her dangerous sea-bath, and the word radiant is not too exaggerated a term to apply to the appearance of the young girl as she stands gracefully, yet carelessly, leaning against the window-frame.

"Have you quite finished practising, Maria?" said her mother, at last.

"No, mamma; but I could not resist another look at the dear old park. After all, I don't think there is a prettier place than Richmond Hill, even in the Isle of Wight; and although I have lived here ever since my childhood, I declare it seems more beautiful to me every year."

"That is because you are older, and more able to appreciate beautiful scenery."

"I suppose that is the reason," replied Maria—and yet while she spoke arose a consciousness that this new appreciation of Nature at Richmond owed its origin to a romantic and vivid description of the feelings the scene had excited in the heart of one who now monopolised all her thoughts. "He promised to come and see us," she said to herself, "and we have been home a week and yet he has not made his appearance. Perhaps he wont come, after all;" and then, feeling that she must throw off the sad thoughts which were attracting her mother's notice, she suddenly rushed to the piano, and struck the first chords of a piece with variations on the air of "The Lass of Richmond Hill."

But the composer's efforts were destined to come to a sudden end. The young housemaid opened the drawing-room door, and as she ushered a gentleman into the room, startled the ladies by exclaiming—

"Mr. Edward Armstrong, ma'am," at the same time placing that gentleman's card in the hands of her mistress.

Maria rose from the piano in hasty confusion. Much as she had thought upon the gentleman, whom she called her deliverer, his appearance at this moment was so totally unexpected that she was relieved to see him advance first to her mother, who sat at a distance from the piano. She had scarcely time to recover her self possession, however, before her mother's words in reply to Mr. Armstrong's inquiries for her daughter caused him to turn and approach her.

As Maria St. Clair came forward to meet this man, to whom she owed, as she thought, such a debt of gratitude, Edward Armstrong, in spite of his own good opinion of himself, was conscious of a feeling of inferiority.

The young girl before him in the simple white morning dress, had a manner and bearing which seemed to place him at an immeasurable distance.

True, there was a modest timidity and a blushing confusion, which added a charm to the beautiful face, as she held out her hand and answered his inquiries for her health with lady-like ease. Yet Edward Armstrong was some minutes before he could feel himself quite at home in the company of these ladies.

We are all liable to be influenced by externals, and therefore when Edward Armstrong met Mrs. St. Clair and her daughter at their own residence, the impression produced on his mind differed greatly from what he had felt in the Isle of Wight.

There he had been introduced to them in the sombre and old-fashioned drawing-room of a lodging-house, but here everything spoke of refinement and elegance. There was nothing pretensive or ostentatious about the house or the noble entrance, even the drawing-room in which they sat had a low ceiling, and the furniture was neither luxurious nor new. But it bore the impress of refined taste, and like all articles bought for their intrinsic value rather than for show, bid fair to last for many years longer in good condition.

Yet not even the antique cabinets, the curiously-wrought worktables, and other valuable ornaments would have been sufficient to produce in Edward Armstrong the impression referred to. It was the toute ensemble,—the old-fashioned red brick house, the broad oaken stairs, with the centre covered with Brussels carpet; the long, low drawing-room, its windows opening to the ground on a balcony; the delicate chintz covering to chairs and couches; the flowers, the music, the lace curtains, and the presence of two gentle, lady-like women, one in her widow's dress contrasting to her daughter's simple white, all intermixed with the perfume of flowers, and finished by the glorious prospect stretched out before the windows, made up a picture which Edward Armstrong never forgot.

"You must stay to luncheon, Mr. Armstrong," remarked Mrs. St. Clair, after they had talked for more than half an hour over the still absorbing topic of the boat accident at West Cowes.

"I fear I shall not be able to remain," he replied, "as I have business in Richmond which will detain me for some time to-day; but if it would be agreeable, Mrs. St. Clair, I will spend an afternoon with you next week on any day you may find it convenient."

Mr. Armstrong's scruples about staying to lunch were, however, quickly overcome by the promise that he should leave as soon as he pleased afterwards; and the visitor departed that afternoon, more than ever fascinated by Maria St. Clair, and fully determined to obtain her as his wife. "Where there's a will there's a way," is an old adage which few were more likely to carry out than Edward Armstrong.

From this visit an intimacy arose between Edward Armstrong and Maria St. Clair, which her mother found herself unable to prevent. She saw in her daughter a growing preference for the man who had saved her life. She perceived on his part plain indications, that the greatest reward he could ask as a return for his courage and bravery, would be the hand of Maria St. Clair; and yet she could do nothing to avert such a result without ingratitude to the wooer, and perhaps pain to her daughter.

"I suppose I ought to consult my sister Louisa," she said to herself, "and Sir James, or wait till Herbert comes home from India. Helen is too grateful about little Charlie to make any objection, I am quite sure, but perhaps the colonel may disapprove;"—and then, as Mrs. St. Clair recalled the character of her soldier son-in-law, and reflected on what his gratitude would be towards the man who had saved his only son from drowning, she felt how impossible it was for her to interfere.

She could not forbid him the house, and all she could do was to wait for him to explain his intentions, and then if Maria's affections were really won, she must place the matter before Sir James and take his advice.

Mrs. St. Clair had not long to wait.

One afternoon, towards the end of October, Edward Armstrong had accompanied the ladies in a walk through the park, then glorious in its colouring of red and golden brown, with which autumn had tinted the noble trees.

They were joined by a middle-aged gentleman of martial appearance, whom Mrs. St. Clair greeted with pleased surprise.

"Why, Colonel Elliot, is it possible," she exclaimed, as she shook hands, "when did you arrive?"

"The day before yesterday," he replied. "My wife sent me over to-day to pay my respects, and as soon as I found you were here, I followed you."

"And we are very glad to see you," replied Mrs St. Clair. Then turning to her daughter, she said, "You remember little Maria, colonel? I suppose you find her grown?"

"Grown indeed! what a change six years have made," he replied, glancing at her companion.

"Mr. Armstrong—Colonel Elliot"—and Mrs. St. Clair observing the glance, introduced the gentleman, adding, "We owe the life of Maria and her little nephew, Charles, to this gentleman's bravery when they were in danger of drowning."

"I have heard the whole account from my wife," said the colonel, quickly; and as Edward Armstrong raised his hat on the introduction, he held out his hand, and added, "Mr. Armstrong, I am indeed happy to make your acquaintance."

"You must accompany us home to dinner," said Mrs. St. Clair, after a few minutes of explanations respecting his arrival in England, and then they turned towards home, the colonel walking by Mrs. St. Clair, and the young people falling behind. The evening passed pleasantly, for Edward Armstrong was always seen to greater