me, Alick!" she exclaimed hotly; "you who were the one to
persecute me about him, and tell me all sorts of things about his being
shallow and unprincipled, and not to be thought of, you to bring him up
against me now."

"I might think all you allege," returned Alick, gravely, "and yet be
much amazed at the new project."

Bessie laughed. "In fact you made a little romance, in which you acted
the part of sapient brother, and the poor little sister broke her heart
ever after! You wanted such an entertainment when you were lying on the
sofa, so you created a heroine and a villain, and thundered down to the
rescue."

"Very pretty, Bessie, but it will not do. It was long after I was well
again, and had joined."

"Then it was the well-considered effect of the musings of your
convalescence! When you have a sister to take care of, it is as well to
feel that you are doing it."

"Now, Elizabeth," said her brother, with seriousness not to be laughed
aside, and laying his hand on hers, "before I hear another word on this
matter, look me in the face and tell me deliberately that you never
cared for Carleton."

"I never thought for one moment of marrying him," said Bessie,
haughtily. "If I ever had any sort of mercy on him, it was all to tease
you. There, are you satisfied?"

"I must be, I suppose," he replied, and he sighed heavily. "When was
this settled?"

"Yesterday, walking up and down the esplanade. He will tell his brother
to-day, and I shall write to Lady Temple. Oh, Alick, he is so kind, he
spoke so highly of you."

"I must say," returned Alick, in the same grave tone, "that if you
wished for the care of an old man, I should have thought my uncle the
more agreeable of the two."

"He is little past fifty. You are very hard on him."

"On the contrary, I am sorry for him. You will always find it good for
him to do whatever suits yourself."

"Alick?" said his sister mournfully, "you have never forgotten or
forgiven my girlish bits of neglect after your wound."

"No, Bessie," he said, holding her hand kindly, "it is not the neglect
or the girlishness, but the excuses to me, still more to my uncle, and
most of all to yourself. They are what make me afraid for you in what
you are going to take upon yourself."

She did not answer immediately, and he pursued--"Are you driven to this
by dislike to living at Bishopsworthy? If so, do not be afraid to tell
me. I will make any arrangement, if you would prefer living with