over first one leaf of her atlas and then another in her bewilderment, but she had no objection that her aunt Ellen should see how superior she was she was to Ada in some respects, and knowing that if left to herself the exercise would be full of mistakes, she took no notice of her troubled countenance, but pretended to be very deeply engaged in learning a French verb, which she knew quite well the night before.

"You seem to be in great perplexity, Ada," said Mrs. Shirley, after a while, "it is some time since I have written an exercise, but, perhaps, if you bring your books and slate to me I may be able to help you a little."

"Oh, thank you, aunt Ellen," said Ada; "I cannot tell which map to look in for these rivers." But aunt Ellen happened to be able to tell; and so in a very short time. the exercise was completed.

Notwithstanding that her lessons were perfectly learned, and all her tasks performed entirely to Miss Gregory's satisfaction, Margaret did not feel comfortable, or at all

satisfied with herself that morning; something in her aunt's manner towards her told her that she had noticed more than Margaret wished her to see. For some days, indeed, ever since the affair of filling the flower vases, she had had a sort of dread which she had never felt before of being left alone with her; but as time passed on, and, though several other incidents of the same kind occurred, no notice was taken of them, she began to feel less uneasy, and to think, as she wished to persuade herself was the case, that her aunt saw plainly that these little disagreements arose entirely from Ada's selfishness and bad temper. She did not know that all this time Mrs. Shirley was carefully studying the position in which she saw her placed, in order that she might, without being severe or unjust, endeavour the more effectually to use the influence which she felt she still possessed over her, in correcting those faults and blemishes in her character which every day made more apparent to her view, and more painful to her to witness.

CHAPTER VIII.

MRS. SHIRLEY's visit was fast drawing to a close, but as yet she had said nothing which could lead Margaret to suppose that she had discovered the change which had crept over her. But nothing is more difficult than dissimulation to those who have always been accustomed to act only as they feel. It was so with Margaret, and frequently, when she was not at all aware that she did so, words, looks, and actions escaped her, of which, had she thought for a moment, she would have been ashamed, but which did not pass unnoticed by the eye of affection which was now again daily watching over her. One day Mrs. Craven was going out to make some calls, and intended to take Margaret and Ada with her, but as her aunt Ellen was not very well,

Margaret petitioned to be allowed instead to remain at home with her. They chatted pleasantly awhile about old times, for Margaret was never tired of making inquiries, and listening to anecdotes of every person and thing, animate or inanimate, which she had left behind in her "other home," as she always called the Thatched Cottage.

"And my myrtle by the drawing-room window, is that growing, aunt Ellen?" said she, after she had inquired about the welfare of almost every flower in the garden; "oh dear! I wonder if I shall ever see it again."

"I hope so, my darling," replied Mrs. Shirley, "if it please God to spare you and me both for another year, I hope you will come and stay with me."

“Oh, aunt Ellen, how glad I shall be! Do you think mamma will let me stay for a long time?"

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"I hope so," replied her aunt; are you sure that you shall be glad to come, Margaret?"

"Oh, aunty! how can you ask me," said Margaret, "when I love you so?"

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Because, dear Margaret, I have thought sometimes, since I have been here, that you do not love me now so well as you once did; if you did, I think you would not so often do things which you know must grieve me," said Mrs. Shirley.

A sort of chill came over Margaret; her eyes fell as she answered in a low voice, “ I have not meant to grieve you, aunt Ellen."

"But I have been grieved, much grieved, Margaret, nevertheless, at many things which I have seen," replied her aunt.

"I know what you mean, aunt Ellen; you mean about the flowers that day, and the pieces of silk, and Ada's exercise."

"Yes, I certainly noticed these things among others, but Margaret, dear, it is not only the actions themselves which have grieved me, it is the change which I fear must have come over your heart to produce them. I am afraid, my love, that you have forgotten or much neglected your promise to me that you would strive earnestly to be one of God's children, and to serve and please him."