not waited long when footsteps on the stairs announced his approach; not alone, however, for as Mrs. Lake opened the door Edward Armstrong entered, leading by the hand little Charlie Herbert.

"Your little son has paid me a visit this morning, Mrs. Herbert," he said, as he bowed to the ladies who rose to welcome him, "and I have brought him upstairs with me to place him safely in your care."

Mrs. Herbert gave him a grateful look as she placed a chair for their guest. Then seating herself, she said—

"I hope Charlie has not been troublesome?"

"Not in the least," he replied; "indeed, his childish prattle has done me good."

Mrs. St. Clair's surprise at the appearance of her visitor, who wore his mourning suit, increased for a time the confusion of ideas produced by the doctor's farewell speech. She was, however, a true English gentlewoman, and before Edward could take the chair placed for him she advanced, and holding out her hand, said with a warmth of manner not to be mistaken for mere politeness—

"Mr. Armstrong, I have taken the liberty of asking you to visit us, because I wish to join with my daughters in expressing my gratitude for your kind and prompt energy yesterday, which saved the lives of my daughter and little grandson. It is not possible to say all we feel on the subject. I only hope you will believe in our sincere and grateful appreciation."

"Madam," replied Edward, to whom all this was really painful, "I am only too happy to remember that I was on the spot, and able to be of service to you."

"A service we can never repay," said Mrs. Herbert; "but for your exertions I should have lost my darling boy."

"And I," exclaimed a gentle voice, "should have lost my life, Mr. Armstrong, but for you; my best thanks are but a poor return to offer you."

"Ladies," said Edward Armstrong, "you do me too much honour. I am only too thankful to have been made the instrument, in God's hands, to save you from great sorrow, and the consciousness of this is all the reward I ask. But allow me, Miss St. Clair," he said, hurriedly changing the subject, "I hope you do not feel any serious effects from the great danger to which you were exposed yesterday?"

"Oh, no," she replied; "except a slight feeling of exhaustion, I am otherwise as well as usual."

The blush that tinted the pale cheek of Maria St. Clair, who, while she spoke, was conscious of the earnest eyes so closely watching her, added additional beauty to the fair face which Edward Armstrong so greatly admired. With ready tact he turned to Mrs. St. Clair, and introduced another subject of conversation.

So pleasantly did an hour pass as they talked, that when the visitor rose to go, the elder ladies each expressed a wish that he should visit them at their own residences. But he unhesitatingly stated his anxiety to return to business, promising, however, to call upon Mrs. St. Clair at Richmond; and naming his own address in Dover Street, Piccadilly.

Edward Armstrong's peculiar notions and obstinate prejudices, which we shall hear more of by-and-by, were kept under violent restraint while in the company of these ladies. Hitherto he had encouraged himself in a kind of contempt for all social distinctions, but now that he had made acquaintance with a family whose position, socially speaking, was above his own, he crushed down the feeling, and when writing his address for Mrs. St. Clair, he omitted the words "corn-dealer."

Perhaps his radical notions would not have been restrained by any motive less powerful than a growing attachment for the daughter of a lady who could rank with England's aristocracy. And with the lady herself there is little doubt that Edward Armstrong's apparent refinement in manner and dress would have failed to make such an impression had not his handsome face, manly carriage, and reputation for wealth been thrown into the scale of opinion.

CHAPTER IV.

DIFFICULTIES TO BE OVERCOME.

Edward Armstrong had parted from the family of Mrs. St. Clair without even the slightest hint of those intentions which a more intimate association had strengthened. But the three days during which he stayed at West Cowes were not lost time. He had seen Maria St. Clair daily, and made himself so truly agreeable a companion and escort, that the ladies willingly accepted his invitation to accompany him for a drive more than once in an open carriage which he hired for the occasion.

They bade him farewell at last with regret, and influenced by her daughters, Mrs. St. Clair expressed a hope that they should see him at Richmond after their return home, which she expected would be in about a fortnight.

Edward Armstrong returned to London with his mind fully made up. He possessed a determined will, and in spite of the misgivings which had tormented him after the exciting evening at Cowes, he had too much self-esteem to dread failure.

The girl he loved might be the daughter of the Honourable Mrs. St. Clair, and the great-granddaughter of an earl, and he knew that, in his eyes at least, she was beautiful, but she was penniless; and the gratitude she felt towards him for having saved her life was fast growing into love. Added to this he had the money she lacked, and the power to surround her with all the pleasant comforts and luxuries which money can procure. He determined, however, notwithstanding this confidence in himself, to wait until he had visited Mrs. St. Clair at her own home, and become more acquainted with the real position of the family to whom he wished to ally himself.

Mr. Edward Armstrong's house in Dover Street, Piccadilly, had been originally the London residence of a nobleman's family who during the early part of the present century had made that part of London, then called May Fair, their head-quarters.

He had let the upper part of his house at a good rental, keeping only for himself a bachelor's parlour behind the office, and a bedroom.

On the first evening after his return from the Isle of Wight, these said bachelor apartments wore a very meagre and desolate aspect.

Hitherto business and money-making had so absorbed his thoughts that the rooms he occupied had scarcely any interest in his eyes. So long as his housekeeper prepared his meals regularly, and kept his apartments clean and comfortable, he was satisfied.

Now, however, he looked with a critical eye upon his domestic arrangements, and on this evening of his arrival, while leaning back after supper in his easy-chair, some such thoughts as these passed through his mind—

"I could not expect any wife to be satisfied with such a dingy little place as this for a sitting-room, and to think of bringing that fairy girl, Maria St. Clair, to such a home is absurd. If I mean to win her I must get rid of these people upstairs, and furnish my house in a fit style to receive her. However, I must not give them notice to leave till I am sure of success. Sure of success! what am I thinking about? 'Faint heart ne'er won fair lady!' and Edward Armstrong is not the man to fail when he once makes up his mind."

Three weeks passed away, and on a warm, sultry morning in July, Maria St. Clair stood at the window of a pretty drawing-room at Richmond, looking out over the beautiful park upon a scene that has not its rival in any suburb at the same distance from London. The noble trees that are scattered over the greensward from the brow of Richmond Hill to the silvery stream of the Thames, which flows at its foot, were luxurious in summer foliage. Chestnut and oak, elm and birch, reared their noble forms at varied distances, casting their broad shadows on the undulating velvet turf, while the gentle deer browsed in safety beneath the sheltering branches.

Mrs. St. Clair sat at work near the open window, now and then glancing at the fair face of her young daughter, which wore a thoughtful, pensive look, in spite of its radiant loveliness.

Maria had quite recovered the effects of