been passing visitors, acquaintances, foreigners and English, met and dropped; and although the relation between her aunt and herself had been based on mutual love and affection, her heart could not but whisper when the former announced her coming change of life, involving a new and absorbing interest of her own, apart from her niece, that after all there must be a difference be

tween a mother and even the kindest aunt; henceforward, at any rate, their lives must run apart. Her father, on the other hand, had so far been a sort of shadowy providence watching over her from a distance, whose manifestations were mainly associated with punctual remittances, handsome presents, and brief, infrequent letters; and whose very form and features were as yet unknown.

So much as to the antecedents of the maiden who had arrived at Mustaphabad at the opening of our story, fancy free, although with two more or less dim ideals of the hero type in her imagination, looking with eagerness, but without much emotion, to the meeting with her father. As to Mr Cunningham, he was a man too much occupied with official duties and the business of the hour to practise mental analysis; but probably his feelings on the occasion were of a mixed nature, compounded of a pleasurable excitement at the expectation of greeting his beautiful young daughter, and a sense of dismay at the prospect of this invasion of his leisure and enforced alteration of his old-bachelor habits.

The first meeting between two persons who, though nearly related, are yet virtually strangers, ignorant of each other's thoughts, feelings, and tastes, even of each other's past life-whose intercourse has consisted in the exchange of brief and formal letters, and who have had, so far, nothing in common but the interest and the affection born of a sense of duty-must needs be attended with more or less of restraint and embarrassment; but Mr Cunningham's anxiety lest the first greetings should partake of the nature of a scene was at once dispelled by the tact and good taste of his daughter; even the

dust and fatigue of the journey could not do much to impair the charm of her appearance; and as she stepped out of the carriage at the roadside station, whither he had gone to meet her, as already described, her father found her even more graceful and beautiful than the forerunning accounts had led him to expect; and as Olivia, putting her arms round his neck, and kissing him, said, "So here we are at last! it has been such a long journey ;" and then, turning to her maid who was alighting from the carriage behind, added, "Justine, this is my papa, who has come all this way to meet us,"-Cunningham felt that the scene of which he had been in dread had been escaped. And when, soon after they had started in the camel-carriage for the last stage of her long journey, Olivia took his hand fondly, and leaning on his shoulder, said, "Papa, you look so young, it must seem quite odd to have a great big daughter like me," her father, responding warmly to the embrace, began to feel that it was not so dreadful a thing to have his daughter back after all. Arrived at Mustaphabad, Olivia expressed herself as delighted with the Residency and all about it. The apartments which her aunt had at Florence were very large and fine, but they were nothing like the reception - rooms at the Resi

dency-while her own rooms were charming; every want and comfort had been thought of and provided, and her father was able to say with satisfaction that all this had been newly arranged for her especial benefit. She was equally pleased with the gardens; the leaves in midwinter, the multitude of squirrels and strange birds, even the familiar crows hopping about the edge of society with a view to pick up the stray crumbs left at the early breakfast taken in the veranda-all these novelties appeared full of interest for her, and her father experienced a sense of deep relief to find that his fears had been groundless lest she should prove to be a fine lady, spoilt for Indian life by foreign travel. A silent man himself, and restrained from expressing much interest in her former life by a sense of indignation at what he considered his sister's misalliance, his shyness was soon dissipated by his daughter's sympathetic ways, as she thus rapidly identified herself with his interests and her new home. The Commissioner soon found that the cheerful breakfast table with his daughter opposite to him was a great improvement on the solitary meal, dawdled over with a book, to which he had been accustomed; still more when on his proposing to retire into another room before lighting his cigar afterwards, Olivia insisted on his smoking without rising. The obligatory dinner-parties which he used to dread seemed no longer the same dreary infliction. With his beautiful daughter acting as hostess, these solemn ordeals became comparatively lively; the guests no longer appeared to be insufferably bored. The morning ride too, with her for a companion, was in pleasing contrast to the lonely ramble on horseback to which he had been accustomed; he now got into the way of coming over from the court

house for luncheon, and even went the length of taking an occasional evening drive with Olivia in the new barouche which had arrived for her use, a mode of amusement which no one had ever seen him indulge in before.

Such, then, was Olivia's new home, which, if it offered nothing that was not in unison with her gentle disposition, yet was not of a sort to develop the warmer feelings of her nature. Her life had been so far a happy one; she had never known disappointment or sorrow, and so it continued to be; but it was a life of chastened affection and without sentiment; and at an age when most English girls in India are wives and mothers, the great romance of life had not even yet presented itself. With her, life had been made up of the study of art and the pursuit of amusement in sober fashion; the graces more than the affections had been cultivated; and so far the transfer to an Indian home had not caused a change. The relations between father and daughter were those of mutual respect and calm affection; and a looker-on might have said that Miss Cunningham's disposition was one in which the effect of amiable temper was enhanced by polished manner, rather than one of deep feeling. Once only did her father step out of his usual reserve; one day when his daughter was in his room standing over him while he wrote a letter, he unlocked a drawer of his writingtable and took out a little pictureframe. "You may like to see that, my dear," he said, with face still turned downwards on his letter, and put it into her hands. It was the portrait of her mother, a poorly-executed affair in the stiff drawing of a native artist, but giving the impression of being a faithful likeness. "You are the very image of her," he said, after a short pause, in a low

voice, while Olivia stood looking silently at the portrait, and then taking the case from her hands put it back again in the drawer. Olivia stooped down and kissed him on the forehead: he went on with his writing, and she left the room.

On one occasion only did her father show much animation on domestic matters. It happened a few days after she arrived. They were just rising from the breakfasttable, and Justine, who always took that meal with them, had left the room, when Olivia said, "I have had a letter this morning from cousin Rupert, papa."

"Cousin Rupert !" said her father, with surprise; "what do you know of cousin Rupert ?" laying emphasis on the cousin.

"Why, papa, of course I know him very well; don't you remember that he came to Venice on his way home, when my aunt and I were staying there, and that you wrote to us about him?"

"True," replied the father, "I had forgotten that for the moment; but things have altered since then. I certainly did not think he would venture to write to you after what has happened. But it is just like

him."

"What has happened, papa? Poor fellow he speaks of being in trouble, but does not say what is the cause of it."

"I would rather not go into the story, my dear. It is a long business, and not a very pleasant one, where relationship is concerned; but I have given up all communication with him. However, it does not appear that he has acquainted you with the fact;" and Mr Cunningham spoke in a sarcastic tone, unlike his usual manner.

cleared up? So honourable a man as my cousin Rupert"

"You are begging the question, Olivia. It is because I don't think your cousin Rupert is an honourable man that our intimacy is broken off. You seem to think I have been hard on him," continued her father, seeing that Olivia looked unconvinced; "but I think you may give me credit for not having formed my opinion lightly. And if," he added in a lower voice, and turning away, "I am to suppose that he has taken advantage of your trustfulness to create a feeling for him which he knows I should disapprove, I should think still less favourably of him than I do already."

"Then, papa," said Olivia, looking down and blushing slightly, as he was moving from the room, "do you wish me not to send any answer to this?" and she held out the letter in her hand. "Will you not read it yourself, and see what he says?"

66

No, my dear, thank you; I have no wish to see it, nor to dictate to you what you should do in regard to it. I am sure I may rely implicitly on your good sense and judgment in this as in all matters." And so saying, her father left the room.

Thus appealed to, Olivia had virtually no choice, and her cousin's letter remained unanswered; but it was with a sad heart that she tried to reconcile her duty to her father's wishes with this neglect of her relative, and the struggle might have betrayed to herself the degree of interest with which he had inspired her. Till this time she had hardly been sensible how much of the pleasurable anticipations with which she had set out for India had been due to the prospect of meeting her cousin. And now to think that Rupert,

who had always seemed in her young imagination the type of the noble, honourable soldier, should be as one whose name even was hardly to be spoken of. Some dreadful fault he must have committed for her father, usually so kind, to be thus sternly disposed towards him, Might it not be, however, that he had been misjudged? He said he had enemies who were bent on traducing his character. There must be some mistake! And yet her father spoke so positively, and he seemed kind and just in everything else. Thinking sadly over this, Olivia strove to stifle the romantic interest with which her cousin had inspired her; and what might readily have become a warmer feeling, if opportunity had been propitious, was now succeeded by a sentiment of pity.

The unanswered letter was as follows:

"MY DEAR COUSIN,-It is so long since any letters have passed between us, that I ought not to be surprised if you did not recognise the handwriting of this one. Not that I judge by my own feelings in this respect, for I don't think I should fail to know yours wherever I might come across it; but we have both passed through many scenes since we met at Venice, and although my memory naturally clings to those pleasant hours, I could scarcely complain if you had forgotten them, especially as you were so much younger then-quite a girl, in fact! I suppose you must be a good deal altered-young people do change fast, don't they?but at any rate it can be only in one direction. I wish I knew when there would be a chance of my being able to renew our acquaintance; but I have been in some trouble lately, and want to put myself right first with the world,

especially with those whose good opinion I value most. It is a slanderous world, and I hope my cousin will not listen to the evil tales she may hear of one whose fault it has been to make enemies of those who can't bear that a younger man should understand his profession better than they do, and who values her good opinion before everything else. I hope you will meet our mutual friend Colonel Falkland before long. He at any rate is the soul of honour; and, standing well with him, who knows the facts of the case, I can afford to despise the slanders of those who repeat the scandals at second-hand of things they know nothing about.

"This is an egotistical letter, but if I began writing about Olivia herself, I should never know when to stop asking questions. She will, I hope, anticipate my anxiety on this head, by giving me full particulars about herself, whenever she can find time to devote a few minutes to her old friend and relative.

"Pray give my remembrances to your father, if he cares to receive them, and believe me, my dear Olivia, always your affectionate cousin,

RUPERT KIRKE."

Then came the recognition at the ball, when Kirke wanted to make his way towards Olivia, and her father stopped him. To Olivia, witnessing the scene, there came up a reproach from her conscience that she was failing in her duty to her cousin; a sense of wrong done in thus abandoning him replaced for the moment the feeling, till then uppermost, that he was an unhappy man who was to be pitied for his fall through some unspeakable crime, and she thought with a penitent heart that she had been cowardly in not asking Colonel Falkland's aid on her cousin's behalf. The latter had spoken of Falkland as the one friend who still stood by

him, and believed in his innocence. To him she would appeal to set her unfortunate cousin right.

These reflections, and no response to the emotion which had stirred poor Yorke's heart to its depths, as the foolish young fellow had fondly imagined, occupied Olivia's thoughts before she fell asleep on the night of the ball; and the opportunity for carrying out her purpose soon arrived. She meant to speak to Falkland during the day, after her father had gone to his court; but the subject came up at breakfast, being opened by Falkland himself, who said, addressing the Commissioner, just as Justine was quitting the room after despatching her share of the meal, "I forgot to mention that I had a letter from your cousin, Rupert Kirke, yesterday. He is coming to Mustaphabad immediately."

"He has arrived," replied Mr Cunningham, coldly; "I thought you must have seen him at the ball last night."

Falkland looked surprised and as if awaiting further explanation, while Olivia with changed colour sat expectant. Her father, after a slight pause, went on, He left the room at my instance, I believe. I said to him that as I had declined to have any further intimacy or communication with him, it would be better that he should not renew his acquaintance with Olivia; and I must say so much for him that he had the good taste to act on my advice. But what brought him here I don't understand, knowing my sentiments."

"He comes to Mustaphabad to see the great man, while his camp is here, with a view to getting his case reopened."

"Did you advise the attempt, knowing the facts of his case?"

"I cannot say that I actually advised him to do so; he had let the

proper time go by for the only appeal he ought to have insisted on. My own opinion would have been for letting time have its effect, now that it is too late to demand a courtmartial; but I did not say anything to dissuade him from making this personal appeal at once."

"Oh, Colonel Falkland," broke in Olivia, eagerly, "do say that you do not think so hardly of my cousin as papa does. He values your good opinion above everything, I know. It does seem a dreadful thing for the poor fellow to be cast off even by his friends in his troubles."

Falkland looked with surprise at the fair speaker, as she waited anxiously for his answer, for he did not know till then that she had thought at all about the matter. Then he said gravely, but with a kind smile

"Your cousin has been very careless, no doubt, and there have been irregularities in this business which ought not to have occurred, and which no doubt bear a very unfavourable appearance; but I should think much worse of human nature than I do if I could believe that so gallant a soldier as Rupert Kirke were guilty of anything positively dishonourable."

"But

"Oh, thank you for saying that!" cried Olivia, with fervour. why is it that he cannot get justice, poor fellow? Is there no way in which he can set himself right with the world?"

"A very sensible question, my dear, although you know nothing about the matter," observed her father, lighting his cigar, which a servant had just brought, and looking up at the ceiling as he leant back in his chair. "Yes, he had the means of clearing himself, no doubt, by demanding a court-martial. If he was so highly honourable a man, and had nothing