relation.' Remember that your father is my brother, and whatever I give you has been paid for, and far more than paid for, years ago."

"Thank you, auntie; I am glad to know that," she said quietly.

"I did not think you were so proud, Ruth," whispered Ernest as she left the room, and went up to her own chamber to have a good cry over her foolish behaviour. But, to her dismay, Julia was there dressing for a walk, an occupation which she knew would take her a considerable time.

Oh, how she longed for her little room at home, where she had so often taken her childish troubles, or for a quiet nook upon the shore, such as she had often read of, but which is rarely to be found in a fashionable watering-place. There was no solitude for her just then, and she was obliged to fight the battle within silently, while her companion rallied her upon her mournful looks and red eyes; and to send up her prayer for help from the heart, without using the lips. But help came, and she conquered at last the pride and temper of which she was now thoroughly ashamed. She was anxious to obtain her aunt's forgiveness for the rude reception of her kindness, and tried to make amends by arraying herself in the pink dress and pretty hat, which she showed to Julia, saying how kind it was of auntie to get such lovely things for her. By-and-by when she had an opportunity she said in a low voice, "I am very sorry that I was so proud and rude just now, auntie. I'll try to behave better in future."

And Mrs. Woburn, looking at her niece's dress, saw that her repentance was not only expressed in words.

CHAPTER VIII.

SEA-SIDE PLEASURES.

A week spent at Stonegate had taught Ruth more of her own frailties and weaknesses, and had shown her more of the various sorts of people of which the world is composed, than she would have learnt in a whole year spent in the quiet sheltered seclusion of her home at Cressleigh.

The novelty, the continued round of pleasure, the excitement and gaiety, were bewildering and delightful to the simple country girl. It seemed to her that she had been suddenly transported from the commonplace ordinary work-a-day world in which she had hitherto dwelt, to a fairyland of sunshine, music, and pleasure. It was almost impossible at times to realize that the sun which brightened the Esplanade, and gilded the edge of the rippling waves, was the same sun which was shining upon her father's harvest-field at home, upon the labourers toiling at the sickle, the women binding the sheaves, and the servants briskly moving hither and thither, all as busy as bees throughout the whole of the long summer day.

Everything at the sea-side was new to Ruth, and she exulted in the freshness and novelty of all around her, for she was still at that happy age