his wife. At the same time, she probably had not asked herself the question as to how far her heart was his. She was all life and spirits, with capacity for enjoying existence. By degrees, as she mixed more and more with the gay world, her estimation of the humble clerk altered. She acknowledged his sterling qualities, but the fashionable and brilliant cavaliers she met in society were more according to her taste. An aunt, with whom she went to reside in London, mixed much in the world. Roger Kyffin, who had looked upon himself in the light of a permitted suitor, though not an accepted one, naturally called at her aunt’s house in the West End. His reception by Fanny was not as cordial as formerly. Her manner after this became colder and colder, till at last when he went to her aunt’s door he was no longer welcomed. Still his love for Fanny and his faith in her excellencies were not diminished.

“When she comes back to her quiet home she will be as she was before,” he thought to himself, and so, though somewhat sad and disappointed, he went on hoping that he might win her affection and become her husband.

At length Fanny Ashton returned home. Roger Kyffin, with the eye of love, observed a great change in her. She was no longer lively and animated as before. Her cheek was pale, and an anxious expression passed constantly over her countenance. She received him kindly, but with more formality than usual. Still Mr Kyffin ventured to speak to her. She appreciated his love and devotion, she said, and regretted she could not give her love in return.

Roger Kyffin did not further press his suit, yet went as frequently to the house as he could. Several times he had observed a gentleman in the neighbourhood. He was a fashionably-dressed, handsome man. There was something, however, in the expression of his countenance which Roger Kyffin did not like, for having seen him once, the second time they met he marked him narrowly. What brought him to that neighbourhood? One day as he was going towards Mrs Ashton’s house—Fanny’s mother was a widow, and she was her only child—he met the stranger coming out of the door. He would scarcely have been human had his jealousy not been aroused. He turned homeward, for he could not bring himself to call that day. The following evening, however, he went as usual, but great was his consternation to find that Fanny had gone to stay with her aunt. His worst fears were realised when, three weeks after this, he heard that Fanny Ashton had married Major Tryon. He could have borne his disappointment better if he could have thought that Fanny had married a man worthy of her.

To conquer his love he felt was impossible. His affection was true and loyal. He would now watch over her and be of service if he could. His inquiries as to the character of Major Tryon were thoroughly unsatisfactory. He was a gay man about town, well known on the turf, and a pretty constant frequenter of “hells” and gambling-houses. He was the son of an old general, Sir Harcourt Tryon, and so far of good family. Though a heartless and worthless roué, he seemed really to have fallen in love with Fanny Ashton, and having done his best to win her affections, he had at length resolved, as he called it, to “put his neck into the noose.” Roger Kyffin trembled for Fanny’s happiness, not without reason. Major Tryon had taken lodgings for her in London. Roger Kyffin discovered where he was residing. Unknown to her, he watched over her like a guardian angel, a fond father, or a devoted brother. In a short time her husband took her to the neighbourhood of Lynderton, in Hampshire, where Sir Harcourt and Lady Tryon resided, in the hopes, probably, that they would take notice of her. He engaged a small cottage with a pretty little garden in front of it, from which a view of the Solent and the Isle of Wight was obtained. Lady Tryon, however, and she ruled her husband, had greatly disapproved of her son’s marriage with the penniless Fanny Ashton, and consequently refused even to see his young wife.

In a short time Fanny was deserted by her worthless husband. Not many months had passed away before she received the announcement of his death in a duel. That very evening her child Harry was born. She never quite recovered from the shock she had received. Sad and dreary were the weeks she passed. No one called on her, for though it was known that Major Tryon was married, people were not aware that his young widow was residing at Sea View Cottage, which, standing at a distance from any high road, few of them ever passed. Her little boy was her great consolation. All her affections were centred in him. Her only visitor was good Dr Jessop, the chief medical practitioner at Lynderton. She called him in on one occasion when Harry was ill. There was not much the matter with the child, but he saw at once that the mother far more required his aid. There was a hectic flush on her cheek, a brightness in her eye, and a short cough which at once alarmed him, and he resolved to keep Master Harry on the sick list, that he might have a better excuse for going over to see the poor young widow.