NEXT Sunday was one of the gloomiest of April days - a day ofthick, dark clouds, and heavy showers. None of the Murrays weredisposed to attend church in the afternoon, excepting Rosalie: shewas bent upon going as usual; so she ordered the carriage, and Iwent with her: nothing loth, of course, for at church I might lookwithout fear of scorn or censure upon a form and face more pleasingto me than the most beautiful of God's creations; I might listenwithout disturbance to a voice more charming than the sweetestmusic to my ears; I might seem to hold communion with that soul inwhich I felt so deeply interested, and imbibe its purest thoughtsand holiest aspirations, with no alloy to such felicity except thesecret reproaches of my conscience, which would too often whisperthat I was deceiving my own self, and mocking God with the serviceof a heart more bent upon the creature than the Creator.

Sometimes, such thoughts would give me trouble enough; butsometimes I could quiet them with thinking - it is not the man, itis his goodness that I love. 'Whatsoever things are pure,whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are honest and ofgood report, think on these things.' We do well to worship God inHis works; and I know none of them in which so many of Hisattributes - so much of His own spirit shines, as in this Hisfaithful servant; whom to know and not to appreciate, were obtuseinsensibility in me, who have so little else to occupy my heart.

Almost immediately after the conclusion of the service, Miss Murrayleft the church. We had to stand in the porch, for it was raining,and the carriage was not yet come. I wondered at her coming forthso hastily, for neither young Meltham nor Squire Green was there;but I soon found it was to secure an interview with Mr. Weston ashe came out, which he presently did. Having saluted us both, hewould have passed on, but she detained him; first with observationsupon the disagreeable weather, and then with asking if he would beso kind as to come some time to-morrow to see the granddaughter ofthe old woman who kept the porter's lodge, for the girl was ill ofa fever, and wished to see him. He promised to do so.

'And at what time will you be most likely to come, Mr. Weston? Theold woman will like to know when to expect you - you know suchpeople think more about having their cottages in order when decentpeople come to see them than we are apt to suppose.'

Here was a wonderful instance of consideration from the thoughtlessMiss Murray. Mr. Weston named an hour in the morning at which hewould endeavour, to be there. By this time the carriage was ready,and the footman was waiting, with an open umbrella, to escort MissMurray through the churchyard. I was about to follow; but Mr.Weston had an umbrella too, and offered me the benefit of itsshelter, for it was raining heavily.

'No, thank you, I don't mind the rain,' I said. I always lackedcommon sense when taken by surprise.

'But you don't LIKE it, I suppose? - an umbrella will do you noharm at any rate,' he replied, with a smile that showed he was notoffended; as a man of worse temper or less penetration would havebeen at such a refusal of his aid. I could not deny the truth ofhis assertion, and so went with him to the carriage; he evenoffered me his hand on getting in: an unnecessary piece ofcivility, but I accepted that too, for fear of giving offence. Oneglance he gave, one little smile at parting - it was but for amoment; but therein I read, or thought I read, a meaning thatkindled in my heart a brighter flame of hope than had ever yetarisen.

'I would have sent the footman back for you, Miss Grey, if you'dwaited a moment - you needn't have taken Mr. Weston's umbrella,'observed Rosalie, with a very unamiable cloud upon her pretty face.

'I would have come without an umbrella, but Mr. Weston offered methe benefit of his, and I could not have refused it more than I didwithout offending him,' replied I, smiling placidly; for my inwardhappiness made that amusing, which would have wounded me at anothertime.

The carriage was now in motion. Miss Murray bent forwards, andlooked out of the window as we were passing Mr. Weston. He waspacing homewards along the causeway, and did not turn his head.

'Stupid ass!' cried she, throwing herself back again in the seat.'You don't know what you've lost by not looking this way!'

'What has he lost?'

'A bow from me, that would have raised him to the seventh heaven!'

I made no answer. I saw she was out of humour, and I derived asecret gratification from the fact, not that she was vexed, butthat she thought she had reason to be so. It made me think myhopes were not entirely the offspring of my wishes and imagination.

'I mean to take up Mr. Weston instead of Mr. Hatfield,' said mycompanion, after a short pause, resuming something of her usualcheerfulness. 'The ball at Ashby Park takes place on Tuesday, youknow; and mamma thinks it very likely that Sir Thomas will proposeto me then: such things are often done in the privacy of the ball-room, when gentlemen are most easily ensnared, and ladies mostenchanting. But if I am to be married so soon, I must make thebest of the present time: I am determined Hatfield shall not bethe only man who shall lay his heart at my feet, and implore me toaccept the worthless gift in vain.'

'If you mean Mr. Weston to be one of your victims,' said I, withaffected indifference, 'you will have to make such overturesyourself that you will find it difficult to draw back when he asksyou to fulfil the expectations you have raised.'

'I don't suppose he will ask me to marry him, nor should I desireit: that would be rather too much presumption! but I intend him tofeel my power. He has felt it already, indeed: but he shallACKNOWLEDGE it too; and what visionary hopes he may have, he mustkeep to himself, and only amuse me with the result of them - for atime.'

'Oh! that some kind spirit would whisper those words in his ear,' Iinwardly exclaimed. I was far too indignant to hazard a reply toher observation aloud; and nothing more was said about Mr. Westonthat day, by me or in my hearing. But next morning, soon afterbreakfast, Miss Murray came into the schoolroom, where her sisterwas employed at her studies, or rather her lessons, for studiesthey were not, and said, 'Matilda, I want you to take a walk withme about eleven o'clock.'

'Oh, I can't, Rosalie! I have to give orders about my new bridleand saddle-cloth, and speak to the rat-catcher about his dogs:Miss Grey must go with you.'

'No, I want you,' said Rosalie; and calling her sister to thewindow, she whispered an explanation in her ear; upon which thelatter consented to go.

I remembered that eleven was the hour at which Mr. Weston proposedto come to the porter's lodge; and remembering that, I beheld thewhole contrivance. Accordingly, at dinner, I was entertained witha long account of how Mr. Weston had overtaken them as they werewalking along the road; and how they had had a long walk and talkwith him, and really found him quite an agreeable companion; andhow he must have been, and evidently was, delighted with them andtheir amazing condescension, &c. &c.