, and replied to a letter from Josiah, telling him she was sorry not to have seen him again, but that when she came to Headingley she hoped they would be a great deal together. Then she ran down-stairs and asked Mr. Hanbury to post the letters, returning to her room to weep the most bitter tears she had ever shed in her life.

At last, in her disappointment, Grace confided to John that she believed in her heart that Dolly really cared for that gawkylooking Josiah Crewdson.

"Oh! I dare say," replied her husband stolidly.

"Thou dare say!" repeated Grace; "why, John, thou hast never seen him; thou dost not know what he is like."

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Thou hast given me a very full description of his peculiarities," laughed John, "ending with the invariably expressed opinion of his worth and goodness which usually finishes the portraiture of a plain

Captain Verschoyle could not understand what was wrong with Dorothy. That evening he dined at the Grange, and had a tete-awkward person."

"Well, my dear, but if it be her pleasure, why annoy thyself? She is not compelled to marry Crewdson."

But father wishes it so much: he has set his heart upon the match."

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Ah! a great many fathers and mothers set their hearts on matches that never come off, my dear."

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-à-tete with her while Grace went for John, "I really do not think that I have dealt but though he repeated all the sweet say- hardly with him," said Grace, with a rather ings which usually made her lovely eyes rueful face," and I believe in his kind dislook shyly into his, Dorothy continued in position; but it does seem a sacrifice to her most staid manner, until he was tempt-marry Dolly to him, and bury her in that ed to say more than was prudent in his dull house at Headingley." eagerness to get some of the glances which now seemed to him the most desirable thing in the whole world. Of course he could not marry Dorothy, that was out of the question. In the first place, she was a Quaker, and Quakers always marry Quakers; here he winced a little, as if his first argument was not particularly pleasant to him; secondly, he could not afford to mar- Yes, but Dorothy is different from ry without money; and, thirdly, her father most girls, John; she would never marry kept a shop. The whole affair was absurd: any one of whom father did not approve." nobody would expect him to do such a "Hum!" said John, screwing his mouth thing. His mind reverted to her prim man-in a comical way. "If Fate had decreed ner, and he wondered what could be the matter with the child, she had been so different of late. Perhaps some one had been speaking to her about him. More than likely," he said: "what an extraordinary thing it is that some people can't let others alone; they must suggest, or warn, or interfere! I call it unwarrantable imper-heart upon." tinence;" and Captain Verschoyle contin- "Josiah Crewdson is wealthy, I supued to abuse these imaginary persons, until pose?" said Grace. he resolved to frustrate their designs by

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that I should be the man upon whom your sister had set her affection, I should not fear the disapprobation of fifty fathers. Where that young lady bestows her love, she will not keep much back for anybody else; and she's too much her father's daughter to give up easily what she has set her

Yes, he is said to be a rich man. His going down the next day to Fryston, and father left him a considerable amount of driving it all out of the pretty creature's property, besides the business, which I hear is rapidly increasing. Josiah Crewdson is considered a very shrewd, safe fellow."

head.

And when he went, the pretty creature had suffered so much from the fear that she had offended him, that she threw prudence However, that need not influence Doroto the winds, looked more bewitchingly at thy," answered Grace, “for she is sure to

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have a good fortune. Besides her mother's | else; so he decided to stay now until Harry money, all Aunt Abigail's is certain to come Egerton returned to Darington.

to her."

"Why, that she should desire him; and I have seen no sign of that yet."

"Well," said John, laughing, do you know that it has struck me that there has been a considerable amount of philandering lately, under our very sharp noses, without our taking much account of it."

"What dost thou mean?" asked Grace, in a tone of surprise.

"I mean, my dear, that, notwithstanding my firm belief that we are two of the most interesting and attractive people to be met with in the United Kingdom, yet when Dorothy leaves us, we shall not be quite so frequently favoured with visits from our friend Captain Verschoyle."

"Nonsense. What is there to make thee imagine such a thing? "Well, for one thing whenever we are out walking they always manage to fall behind."

"That is only because we are talking together, and they wish to keep at a little distance from us.'

Mr. Egerton had been at Darington a week; still his godson lingered in town, until a letter from Audrey announced Lady Laura's intention of returning home, to which was added as a bit of sisterly advice, that unless he was equal to squalis he had better disappear at once.

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That decides me," thought Captain Verschoyle after reading the letter. “I must not encounter her ladyship at present; so to-day I shall tell the Hanburys I have been called away suddenly. I wonder how Dorothy will take it. Of course we both knew the time must come for saying, "Adieu, my love, for evermore adieu; but it's none the more pleasant for that. If I saw much more of her I verily believe I should make an ass of myself as it is, we are neither of us at all compromised. I believe the child loves me, and I never felt it so hard to give up any girl before. Ah! I was always an unfortunate beggar. I never met a girl yet that I liked but she was sure either not to have a penny, or to belong to a family beyond the pale of the magic circle."

Here Captain Verschoyle looked at his "Yes; but there is a limit to most peo-watch, and resolved to catch the early train, ple's distance. But, unless it's out of sight Mrs. Hanbury having announced to him and hearing. I have not discovered the her intention of not returning from London limit to theirs. Then, when we are in the until five o'clock. house, they are in the garden; and if we are in the garden, the objects of interest to them in the opposite direction are really surprising. Why, Grace, it is not so long since our love-making days that thou shouldst forget all its cunning devices."

Of course he could not see the sweet picture that Dorothy made as she stood halfway up the hedge-bank, holding back the nut branches in a strained, eager, listening attitude, trying to make sure that she heard the coming train in the distance, while with every rapid beat her heart seemed to cry aloud "Will he come? Will he come ?"

Captain Verschoyle got out of the train and walked to the house. He hoped that he would find Dorothy alone, for then he knew he should see the soft colour leap into her cheeks, and die away so slowly; he knew that he should feel her little hand tremble in his like a frightened bird; and he knew that the shy eyes would meet his, and be dropped again before he had taken in half of their beauty, making him determine to have them lifted again and again. And yet he could say they both "meant nothing," and that they were not in the least committed to one another.

IT was the last week of October, and the last week of Dorothy's visit to Fryston. On the following Thursday she was to leave for Headingley. Captain Verschoyle still Dorothy remained in her elevated posiremained in London. At first he said tion until she saw the smoke of the train business detained him, but the business puffing on and away. Then she scrambled was no more than the ordering of a shoot- down and tried to stay patiently, beguiling ing suit. Then he overstayed Colonel the tedious waiting by many a youthful Stapleton's invitation; and after disap- device. At length she felt so certain that pointing Stapleton he couldn't go anywhere more than the given time had elapsed that

Was to amuse the until she came."

What a shameful task to impose upon your young shoulders!" said Captain Verschoyle. You will require to exert yourself to your utmost "

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Indeed, no," she replied, laughing, "for it is thou wilt amuse me. I like to listen when thou aft talking." "Dorothy I may call you Dorothy, may I not ?"

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Oh yes!" and her quick colour told how sweet the name sounded.

"Of course," he continued, "all your friends call you Dorothy. Then, Dorothy, when we are parted will you think of me sometimes?"

how pale she became; - poor darling, she, too, would feel the parting. In spite of his pity, however, an exultant feeling of joy came over him. But his voice was most desponding as he said, "You will have gone before I return from York."

York! that was where Aunt Abigail lived; suppose it should be near, and they were to meet again.

'My aunt Abigail lives near York," she said; I am going to see her before I return home.

Captain Verschoyle's heart gave a leap, and his blood tingled in his veins, as he exclaimed

"My dear child, is it possible that you are going to York? How delightful! we shall be there together perhaps."

"I-I was thinking of asking to be allowed to go home instead; I have been away from my mother so long that I do not care about visiting any more.

"But not now; you will go to York now?" he said eagerly; then bending close to her, he repeated, "You will go row; I am sure you would say yes if you could understand how happy it would make me.”

Dorothy did not answer; her colour changed, her eyelids quivered, and her mouth tightened one moment to relax the next, and gradually open like a fresh rose

bud.

He

Several times during their interview Charles Verschoyle's conscience had asserted itself, giving him sharp pricks, and asking if he were acting up even to his own code of honour; but he would not listen now. What cared he at that moment for anything but the certainty that the girl loved him with all the warmth of her heart? had laid his love at the feet of fair ones before; had vowed and sighed, and had been met on equal ground. He had been courted, flattered, caressed, but never loved by a girl who artlessly betrayed what she strove to conceal. When she looked at him she did so because she was drawn to him irresistibly; when she blushed, it was the shy blush of girlish innocence, with no thought of the effect produced. Such a woman was a novelty to a man like Charles Verschoyle. He enjoyed Dorothy's telltale face and the sweet secret it betrayed, without a thought of anything beyond the present moment. Time enough for reflection when they were apart from each other.

"Dorothy," he almost whispered, “will you not say that you will go now?" No answer.

"Ah! it is nothing to you that we are parted," he said, turning from her with a

You want to be back | where she had been, what purchases she had made, and smiled internally to think of poor Dolly's state of mind when sustaining the conversation by herself. She did not wonder now at her running to see if the train had brought her to the rescue.