"Miss Evans, I don't want those chil

BY ESME STUART. Author of "A Faire Damzell," "Joan Vellacot," "Kestell of Greystone," etc. etc.

CHAPTER XI. A NEW RELATION. NAN had been driven to Coleham in the wagonette by the coachman, who still stayed on at the Warren till his month's notice should have expired. When Miss Evans walked out of the office she stepped into the carriage and said, quickly, "Home," without looking at or thanking Mr. Blackston, who most politely shut the carriage door and made her a bow quite as low and deferential, be it said to his honour, as he could have given Mrs. Gordon had she been in Nan's place.

"Home !" Yes, it was home to Nan, too, for there she had passed the last fifteen years of her life. There, too, she had developed a mother's heart. She knew well enough that no one would ever claim her-plain, stern Anne Evans-for a wife. No one would surround her with loving care or find pleasure in her deep affection. No; she was too old, too ugly for that; but she had had children, dear adopted children, in Grace and Sibyl. No one had interfered with her as to their bringing up; no one had watched her to see if she treated them well or ill; but her heart told her she had done her duty, and more than her duty, when those young lips showered kisses on her cheeks, and those good, innocent eyes looked at her lovingly, without one glance to intimate that she was too ugly to love.

Once only, on her first arrival, Mr. Gordon had given her a command. He said:

VOL. VI.-THIRD SERIES.

children, and I don't wish you to make friends with any one about here. If you find this restriction unjust, or your life too dull here, then we must part."

He had found perhaps the only woman to whom these words could sound pleasant. She said, simply: "I wish to make friends with no one; I shall be satisfied with the children as my only companions."

"That is as I wish it. The world here has chosen to judge me, Miss Evans, and I mean to show it that I can live my life without it, and my household must also hold my opinion."

In that house Miss Evans had found the greatest happiness she had ever known; and now, suddenly, she found herself turned away like a stranger, and separated from her children by the words of a woman who spoke to her as if she were on quite a different level, and as if the happiness of girls with an unfortunate history were scarcely worth consideration.

Nan was unjust, we see; her first opinion of Mrs. Gordon had been unfavourable, and her nature was such that she would keep this opinion to her life's end. To the world she was a fierce, self-willed woman; it was only with Grace and Sibyl that the tiger-like propensities she inherited at her birth disappeared, and she became the "Nan" that Grace loved, and the "Nan " whose name Sibyl had learned to lisp so early.

Nan had often wondered about their mother; she must have been pretty, of course, and she had died young. Had sorrow killed her? Had her husband given her any more affection than he did his daughters? Not that he was ever unkind

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to them, but he left them entirely to Nan, and was quite satisfied if he never heard any complaints of them, or was never asked for too much money. Still, he gave them enough for their moderate wants, and to Nan her small salary, and to the girls their food and clothing, and now and then some little present in money-when he thought of it. But his horses and his wine parties — which meant gambling at cards-cost money, and money was always forthcoming for such expenses. Yet one great puzzle filled Nan's mind-why had he not thought of the future of these children? They were his, at all events, owned as such, in a way cared for as such; why had he never given one consideration as to what would happen to them if he died?

Why had I never courage to ask him?" she now thought regretfully, though with this regret came the conviction that she could never have dared to enquire into the private affairs of the master of the Warren.

The five miles were all too short to arrange her tumultuous ideas in some order, and the nearer she approached the Warren the more nervous she became as to the right course of conduct. At last the top of the hilly road up to the Warren was reached, the carriage turned in at the gates, and drove rapidly up to the front door.

Sibyl was well enough to-day to come down into the old schoolroom, where, by a large fire, she was making herself extremely comfortable; Grace was reading one of Sir Walter Scott's novels to her. These novels were their one great pleasure; they read them, and re-read them, till the many characters became their friends, and they talked of them as other girls talk of their acquaintances or neighbours. Modern novels, that is, more modern than the great Scotch novelist, never stepped across the threshold of the Warren; lending libraries were unknown there, and there were no friends to lend them books. Now and then Nan bought them a book as a birthday present, but this was generally a book of poetry nicely bound, something they could keep and learn by heart.

Now Nan made a great effort over herself, passed one of her large hands over her broad forehead as if to smooth away any expression of trouble which might be there, and entered the schoolroom looking much as she usually did. Grace started up and at once came forward to meet her, with a smile on her face.

"Dear Nan, what a fairy you are! We never heard the carriage drive up, or perhaps we were too deeply interested in Ivanhoe.' Sibyl has just been saying she would like to have been a lady in the time of the Crusades; and-but you are tired, dear Nan."

"Come and sit near me and tell us what Mr. Blackston said," cried Sibyl.

"Nothing very interesting, my dears. What should he say—a man and a lawyer? All lawyers are more or less disagreeable."

"Not kind Mr. Blackston. He is so very, very courteous to us, and he has been just the same even when you were away. But what did he want you for?" Nan looked round like an animal at bay. Only Grace noticed the unusual expression of her face.

"What was it, dear? Tell us." "He wanted me to see a-lady, who wishes to befriend you."

This speech was a great effort to Miss Evans; but she said it so that her children might feel the blow less when it came. "A lady!" The very words fired Sibyl's imagination. She was and had always been the one that craved for outside lifesomething new. "How kind of her! Will she come and see us? Who is she?"

"Yes; I fancy she will come. Her name is the same as yours-Mrs. Gordon. A relation of yours, I suppose."

"A relation of father's?" said Grace, her face flushing brightly with surprise; "will she come here? Oh, we must like her if she is related to father. He never mentioned a Mrs. Gordon to us, did he, Sibyl?"

No; he never mentioned any relations. Once he said he was an only child. Nan, tell us, is she pretty?"

Nan could not bear to hear these girls even unconsciously looking forward to seeing Mrs. Gordon. She moved her chair impatiently, so that Grace saw that something was the matter, and added :

"What does it matter, Sibyl, darling, whether she is pretty or not? I dare say Nan never looked out for beauty. She said once that pretty people were not often nice. I dare say she had a nice kind face, hadn't she?"

"I didn't look at her much; you will see for yourselves. She-this Mrs. Gordon

thinks it would be better for you to leave the Warren at the present moment, and go to some place to learn more than I can teach you-to Germany, perhaps."

"How good of her to think of us like

that! For a little time I shouldn't mind, would you, Grace? Shouldn't we have fun, we three ? "

children in Miss Evans's presence. They positively dared not be so!

If Grace and Sibyl had had no "advan

Nan could not say the words. No, no; she could not. She only turned round half fiercely, half passionately, as she put her arm round Grace, and answered in a low voice

"Of course, child, with you two I would go anywhere."

CHAPTER XII. VIEWING THE PROPERTY.

"ONE more night, and I have broken the blow only a little to them," thought Miss Evans as, unable to sleep or even to undress that evening, she paced her bedroom trying to think of some means of delivering her children from Mrs. Gordon's power. How was this possible when she herself was poor; when this woman would take everything and dole out a little with the condition that she was to see it well laid out? If these were her own daughters left to face the cruel world, what would she think, what would she feel-that is if the dead could feel the miseries of the living?

At last, when tired out, the angry woman lay down upon her bed and fell into an uneasy slumber. She dreamt that her children were out on the wide heath alone; she could see them, but she could not reach them or speak to them. Then she saw Sibyl, with her pretty golden hair flying round her shoulders, approach close to the edge of a black pit full of water. She called out to her to take care; she struggled to run towards her; she saw Grace trying to pull her back. Then she woke up trembling with fear. It was only a dream, thank Heaven; but Nan, in her excited state, took it for a warning. She must prevent them from being taken in hand by Mrs. Gordon; but how?

It was a hard task for Miss Evans to come down to breakfast as usual; but she was not a person to give in easily; besides, she, too, had noticed a certain spirit of lawlessness about the servants which her presence alone could restrain. The master was dead, and were they not quite able to hear the gossip of the place? Of course they heard it, and chose to think that they might do as they liked now till they went away. But no one ever was rude to her

had what was better: a thorough and methodical person to teach them what she knew. Nan had lived before the days of examinations and eager thirst for higher education. Early left an orphan, she had been handed over to relations whose one idea was always how to get rid as soon as possible of the expense of keeping Anne.

Anne certainly had not troubled them long. At sixteen, she had gone to be a governess-pupil in a small school. With the work she had done there, the affronts she had endured, the snubbing or patronising from the "young ladies" (!) it is no wonder that Nan Evans grew up with a defiant hatred of the world, which had always been so anxious to put its heel upon her. After this school came private situations; but as she could not speak French like a Parisian, or Italian like a native of Florence, or play on the harp, or scamper up and down the piano, her situations were always with second-rate people, who could pay second or third-rate salaries, and make up with rudeness what they could not give in money.

All those past histories were memories not spoken of nor forgotten, because never mentioned, but all the same bearing fruits of bitterness. A chance advertisement had brought her to the Warren, and the owner, looking at her unlovely countenance and manner, said to himself: "This one, at least, will not seek for lovers, or be sought out by them." It was a mere chance on both sides, but bringing happiness, as we have seen, to Nan and her children. Nevertheless, Nan could give, and did give the girls a sound English education. History she delighted in, and made Grace delight in it also. No history was too long or too wearisome to be rejected by Nan; and, cleared up by her remarks and her wonderful knowledge of the subject, history was not dry matter, but dealt with living men and women, living principles, living hatred and heroism actuating the actors on the stage of the old world.

It must be owned, however, that Nan's French was curious; but such as it was she handed it on to her children. So all three had a strange pronunciation; but then they understood every word, and the dictionary was not a necessary book for them. So it was with German; for Nan could learn any language, but could pro

nounce none correctly but her own mother tongue.

This is the simple outline of the story of their lives, so simple that, to Grace and Sibyl, there would have seemed to be nothing worth relating; but all was changed now the day had come for Nan to hear Mrs. Gordon offer her six months' salary instead of notice.

Grace's first thought that morning was, "To-day we shall see a relation of father's, a relation of our own; how very, very nice it will be to have some one who must care for us!" and, with a brighter look than she had worn since her father's death, she hastily performed her toilet and went to wake up Sibyl with her usual kiss.

"Grace, is that you? I have had such delightful dreams; you and I were so happy, but I forget why."

"Everybody must like you, of course, you stupid Gracie; but fancy how delightful it will be if she really arranges for us to go to Germany. I wish I could talk German; never mind, we can read it. It is strange that we have just finished Schiller's 'Thirty Years' War;' I wonder if German girls know it as well as we do? Won't it be delightful?" And Sibyl's spirits rose to a high degree, till Grace put in, more gravely:

"I hope father would have liked us to go. I am not sure, Sibyl. You know he never cared about our leaving home; he always said we had quite enough to satisfy us at the Warren."

"All the same, I want to see more people."

"All the same, make haste and dress, you lazy child; what will Nan say to us if we are late?"

But the sisters were not late, and a very pretty picture they made, even though their new black dresses were quite simple -heavily trimmed with crape. Mr. Blackston had settled that whoever came in for the money could afford to pay for the suitable mourning of the two girls. Sibyl's beauty only appeared in more striking colours, set off by the deep black; the golden hair was more like an aureole, and the pink cheeks, a little paler than usual, looked like the delicate colour of the lining of some exquisite sea-shell.

look at them. She wondered how many more days she should be with them; but not one day sooner than she could help would she leave them-on that subject she was quite determined.

If Grace and Sibyl were in good spirits, the weather seemed to frown at their happiness; great clouds now swept across the sky, the frost was going, and a cold, fine rain was falling. There could be no going out for Sibyl, and Grace would not leave her. To-day, instead of the usual steady morning reading, which Nan never gave up, Miss Evans announced that she was going to some cottage a mile or two away on the heath, and that they must amuse themselves. She felt that she could not sit still, it was more than she could do. "But it rains, dear Nan," said Grace, "let me go instead of you. Nothing hurts me."

"You? No, no; I must go myself."

If Nan said must, no one ever tried to alter her determination, so that Grace let her have her own way. Perhaps, too, the girls did not notice their friend's strange conduct as much as they might have done had they not been occupied with the wonderful and new idea that at this moment at Coleham, only five miles away, a new relation was staying, that she probably would come over and see them on this very day and settle all kinds of new plans about their life. If only Nan would tell them more about her personal appearance-but of course that was Nan's way, she always noticed strangers so little.

So when the sisters were left to themselves, instead of reading or working, they indulged in long "wonderings," which at that age are so delightful, especially when the future is bathed in golden light.

At Coleham, on the same morning, Mr. Blackston, seeing the day was clouding over, called on Mrs. Gordon and offered to drive her up at once for fear the weather should prove still more unfavourable in the afternoon. Mrs. Gordon accepted; she wanted to see her future home, but also she wished to get over the disagreeable duty of settling about "these unfortunate girls." It was all very disagreeable and uncomfortable; but her duty was to get them away as soon as possible, anyhow before Minnie and Beatrice became aware of their existence.

The country, even seen through heavy mist - clouds, was picturesque, it

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