ALDYTH rose early the next morning, that her letter might be finished and posted ere the morning mail went out. The clock had not long struck seven, when she threw wide her casement, and let in the fresh, delicious air. Birds were chirping beneath the eaves, and fluttering to and fro; the dewy grass was sparkling in the sun, and the garden looked most tempting; but Aldyth turned resolutely from the window, and seated herself at her writing-table.

One may often gain insight into a girl's character by a glance round her room. Aldyth's room, in which she took some pride, as girls do in a place that is their very own, revealed that she had a refined and cultured mind. There was nothing luxurious in its arrangements, but it was a pretty room despite the disadvantage, that, owing to the old-fashioned construction of the house, the ceiling sloped sharply on one side. Flowers stood in glasses on the dressing-table, and bees were buzzing over the mignonette planted in a box on the window sill.

Water-colour drawings adorned the walls, some of them painted by Aldyth, and some the gifts of school friends, and here and there were photographs Of Aldyth's favourite heroes—Carlyle, Ruskin, and Charles Kingsley, Tennyson, and Browning. The little wooden bookcase held a selection of books any girl might be proud to possess. There were daintily-bound editions of all our greatest poets, with some of our noblest works of fiction, and standard works of prose, too, showing that Aldyth did not read for mere entertainment, though in reading she found one of the highest pleasures of her life. For Aldyth loved books; she stinted herself of many of the pretty things girls love, that she might spend her pocket money on books, and at any time a bookshop had more attraction for her than a milliner's.

In a handsome frame on the mantelshelf stood the latest portrait of her mother which Aldyth had received. A similar one, reduced in size, Aldyth wore constantly in a gold locket, suspended by a slender chain from her neck. It was the photograph of a lady who might have been thirty years of age, but looked no older, with a beautiful face, faultless in form and feature, and luxuriant masses of hair dressed high on the crown of the head, after the fashion of the day. The pose of the head was queenly, the exquisite lips had a somewhat disdainful curl, as though conscious of their beauty. It was a face which demanded admiration; whether it would as readily call forth love, the portrait did not reveal. It is never safe to judge a person from a photograph.

This was Aldyth's beautiful mother, of whom she had dreamed all her life. Often did her eyes rest on the portrait with a sense of hungry, yearning love, and she longed for the time when she could look into her mother's face, and meet the kiss of her sweet lips. With passing years the longing came to have somewhat of the bitterness of a deferred hope. There were hours when it was positive pain to Aldyth to think of the love she had missed through the long separation from her mother. But her nature was too bright and hopeful for this thought to sadden her long. She was more wont to look forward to the perfect joy of the long-deferred meeting, and dream of the happiness that would then be hers.

Near Mrs. Stanton's portrait were portraits of the two daughters who had been born to her in Australia. They were taken as children, but even these juvenile portraits showed that the elder one, a girl about thirteen, had inherited the beauty of her mother, while the little one, dark, heavy-browed, and somewhat stolid-looking, was unlikely to develop good looks.

Aldyth's eyes turned instinctively to her mother's picture as she laid down her pen, after signing herself, "Your ever-loving daughter."

"Oh, mother! When will you come to me?" she cried in her heart.

If she could have had her own way, Aldyth would long ago have sailed to join her mother at Melbourne, but Mrs. Stanton had reasons for wishing that Aldyth should remain at Woodham with her aunt. Five miles from Woodham lay Wyndham, the family estate of the Lorraines, and at Wyndham Hall lived Aldyth's grand-uncle, an old bachelor, strong-willed, crotchety, eccentric, and possessed of considerable wealth.

Stephen Lorraine was the eldest and the last of three brothers, who had been well-known in the neighbourhood of Woodham. His brother William had practised as a medical man there, winning much love and honour, but he died at the age of fifty, leaving two children, a son and a daughter. The son, a handsome young fellow, was a great favourite with his uncle Stephen, and was looked upon as his heir. With his uncle's approval, he made the army his profession. Stephen Lorraine had a decided notion that his heir must conform to his will in everything, and as long as the young man did so, all went well.

But a time came in Captain Lorraine's history, when love proved stronger than expediency, and he dared his uncle's anger by marrying into an Essex family for which old Stephen had a particular dislike. It was an offence not to be condoned, and Stephen Lorraine at once announced his intention of leaving his property to the only son of his brother James, who had taken holy orders, and after officiating for a while as a curate at Woodham, had been presented to a living in the north of England. At his uncle's request, this young man, Guy Lorraine by name, came to Woodham, and took up his abode at the Hall. He brought with him a delicate young wife and a bright boy of two years.

Meanwhile Captain Lorraine, the discarded heir, disappointed in his married life and depressed by disease, was wandering from place to place, seeking health, and vainly hoping that his uncle would relent towards him. If the news of his death stirred a too late regret within the heart of old Stephen Lorraine, he showed no sign of it, unless the increased bitterness of feeling he manifested towards his nephew's widow might be so regarded. He hated the very name of Aldyth's mother, but he expressed a wish to see the little girl who had been left in the care of her father's sister at Woodham, and as soon as he saw her, Aldyth won her way to his heart.

A few months after the death of Captain Lorraine, Guy Lorraine's young wife also passed away, so that when Aldyth's mother finally left her to her aunt's care, Miss Lorraine—or Lucy Lorraine, as every one called her in those days—had as good as two motherless children to love and cherish. Little Guy and Aldyth were constantly together. If Guy were not spending the day at Miss Lorraine's cottage, Aldyth would be playing with him at the Hall, to her childish mind the most delightful place in the world; for Stephen Lorraine made a great pet of the tiny daughter of his favourite nephew. He would walk about the house and garden with the little damsel seated on his shoulder, clinging to his rough, wiry locks; and Aldyth's earliest rides were taken on a little Shetland pony, attached by a rein to the stout cob ridden by her grand-uncle. The servants at the Hall whispered to each other that the squire cared more for the girl than for the boy, and they found the cause in Aldyth's strong resemblance to her father.

But as young Guy grew into a robust, high-spirited boy, he too won his grand-uncle's affection; and when by his father's sudden death from an accident in the hunting-field he was made, as it seemed, the heir to Wyndham, most persons in the neighbourhood believed that it was Stephen Lorraine's intention that the cousins should marry, and Wyndham thus become the home and inheritance of them both. But up to the time at which our story commences, when the young people were both of age, no one had heard old Stephen give the least hint of any such intention. So far he had been content to let things take their course, judging perhaps from his past experience, that by active interference, he might defeat his own ends.

The old man had long outlived his two brothers, and he had seen several of the younger generation of his family pass away; but he was still hale and hearty, though in his eightieth year. Aldyth continued very dear to him, and he liked to have her often at the Hall. And it was because of her uncle's affection for her that Mrs. Stanton wished Aldyth to remain at Woodham. When the girl in her letters pleaded to be allowed to join her mother, Mrs. Stanton would reply that she felt it would be wrong to take Aldyth from the poor old man, who evidently found such comfort in her society.

"Do all you can to please your uncle, darling," her mother wrote. "Make it your duty to cheer his old age, and by so doing you may atone for the harm I did when married your father, and so deprived him of his uncle's favour. Who knows? He may even come to forgive poor me for your dear sake."

But as yet, Stephen Lorraine had shown no sign of forgiving Mrs. Stanton. He preferred to regard her as one who had no connection with him whatever, having passed out of his family when she married her second husband. To Aldyth he never named her mother.

As Aldyth, having finished her letter, ran down stairs, a young man was entering the house with the air of one who felt at home there. He was a tall broad-chested fellow, and his shooting suit well became his fine proportions. Of fair complexion, which the sun had brought to a warm hue, with light hair curling crisply over his forehead, well-cut features, and eyes that might pass for blue, he was a typical specimen of an English country gentleman, and most persons considered him very good-looking. He was carrying several brace of partridges strung together. At the sight of Aldyth, he smiled brightly, and lifted his cap with easy grace.

"Good morning, Aldyth," he said; "I'm an early visitor. I had to drive a fellow up to catch the first train, so I took the opportunity to bring cousin some birds. There are some for Mrs. Bland too, but I could hardly call on them before breakfast."

"No, really? I should have thought your audacity might have carried you so far;" said Aldyth, merrily. "However, in consideration of your bringing us those birds, we'll give you some breakfast, and then, if you like, I will walk down with you to the Blands, for I want to see Kitty."

"Kitty! I thought Hilda was your particular friend."

"So she may be, but Kitty is my friend too. I have something to tell her that will interest her very much." And Aldyth's eyes shone with amusement as she pictured Kitty's excitement when she heard her news.

"What's up? What has happened?" asked Guy, looking at her with curiosity.

But Aldyth only laughed in a tantalizing manner, and at that moment Miss Lorraine made her appearance.

"This is good of you, Guy," she said, lifting her face for him to kiss, for Guy had the place of a nephew in Miss Lorraine's heart. "I thought we should see nothing of you whilst you had such a shooting-party at the Hall. What fine partridges! You must be having good sport."

"Pretty fair," replied the young man; "the birds are not so plentiful as last year; the wet spring thinned the broods. Still, we made tolerable bags yesterday."

"So it seems," said Miss Lorraine, eyeing the birds with admiration, and immediately beginning to plan a little supper-party, to which Mr. Glynne should be invited. "How good of you to remember me! But here is the coffee—come in and get your breakfast. You must need it after your drive."

"When are you and Aldyth coming to Wyndham again?" inquired Guy, as he helped himself to some of Miss Lorraine's excellent ham. "Uncle was saying yesterday what a time it was since we had seen you."

"Well, you see, Guy, we feel rather shy of coming whilst you have a house full of gentlemen," said Miss Lorraine. "You don't want ladies about when you are so busy with the shooting."

"You forget that we do not shoot in the evenings," replied Guy. "Why can't you and Aldyth come down to dinner one evening? I should like you to see Captain Walker and Marriott. Marriott's awfully fond of music, and sings well. You might ask the Blands to come with you, and then we could have quite a musical evening."

"Well, perhaps; I must think about it," said Miss Lorraine, dubiously. "But you must ask the Blands, Guy, not I."

"All right; that's easily managed," said Guy.

"Why should you not bring Captain Walker and young Marriott here one evening?" asked Miss Lorraine. "Then I would invite the Blands and Mr. Glynne to meet you."

"Who in the world is Mr. Glynne?" asked Guy, opening his eyes.

"The new master just come to the school," explained Miss Lorraine. "Aldyth and I made his acquaintance yesterday." And she related the circumstances that had led to the introduction.

Guy's lips curled satirically as he listened. To him the whole story was absurd, and his comments on the incident were not entirely agreeable to Miss Lorraine, who had taken a great fancy to John Glynne.

"How any man can make himself so ridiculous as to go grinding about the country on one of those trumpery machines is beyond my comprehension," he said. "A good horse is worth fifty of them. I should be very sorry to sit astride such a thing."

"There is no reason why you should, you have always a horse at your command," said Aldyth. "I have no doubt Mr. Glynne would think a horse preferable, if he could afford one; but a horse is expensive to buy and expensive to keep, whilst a bicycle is no trouble at all, and its rider is delightfully independent."

"Yes, especially when he falls off and cuts his head open," said Guy, laughing.

"Now, Guy, I will not have you laugh at Mr. Glynne's misfortune," said Miss Lorraine. "For my part, I was glad the accident happened when and where it did, since it made us acquainted with so nice a man. He is not one to ridicule, I assure you. He is a B.A. of Cambridge University, and a highly cultured man. I hope we may be able to induce him to give us a course of lectures during the winter."

"Lectures!" exclaimed Guy, lifting his brows. "What—to you and poor dear Aldyth?"

"Don't be absurd; you know that is not my meaning. We want him to give a course of lectures on literature at Town Hall, or some such place, which any lady or gentleman may attend, who chooses to take a ticket."

"Whatever is the good of that?" asked Guy, with a simplicity which made Aldyth laugh.

"The good is that we shall have a chance of improving our minds and gaining some fresh ideas," said Miss Lorraine. "It will be a great advantage to the young people, if we can arrange for such lectures. You must take a ticket, Guy."

"I will take a ticket with pleasure, to oblige you," he said. "But please do not ask me to sit for an hour on one of those hard benches in the Town Hall, and listen to a dry lecture. I could not do it really. What is the good of it?"

"Guy, you are shockingly lazy!" said Aldyth. "I am just longing for the lectures to begin; and I know that Hilda and Kitty Bland will be delighted when they hear of our grand scheme. I have no fear that the ladies of Woodham will not muster strong at the lectures. I believe we read and think more than the men do."

"Of course; you have nothing else to do," said Guy, who, like many persons who enjoy unlimited leisure, was able to persuade himself that he led a busy life. "But why women want to study so hard I cannot think. They are no more attractive, in my eyes, for knowing a good deal. Indeed, I dislike learned women."

"They are so much more difficult to talk to, are they not, Guy?" said Aldyth, mischievously. "But I see you want to be off, so I will get my hat."

As they walked to the Blands, Aldyth and her cousin met Mr. Glynne hurrying along on his way to the school. It was but a few steps from his lodgings, and he wore his gown and college cap, which made him rather an imposing spectacle in the High Street. As he lifted his cap, the patch of plaster on his brow was plainly visible. Aldyth smiled frankly as their eyes met, and received a bright smile in response. Guy looked at the new master with cold, critical eyes.

"How ridiculous to wear that mortar-board!" he said. "If that's your grand lecturer, I don't think much of his appearance."

"I never said that he was handsome," replied Aldyth; "but I think he looks strong in every way."

Breakfast was still on the table in the Blands' dining room, and Hilda sprang up with rather a shame-faced look as the Lorraines entered the room.

"Yes, Aldyth, it is very shocking, I know," she exclaimed, as her friend shook her head with affected gravity. "But every one cannot have your energy, and it is really mamma's fault that I am late, for she did not call me this morning."

"Oh, of course; it is always some one else's fault," remarked Kitty, running in from the garden with a basket of pears in her hand.

"And a very satisfactory thing that is," said Guy. "I never care as long as I can find some one to bear the blame of my misdeeds. Why should people make such a fuss about early rising? It is all very well to get up if there is shooting or anything to get up for; but otherwise I would rather stay in bed."

Every one laughed at this candid confession, and Hilda's face brightened. They strolled out through the open door into the garden.

"Aldyth has prime news for you, Kitty," said Guy. "It seems there is a new tutor come to the school, and he must needs prostrate himself at my cousin's gate last evening. Aldyth found him there—a gory spectacle. Being, as you know, one of the most strong-minded of her sex, she did not faint, but promptly conveyed him into the house, where she, and Cousin Lucy devoted themselves to binding up his wounds."

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Kitty. "I never heard such a rigmarole. Aldyth, what does he mean?"

"It is quite true, I assure you," said Guy. "We met the wounded knight not five minutes ago, with his forehead plastered up, looking like the hero of a hundred fights."

"Do be sensible and tell me what you mean," pleaded Kitty. "Aldyth, is there a word of truth in what he says?"

"It is remotely 'founded on fact,' like the stories auntie used to read when she was a girl," said Aldyth, "and the facts are these: Mr. Glynne had a fall from his bicycle near our gate yesterday afternoon. He cut his forehead rather badly, and I persuaded him to come in and let aunt attend to it."

"You don't mean it! What a joke!" cried Kitty. "Do tell me about it, Aldyth."

"Indeed I will not, if you are going to make a joke of another's suffering—you unfeeling creature!" said Aldyth.

"Why, was he much hurt?" asked Kitty, quickly. "You might tell me, Aldyth."

"I think he will get over it," said Aldyth, with a merry twinkle in her eyes. "He recovered sufficiently to talk a good deal to aunt and me before he left. And what do you think, girls? He is perhaps going to give a course of lectures during the winter."

"A course of lectures!" said Hilda, quickly. "On what subject?"

"Oh, on literature—the poets, perhaps," said Aldyth, vaguely. "Aunt is delighted with the idea; she means to do all she can to realize it."

"Then she will succeed," said Kitty. "I never yet knew Miss Lorraine fail to carry through any plan she had set her heart upon."

"The poets! That will be lovely!" cried Hilda.

"Then you will go to these lectures?" said Guy, his face clouding a little as he spoke.

They walked on down the garden path, leaving the others a little way behind. Hilda's slender form looked more fairylike than usual in contrast to Guy's height and breadth.

"Of course, if they are held, I shall attend them," said Hilda; "I would not miss them on any account. It will be a grand opportunity for self-improvement."

"Some persons do not need improvement," said Guy in a low voice, as his eyes rested admiringly on her. "I like you just as you are. You would be spoiled if you became very learned."

His look and words brought a warm flush to Hilda's face. She was embarrassed, but not annoyed. She gave a little nervous laugh, and said—

"I am sure I ought to feel much flattered. Fortunately there is little danger of my ever becoming very learned."

Aldyth was replying as best as she could to a volley of questions from Kitty concerning Mr. Glynne. She stayed talking for a while after Guy had excused himself and gone off to his shooting. As she quitted the house, she glanced down the High Street, and saw her aunt coming out of the bank. Aldyth went to meet her. Miss Lorraine's face was radiant with satisfaction.

"It is all right, Aldyth," she said. "Mr. Greenwood quite approves of the lectures, and he has promised me his support."

Aldyth could fully sympathize with her aunt's satisfaction. Mr. Greenwood, the banker, and his brother, Mr. Ralph Greenwood, the solicitor, were highly influential members of Woodham society.