'Have you come to see Mr. Leigh, Sir?' she asked, after pausing for Mr. Cornwall to speak first: 'he does not see patients after four o'clock.'

'No, thank Heaven!—at least not professionally,' Mr. Cornwall muttered between his teeth, adding aloud, 'Are you, or are you not, my niece Miriam ?'

'Yes, I am Miriam,' said the girl, without evincing any interest in the discovery that this was her uncle Ralph.

Mr. Cornwall placed his hand on her head with a certain rough kindliness. You need not be disappointed, Miriam. Perhaps an old uncle is more to the purpose than a new patient. And how is Mamma ?'

'She is dead, she died yesterday morning,' Miriam answered, with composure most shocking to Mr. Cornwall. Her eyelids did not quiver, nor her voice falter; she stood with folded hands, motionless as before. With a hasty revulsion of feeling, Mr. Cornwall brushed by her, as if her very presence was painful to him, and entering the ill-lighted passage, he pushed open the door of one of the rooms, which stood ajar. Miriam closed the outer door, and followed her uncle.

Mr. Buckingham Leigh, a tall man, with a profusion of black hair and whiskers, sat at a small table in the window, smoking, and sipping whisky and water; and the air of the room was sufficiently impregnated with these fumes to prove that they were not merely an occasional indulgence. Twenty years had elapsed since Ralph Cornwall last saw his brother-in-law, whom he had then designated

C

as a shallow, conceited coxcomb.' But he now felt that harsher terms would not be misapplied. Youthful follies had darkened into vices, and the traces of a life of dissipation were indelibly stamped on that handsome, reckless face. And the thought that this was the husband of his dead sister, embittered, rather than softened, Mr. Cornwall's feelings towards him.

Mr. Leigh did not welcome the intruder on his after-dinner enjoyments, and in the quick glance of inquiry which he darted at Miriam, there was something also of reproof.

'It is Uncle Ralph, Papa,' said Miriam ; and her father changed countenance, as he rose, and pushed aside his chair.

'Ralph-Mr. Cornwall-is it possible? So many years have passed, that I did not recognize you.'

It seemed as if the recognition was now to be made on one side alone. His brother-in-law did not respond to the action when Mr. Leigh advanced with extended hand, but remained standing in the middle of the room, his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the carpet, and when he spoke, it was without raising them.

'Miriam tells me that I have come too late.'

'Alas, yes! My poor Minny longed to see you, to thank you for all your kindness, but it was not to be. She sank rapidly, yet, I am thankful without suffering. It was a most peaceful

to say,

end.'

A suppressed sound, it might have been a sigh or sob, broke from Miriam; but when her uncle turned his quick eyes upon her, he could discover

no trace of emotion. There was a ring at the outer door, and she turned to answer it.

'Do not admit any one,' said Mr. Leigh hastily.

It is George, Papa.'

'Very well, then, take him into another room. Your uncle and I must not be disturbed.'

Miriam's ear had not deceived her, and her brother, older by three years, stood waiting for admittance. He was a tall, well-made stripling; but his eyes, although dark and deeply set, were uncertain in their expression, and there was the same want of decision in the lines of his well-shaped mouth; unlike Miriam, whose small and pretty features were almost rigid in their expression of passionless

repose.

'Come in here,' she said, leading the way into a bedroom. Uncle Ralph is come.'

Uncle Ralph! and what is he like, Miriam ? A cross old hunks, as Father always calls him?'

'He is a little, old man,' said Miriam. 'I suppose that he has thought and cared for nothing but himself all his life. If he had loved her, he would have come sooner, and I can see quite plainly that he does not like me. If he had not looked in that way at Papa, I should think that he had no feeling at all.’

'In what way, Miriam ?'

'As if he hated him,' Miriam said, slowly.

'Oh! so that makes you think better of him ?' 'I do not know,' Miriam answered, while her face was clouded by an expression of utter despondency, sad to see in one so young. I will tell you what I think, George,-that Uncle Ralph has come to take us away, and I know, from what

And so we

Papa said, that he will not let you go. shall be parted, although Mamma bade me take care of you.'

'As if I was not fit to take care of myself!' replied George indignantly. You need not make yourself uneasy, Miriam; it seems to me that it is not at all a bad plan: you are not very fit for roughing it in the bush, so I will go and make my fortune, and then come back for you. Even if Uncle Ralph is rather crabbed, you will not be much worse off than you have been at home, for my father never liked you.'

'I do not wish him to like me,' said Miriam ; 'I only wish you to like me, and now you will go away and forget me, and all that Mamma tried to teach us.'

No, I shall not forget. My father says that we shall make our fortune in a few years, and then I will come home for you.'

So.

'As far back as I can remember, Papa has been talking of making his fortune, and I know the look which used to come over Mamma's face when he said Now we are going away in debt; and when I asked him about mourning, he said that I must get it on credit, or in exchange for some of Mamma's things, for he had no ready money. But Janet has gone off this afternoon with all that was worth selling. She said that she could not leave Mamma when she was dying, but she knew there was no use waiting for her wages, so she must pay herself, and begone. That was true, so I let her go.'

'And now we have no maid. That is rather a grief, for you cannot do all the work of the house.'

'No, we must get some one in, but I have not

told Papa yet, and he will be very angry. Now I suppose that Uncle Ralph will want something to eat, and I don't know what to do.'

Uncle Ralph is rich enough to pay for our dinner as well as his own,' said George.

"You think of nothing but money, George.'

'I rather think, Maid Miriam, that you were the first to begin the subject.'

'Do not call me by that name,' said Miriam, passionately; 'it brings back her voice and smile, when I stood by her bedside, and I shall never hear it more. Oh, George! I am so sick and weary, that I wish-Mamma said that it was wrong-but I do wish that I were dead.'

'It is wrong,' said George decidedly, and foolish besides. I dare say that you will soon be happy and comfortable, and, at all events, you will not mend matters by dying.'

'I do not know. Perhaps I am not ready, as Mamma was, but I am certain that it is best for her. You would think so too, if you saw her silent, smiling face.'

You must not ask me,' said George, recoiling from the thought; 'it would be of no use, and I am still haunted by that last look of pain.'

'Yes, but there is no pain in her face now. It is calm and beautiful, and at rest. When I look at her, I think of those lines I once heard her sing

'Her life was turning, turning,

In mazes of heat and sound,
But for peace her soul was yearning,

And now peace laps her round.'