and to take you, I determined at once to come and fetch her and you; and I could hardly get through my service, I was so glad. But then," added poor Will, frankly, "you see it is a long time since I've been able to get through a service quite properly, without letting my thoughts wander to disappointments and troubles, and doubts as to what it would be best to do next. Do you know, Celia, on the first Sunday of all, I began to perform the service in my great-coat."

"Mother wants a change sadly; don't you think so?" asked Celia, after a little pause-for she had so often received these confidences of Will's. "We are all very anxious about her, but papa says Brighton air thoroughly renovated her once before-after my little brother died, but I don't remember that. It seems a long way for us to go, but I fancy the very consciousness of being in England will soothe mamma. She has fretted terribly since we left London."

"And you yourself, Celia ?" inquired young Foster, understanding all she shrank from saying. "Are you glad to go?"

"Yes. In England I shall not seem so very far away from Nora-I believe not, at least

VOL. III.

H

for I think she is there. And, besides the benefit for mamma, I shall hear what you are doing, without such a long delay. And when you have news, I shall know it at once."

"My mother is in Brighton now," said Will, utterly unaware of the flitting blushes on Celia's sad little face, "and I shall be there very often. You don't know, Celia, how delighted I am to think of seeing you whenever I go-of course chiefly because you need the change, but a good deal for my own sake, too. I have no one now to discuss my plans with, and to help me with suggestions for my search. As for Poynz, he is quite changed, and when I do manage to see him for a few minutes, I somehow-there's something about him that stops my worrying him with any proposals or fears (or even hopes) of mine."

"You mean because he has done everything that could be done?" asked Celia, in her gentle, practical way. "Advertised, and employed

detectives, and searched, and examined, and made all the efforts you and Mr. Doyle have told us of?"

"I did not exactly mean that," explained Will, honestly. "I meant because in the presence of his pain and suspense, anyone else's

however great and hard to bear-must seem less; and anyone else's grief would seem like an intrusion in presence of his immense, silent agony. Oh! Celia, the last time I saw him, do you know I felt afraid to be alone with him? It sounds absurd, I know, but it is the simple truth; for I thought, when I looked at his face, that this great suffering, about which he is so silent, was too much for any man to bear, and that it would kill him."

"Does he look so ill?" questioned Celia, sorrowfully.

"I don't know that that is it exactly; but he looks quite changed-locked up in himself, as it were, and stern-even fierce, I think. Yet sometimes a longing comes into his eyes, as gentle and wistful as a girl's."

"And he never rests in this sad search, I suppose ?"

"Never; he is always pursuing it, and with a system, too, as I never can. Yet often even when he is forming or following some intricate plan, his thoughts seem suddenly to go off far beyond his control. I sometimes see that they are miles away from me while I am speaking to him."

"That is not at all like what he used to be,"

said Celia. "I remember he was always, in his coolest moments, so quick to enter into whatever was told or asked him.”

"And somehow, with it all, he seems to be that still," the young curate went on, reflectively. "It was only yesterday—he had come down to Heaton for one night, and was walking with me past the church-he talked to me most kindly about my own prospects, and he told me —it was a strange thing to tell me, Celia, but I don't think it will be any betrayal of trust to repeat it to you-he told me rather a strange intention of his about the Heaton living. He said he had always intended it for me, but now he had changed his mind, and he had perfect confidence in my not resenting the change. If you married a clergyman, he said, the Heaton living was to be a gift for your husband, for Nora's sake, whose friend you were-you are, I mean. He says he feels sure you will marry a clergyman eventually, because you are So exactly what a young rector's wife should beso he said."

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Oh, Will, I hope he will not think of that. I hope he will give it to you," faltered Celia, her face burning hotly.

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No, he will not, and he is quite right,” young

Foster answered, generously. "His decision is best. But then it is only to be so, I should fancy, if he marries Nora. He says his decision is selfish, because it is to please Nora, by settling her dear little friend near her; but that could not be the case if she does not marry him."

"He will never marry anyone else," said Celia, with the quietness of utter conviction.

"Do you feel so sure? But you know that they are not really engaged, don't you, Celiadon't you?"

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Why need you think of that?" asked Celia, gently. "Nothing seems to matter to me now, except the finding of Nora."

"Yet more seems to matter terribly to me," said Will, in his frank, prompt way, "and I cannot even yet look at the possibility of her marrying some one else. Oh, Celia, if I could but find her!"

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Celia," he asked, presently, with one of his swift changes of mood, "shall you be ready to leave to-morrow?"

"Yes, we are all ready now."

“How delightful it will be to have you! And, Celia," he added, trying in his simple kindness to cheer her a little, "when you marry the lucky parson who is to have the Heaton Rectory,