All this time poor Mr Elstree knew nothing of the engagement, but looked on Frank more as a son than as a mere acquaintance, without any thought of its being in his power to attain in reality to that degree of relationship by means of the beautiful Miss Alice. If Frank believed this, I will be bound Miss Sibylla Smith would not have given him credit for such stupidity. But there are innocent minded people in the world, and poor Elstree was one of them. The visits to the white-walled villa were continued all the vacation; love went on increasing; and nothing could be more delightful than the description Frank gave of the happiness of that youthful time. But black days were in store for them. He left Cambridge, and went to London--the great trial for country affections. The affections, by his account, continued exactly the same; but the ideas altered--he saw other people, he mixed with the world--he overlaid the passion that lay snug and powerful at the bottom of his heart, with a score or two of flirtations; but, so far from burying it, they only kept it warm. In the mean time, however, the correspondence was not so regular as before--and perhaps the expressions on both sides not quite so tender; for it is impossible for a man in the Clarendon, with a carriage at the door to carry him down to Ascot, to write about flames and arrows, which come so naturally when musing on the Cam or Isis. And in the midst of this London career--during all which, he assured me, he liked her better than ever--he was startled by hearing that Mr Elstree was very ill. He hurried down to Leicestershire, but found he was too late. The good man had died, after having learned from his daughter the secret of her engagement, and having refused his consent to it, not on the ground that he was too good a match for Alice--which would be almost as vulgar a reason as if he had been too poor--but on the ground that he was young, giddy, thoughtless, and the wasting health and wan cheek of his daughter had told him that he was fickle too. People in the country make so little allowance for young men during their first season in town; and mother and daughter, in spite of all his protestations, in spite of all the vows he made to Alice, which she believed in her heart--were firm in breaking off the connexion, and would see him no more. And this resolution seemed to be formed on the maturest deliberation, and in spite of every inducement to the contrary they kept it. He had not seen them for nearly a year. Their income, at all times small, had been annihilated by the father's death; they left the white-walled villa, and after bidding him farewell for ever in a letter, and thanking him for his friendship to her father, and some few tender recollections on her own account, Alice had begged him to forget her! And Frank thought of her, of course, every hour of his life--tried every means to find out where they had gone, that he might resume his