brilliant with sunshine. Everything was smooth and fair without, and within, so far as appearances went; and had there been no results to follow, little exception could have been taken to the proceedings of the persons concerned in this history who were each and all following their own pleasure and doing what seemed good in their own eyes. The Captain was perhaps the most safe and most virtuous of the whole, seeing that there was no reason why he should not marry Polly if he desired very much to do so, except that it would make his children uncomfortable and disturb the equanimity of his brother Chevaliers and their belongings. But he was in no way bound to consider the dignity of his brethren in the order, neither was he required by any law to sacrifice his own comfort for that of his son and daughter-both of them quite capable of taking thought for themselves. He may, therefore, be left out of the question; for, whether for good or evil, he was doing nothing more than he had a right to do. But in the case of the others: how pleasant would this episode of life have been had there been no consequences to follow! It was a most charming episode in the experience of Rollo Ridsdale. He was not a vicious man, but yet he had never been so virtuous, so free of evil, in all his consciousness before-his chief companion a perfectly pure-minded girl, his chief occupation to explore and study her fresh young heart and imagination, and vigorous intelligent nature. If only it could all go on to some as perfect conclusion, there could be no doubt that it was good for the speculative man of fashion. It restored him, body and soul,—regular hours, quiet, all the most luxurious comforts of life, and the delight and exhilaration of a romance to amuse the mental and sentimental side of him. The cleverest doctor that ever existed could not have recommended a more admirably curative process-if only there had been no re ponsibilities involved and nothing painful to follow. And Law-if Law had only had the prospect of a small estate, a small inheritance at the end, enough to live on, what a perfectly pleasant "time" he was having! He was doing no harm, only boating, cricketing, beginning now as the season went on to think of football-none of them wicked pursuits: if only there had been no examinations to think of, no work of life to prepare for. Lottie was the least to blame of the three; the consequences did not trouble her. She might perhaps be allowing herself to be absorbed too much by the new and wonderful influence which had taken possession of her the vita nuova might have become too entirely the law of her being; but well or ill she still did her duty, and her realisation of the result was perfectly simple. What but one thing could all this lead to? No doubt invaded Lottie's inexperienced mind; how could she doubt that Rollo loved her? What proof was wanting that man could give? They had not yet spoken of that love, though they had several times approached to the very verge of an explanation, from which generally it was she who shrank with a shy prolonging of that delicious uncertainty which was no uncertainty at all. How could Lottie have any doubt? It was not necessary even for her to say to herself that he was good and true. True! --she no more thought of falsehood than Eve had thought of the serpent before he hissed his first question into her ear. She did not understand what lying meant, practical lying of this kind. She let the sweet current sweep her on with many a heart-beat; but why should she be distrustful of it? What could love lead to but happiness? Lottie could not think of anything more. And thus the time went on. Augusta Huntington (Mrs. Daventry) was coming home with her husband in a day or two, and though Lottie thought she would be glad to see her old friend, she had a little secret fear of anything now happening. All was very well as it was. To meet Rollo accidentally as he smoked his cigar on the Slopes would not be so easy if his cousin were at the Deanery. He would not be able to get out so easily, and probably she would find a great many new ways of employing him which would take him out of Lottie's way. She did not like to look forward to it; and after Augusta's visit Rollo too would go away. It would be almost winter, and he could not stop any longer. All the shooting and the deerstalking and the round of visits to great people, on which he ought to be going, he had given up for her. What could the reason be but for her? The thought that this moment of happiness was approaching an end, was sad to Lottie, even though it should, as was natural, be followed by greater happiness still. How her dull life had flowered and blossomed out, made beautiful by the thought that he was near her, this man who loved her-who had loved her long before she had loved him, but whom now she too-! He was near, she remembered every morning when she woke; some time in the day she would be sure to see him-nay, half a dozen times in the day, if only strolling down the Dean's Walk looking at her window, and in the Abbey, and perhaps, while she took her lesson, listening to her with soft eyes; perhaps walking home with her; perhaps just turning round that old elm-tree on the Slopes as she came out for her evening walk; always looking for her so eagerly, seeking her, with a hundred little tender cares, and something in his eyes which was more than all. Could it be possible to be happier than now? She was keeping off the éclaircissement with delicious shy malice, running away from it, prolonging a little onger, and a little longer, this happy uncertainty. Some time, however, it must come, and then no doubt she would be more happy-though not with such happiness as this. On one of those lovely russet-coloured afternoons, full of haze made golden by the sunshine, already turning to the west, Lottie walking up St. Michael's Hill, towards the Abbey, had seen a fly driving along the street which had caught her eye as she passed. She knew it very well; it was Jobling's fly-a nice respectable clean cab, looking for all the world like a shabby well-dressed man in a frock coat and high hat. There are many shabby respectable well-preserved things which resemble each other. The reason why this neat and clean vehicle caught her eye was that the man who was driving it wore a white wedding-favour, which is a thing which no person of twenty can see without remark. Lottie, like others of her age, was half amused, half interested, and could not help wondering who it was. It was going to the railway, and some one looked out hastily as Lottie passed, looking at her, the girl thought, withdrawing as hastily again when she was seen to turn her eyes that way. Who could it be? Lottie thought she would ask Law, who knew all the news, who had been married; but she had forgotten all about it long before she saw Law. She had too many things to think of and to do, to remember so small a matter as that; and Law did not come in till late. When he did come they took their simple supper together amicably, not saying much, but she forgot the question. Now that Lottie did not bully him they were very good friends. They said a few friendly words to each other, and that was all, and then they bade each other good night. They were all alone, the Captain having left home for a few days, and had a very good opportunity for talk. But Lottie did not seize the opportunity to put disagreeable questions. She was altogether so much more amicable than she had been used to be. Three days after Capain Despard was to come home. It did not disturb Lottie that Captain Temple questioned her very closely as to where her father had gone. "Was he alone, do you know?" the old man said. "Alone? oh yes, I suppose so," said Lottie. What did it matter? She I could see Rollo behind the old beech-tree. Of course it was a drawback that the Captain should be with her so often, but it pleased the kind old man; they met and they had their little talk, which perhaps was all the more unlike the common intercourse of earth, that worlds of meaning had to be trusted to a tone, to a sudden meeting in the dusk (when you could see nobody, Captain Temple said) of two pairs of eyes: and when all is unutterable, is not this as good a way of utterance as any? And then Lottie said she must go home. Papa was coming home. He had been gone three days. As they went back the old Captain was more and more kind to Lottie. He kept her at the door for a moment with her hand between his two old kind hands. " My dear, don't be afraid to send for me or to come to me when you want anything-my wife and I will always be ready to be of use to you. You will not forget, Lottie ?" "Oh no, Captain Temple," she said," you are always so kind to me; how could I forget?"—and she went in smiling to herself, wondering what he could think she would want. But he was always kind, as kind as a father; far, far kinder than her own father, she could not but remember, with a little shrug of her shoulders. Had papa come in? Mary said "No," and Lottie went into the little dining-room to see that the supper was prettily arranged. There was nothing more than cold meat, and cheese, and bread and butter; but the bouquet in the middle, which was made up of brilliantly-coloured leaves, was pretty; and the white table-cloth, and the plates and glasses looked bright. In her happiness she began to sing softly as she pulled the leaves into a prettier form in the long clear glass they were grouped in. The lamp was lighted, the table was bright, the door stood open. Lottie, through her singing, heard steps coming up the pavement outside, and voices. All of a sudden she paused, thinking she heard her father's voice. Who could he be bringing with him, without any preparation? She cast a hasty glance at the beef, and saw with satisfaction that there would be enough for a stranger; enough, but not perhaps too much-he might have let her know. Then she heard his voice quite close to the window, which was open, for the night was warm for October-"Look, in and you will see her," he said. "Oh, I know her very well," said another voice with a laugh. Lottie turned round, with her heart beating, towards the window, where something white was visible; what could it mean?-was it a woman? a woman with her father at this hour of the evening! She grew pale, she could not tell why, and gazed first at the window, then at the door, with a flutter of tears which she could not understand. How foolish it was! "Come inthis way-don't be afraid! The passage is narrow and the house is small, but there is plenty of room for happiness when once you are in it," said her father's voice in the doorway, coming through the little crooked hall. Then the door was pushed wide open, and he came in leading some one by the hand. It was a woman very gaily dressed, with a mountain of brown hair and a white bonnet perched upon it, who laughed, but was nervous too; upon whom Lottie gazed with wondering eyes and blanched cheeks. Who was this whom he was bringing in without warning, without notice? The Captain was very jaunty, his hat was still on his head over his left ear. He had a bunch of violets somewhat crushed in his coat. He smiled a smile which was rather ghastly as Lottie gazed, struck dumb with the horror of what was coming. "Mrs. Despard," he said with a flourish, "let me present you with a ready-made daughter Lottie, my child, come here and welcome your new mamma." 409 The Centaurs. IN TWO PARTS. PART II. III. We have thus far considered, first the tenour and then the origin of the Greek tales about the Centaurs. The place which these tales filled in ancient thought was more considerable than the place they actually hold in the ancient literature that has come down to us. It is for the most part only in Latin or late Greek writers that the stories concerning them are to be found in full. Thus Ovid makes Nestor tell, with an immense redundance of ornament and episode, the story of the battle on Mount Pelion;* the same battle is related again by Plutarch in his life of Theseus, and by the annalist Diodorus Siculus; the slaughter on Mount Pholoê, both by Diodorus Siculus and another annalist, Apollodorus; the chastisement of Nessos, and the friendship of Cheiron and Peleus, by the same Apollodorus.§ The opening books of the Achilleid of Statius, which are all that have come down to us, are full of the incidents of the hero's boyhood in the cave of Cheiron; the death of Cheiron is told at length, after a fashion of his own, by Ovid; || and last of all, our monsters, with their ancient character quite obscured beneath an aftergrowth of Asiatic fancies, make their appearance here and there among the interminable volubilities of the epic of Nonnus.¶ But when we turn to the Greek writers of the great ages, we seldom encounter the fables of this cycle in the form of regular narrative, though in the form of incidental allusion often enough. Among the earliest epic writers of all there is said to have been one, Melisander of Miletus, who wrote a poem on the battle of the Centaurs and Lapiths; but to us Melisander is only a name. ** Both in the Iliad and Odyssey we find the monsters mentioned, though by their name of Centaurs only in the Odyssey.++ As the story of the fight is there told, it is the Centaur Eurytion who gets into trouble, in the first instance, alone. In a drunken fit he outrages the hospitality of Peirithoös, whose companions thereupon slit his nose, cut off his ears, and turn him out of doors; "and hence," adds the teller, "arose the feud between Centaurs and men." It is the * Ov. Metam. xii. 182-535. Diod. iv. 13; Apollod. ii. 5, § 4. ** Elian, Var. Hist. xi. 2. VOL. XXXVIII.-NO. 226. + Diod. iv. 70. § Apollod. ii. 7, § 6; iii. 13, §§ 2-6. Nonn. Dionys. v. 614; xiv. 193 sqq.; xvi. 240; xxxii. 71. 20. |