the summer was slowly passing. at a small and obscure seaside place on the east coast mrs. cumberland was located. she had engaged part of one of the few good houses there--houses that let at an enormous price in the season to visitors--and lived in it with ellen adair, and her maid to wait on her. not jelly this time, but the housemaid ann. the interior of mrs. cumberland's own house at dallory was being painted during her absence. she had deemed it well to leave jelly in charge: and brought ann instead.

they had been in this place, eastsea, for some weeks now; and ellen privately believed that this sojourn was never coming to an end. any thing more wearisome than it was to her, could not have been found. arthur bohun was in london at his uncle's, where he had been staying for some time. it was several weeks since he and ellen had met: to her it seemed as many months. james bohun was still ill, but fluctuated much; at one time appearing to be beyond recovery, at another as if he were almost well again. he would not part with arthur; sir nash said he must not think of leaving. under the circumstances, arthur did not see his way clear to getting away.

another person was fluctuating. and that was mrs. cumberland. her complaint, connected with the heart, was one of those that may snap life suddenly, or allow it to be prolonged for years. that she was gradually growing worse, was undoubted; but it was by almost imperceptible degrees. no change could be noted from day to day; it was only by comparing her present state with what it had been three, six, or twelve months before, that the change could be seen. sometimes, for days together, she would feel very ill, be quite unable to quit her room; and again she would have an interval of ease, almost of seeming recovery, and walk and drive out daily. dr. rane had come over twice to see his mother: staying on each occasion only a few hours. his opinion was, that she might yet, with care, live for years; and probably many years. at the same time, he knew that there could be no certainty of it.

it was during this sojourn at eastsea that mrs. cumberland received news from mr. adair. he wrote in answer to mrs. cumberland's letter--the first of the two letters already alluded to--wherein she had spoken of the probability of ellen's being sought in marriage by a gentleman in every way desirable, but in which she had omitted, probably from inadvertence, to mention the gentleman's name. mr. adair's answer, now received, was to the effect that--fully relying on mrs. cumberland's judgment--he could not desire better for his daughter than that so suitable a marriage should be entered into; and accorded it his cordial consent.

but this involved a most unhappy contretemps: of which no one as yet was, or could be, conscious. that first letter of mrs. cumberland's had alluded to mr. graves: she imagined this consent to apply to arthur bohun. it takes time, as every one knows, for a letter to reach australia from england and an answer to be returned. whether, during those intervening weeks, mrs. cumberland actually forgot that her first letter had applied to mr. graves: or whether in her invalid state, memory had grown confused, and she remembered only the last letter, must ever remain a question. certain it was, that she accepted this present approbation of mr. adair's as applying to arthur bohun. it might be, that she had altogether forgotten having written about mr. graves.

with her usual reticence, she said nothing to ellen adair. not a word. time enough for that when arthur bohun should speak--if he ever did speak. she held the consent ready for use if necessity ever required it: and was at ease.

"ellen, how listless you seem!"

ellen adair looked up, faintly blushing at the abrupt charge, which came from mrs. cumberland.

"listless!" exclaimed ellen.

"my dear, it is nothing less. i don't think you care for eastsea."

"not very much. at least--it is rather dull."

"well, i suppose you can only find it so; confined to the house half my time, as i am. at niton you had often captain bohun to go out with; now you have to go out alone."

ellen turned away, a soft blush rising to her face at the remembrance of niton, "shall you be going home soon, do you think, mrs. cumberland?" she asked.

"oh dear no. i had a note from jelly this morning, and she says the house is not half ready. workpeople are so lazy! once you get them into a place you can't get them out again. but if jelly were ready for us i should still not go. this air is doing me good on the whole. perhaps i shall remain the winter here."

ellen's heart fell within her. all the autumn in this place, that verily seemed to her the fag end of the world, and all the winter! should she ever again get the chance of seeing her heart's love, arthur bohun? and he?--perhaps he was forgetting her.

"do you feel well enough to come out, mrs. cumberland?"

"no. i am sorry, ellen, but you must go alone. put on your things at once, child: the afternoon will be passing."

ellen sighed. it was of no moment to her whether she went out or stayed in: she obeyed mechanically, and went forth. quite alone. generally speaking ann attended her, but the servant was this afternoon wanted by her mistress.

the sunshine played on the clear blue sea, ever changing its lovely hues, as the light autumn clouds floated above it in the sky. ellen adair sat in a sheltered spot and watched it. it was her favourite seat: one hewn out of the rocks, and apparently frequented only by herself, as she had never yet been disturbed in it. excepting the small strip of beach before her, nothing was to be seen from it but sea and sky. overhead, she could hear the children's voices at play: the tide below was coming in with gentle monotony. ellen had a book with her, and she had her diary; she had read a few pages in the one, she had written some lines in pencil in the other: and so the hours passed, and she was utterly dreary. the weary day was only the type of the other weary days that at present made up the sum total of her life.

"will it ever come to an end?" she murmured, having watched a tiny pleasure-boat shoot past and disappear, leaving her to her silent solitude. "shall we ever get back to dallory ham, and--the friends who live there? i suppose a winter might be got through and survived in this place, but----"

a gentleman in deep mourning walking on the strip of beach, looking to right and left. ellen's thoughts were summarily ended, and she rose with a faint cry: the cry of intense joy that in its sound is so near akin to that of exquisite pain.

for it was no other than captain arthur bohun. he had not heard it; but he saw her; it was for her he had been searching: and he turned with an outstretched hand. for a moment she felt utterly bewildered, half doubting the reality of the vision. but oh yes, it was he; it was he! the sea and sky, the rocks, and the monotony--all had changed into paradise.

"how do you do, ellen?"

nothing more than this commonplace greeting was spoken. they stood in silence, their hands clasped. his lips were quivering slightly, proving how ardent was the feeling that stirred him at their renewed meeting; ellen, blushing and paling by turns, was agitated almost to pain. sitting down quietly by her side on the ledge of rock he accounted for his unexpected appearance. on his arrival at eastsea that afternoon, he had gone at once to call at mrs. cumberland's. ann said her mistress was lying down, and that miss adair was on the beach.

"did you think i was never coming to see you, ellen? i thought so. i could not get away from my uncle's whilst james was so ill."

"is he--dead?" hesitated ellen, looking pointedly at the black clothes.

"oh no. it is a cousin of sir nash's and of my father's who is dead: a very old man who has lived for years in the south of france. james bohun is very much better."

"i thought, by the deep mourning, it must be."

"is it deep? i suppose it looks so. i should not wish it otherwise in the present instance, for the good old man has been generous to me."

they fell into silence, each feeling the rapture of the other's presence, after the prolonged separation, as something more than human. so intense was it that ellen, at least, might have been content to die in it there and then. the sea changed its beautiful colours, the sky seemed to smile on them, the children played overhead, a silvery flute from some unseen boat in the distance was softly playing. no: eden could never have been sweeter than this.

"what have you been doing, all this time by yourself at eastsea?" he at length asked her.

"very much what i am doing now, i think--sitting here to watch the sea," she answered. "there has been nothing else to do. it was always dull."

"has mrs. cumberland had any visitors?"

"dr. rane has been here twice. he gives a bad account of things at dallory. the strike shows no signs of coming to an end; and the men are in want."

"so dick says. i get a letter from him sometimes."

a great amount of talking, this. the tide turned; a big steamer went by in the distance.

"do you hear that, ellen?"

a man's soft tenor voice had struck up a love-song overhead: "ellen adair," robin adair, as the world more often has it. arthur bohun used to hear it sung as "ellin adair," when he was recovering from his wound in ireland; the irish insisted on it that so it was in the original song; and he had sometimes asked ellen to sing it so for him since. the children ceased their play; the verses went on, and these two below the rocks, unseen, listened to the end, catching every word distinctly.

"yet her i loved so well,

still in my heart shall dwell.

oh! i shall ne'er forget

ellen adair."

"nor i," softly spoke arthur, as the refrain died away.

mrs. cumberland was up when they got in. ann had told her of captain bohun's appearance and that he had gone to find miss adair. mrs. cumberland took a few minutes for consideration, and then decided on her course of conduct, and that was to speak to captain bohun.

it might have been all very well, whilst she was armed with no authority, tacitly to countenance captain bohun's frequent visits; but now that she had authority, she deemed it right, in justice to ellen, to take a different standing. if captain bohun had serious intentions, well and good; if not, she should request him to bring the intimacy to a close. feeling the responsibility that lay upon her as the sole guardian in europe of ellen adair, she thought she should be justified in saying so much, for, unless arthur bohun proposed to make the young lady his wife, it was cruel to allow her to fall in love with him.

when mrs. cumberland once made her mind up to any resolve, she did not usually lose time in putting it into practice, and she lost none here. taking the opportunity this same evening, when ellen was out of the room; sent from it by herself on some errand of excuse; she spoke to captain bohun.

but the most fastidious man living could not have taken exception to what she said. she spoke quite as a lady. captain bohun's appearance that day at eastsea--coupled with the remembrance of his frequent sojourns at niton when they were staying there, and his constant visits to her house at dallory ham--had revived a faint idea that had sometimes presented itself to her mind, namely, that he might be growing attached to ellen adair. mrs. cumberland did not wish to enlarge on this point; it might be, or it might not be; captain bohun si! one knew; perhaps she was wholly mistaken; all she wished to say was this--that if captain bohun had no future thoughts in regard to miss adair, she must request him to terminate his intimacy at once. when she returned to dallory ham she should be glad to see him at her house occasionally, just as any other visitor; but nothing more.

to this arthur bohun answered candidly enough. he did like ellen adair; if circumstances permitted he should be only too glad to make her his wife; but, as mrs. cumberland knew, he had hitherto been very poor. as he pleased, mrs. cumberland remarked; the matter was entirely for his own consideration; she did not attempt to press it, one way or the other; if he saw no chance of his circumstances improving, he should freely say so, and terminate his visits; she could not allow ellen to be played with. and upon that, arthur begged to have the night for reflection; he would see mrs. cumberland in the morning, and give her his decision.

so it was left. when ellen returned to the room--unsuspicious of what had been said during her few minutes' absence from it--captain bohun took his departure. arrived at the hotel where he had put up, he devoted himself to the consideration of the grave question, weighing it in all its bearings as fairly as his love for ellen allowed him to do. of course that biassed him.

he had sufficient to marry upon now. by the death of the relative for whom he was in mourning, he had come into about eight hundred a-year. with his own income, that made twelve. quite sufficient to begin upon, though he was a bohun. but--there were deterring considerations. in some way, as he suspected, his mother, in her fear of ellen adair, had contrived to instil a suspicion in the mind of sir nash, that arthur, unless he were closely controlled, might be making a mésalliance. sir nash possessed all the pride of the bohuns, and it frightened him. he spoke to arthur, telling him that unless he married with the full approval of his family, he should never succeed to the estates. no, nor to the title if he could help it. if james died, he, sir nash, would marry first, and leave direct heirs.

this, it was, that now interfered with arthur's decision. one fact was known to him--that james bohun, since this illness set in, had joined his father in cutting off the entail, so that the threat of leaving the estates away from arthur (even though he succeeded to the title) could be easily accomplished. what was to be done? part with ellen adair he could not. oh, if he might only make her his wife without the world knowing it; the world abroad, and the world at home! might this be? very slowly arthur bohun arrived at a conclusion--that the only plan, if mrs. cumberland and ellen would accede to it, was to have a private marriage.

arguments are so easy when inclination goes with them. the future looks very much as we ourselves paint it. they might be married at once, here at eastsea. if james bohun recovered and lived, why, there could be no question about the title or the estates lapsing to arthur, and he might avow his marriage as soon as he pleased. if james died, he should not, as he really believed, have to conceal it long, for he thought sir nash's life quite as precarious as james's. a few months, perhaps a few weeks, and he might be able to tell the world that ellen was his wife. he felt an inclination to whisper it beforehand to his good friend and aunt, miss bohun. but, he must first of all ascertain from mrs. cumberland what was the social standing of mr. adair. unless he were undeniably a gentleman, ellen could be no fit wife for a bohun. arthur, swayed by his love, had hitherto been content to take this fact for granted; now he saw the necessity of ascertaining it more certainly. it was not that he had any real doubt, but it was only right to make sure.

mr. adair held some post under the british government, formerly in india, for a long time now in australia. his wife had died young; his only child, ellen, had been sent to a first-rate school in england for her education. upon its completion, mr. adair had begged mrs. cumberland to receive her; he had some thought of returning home himself, so that he did not wish ellen to go out to him. an impression was afloat in dallory that ellen adair would inherit a fortune; also that mrs. cumberland received liberal remuneration for the expenses of the young lady. these generalities arthur bohun already knew; but he knew no more.

he paid the promised visit to mrs. cumberland in the morning. ellen was on the beach with the maid; there was no interruption, and their conversation was long and confidential. heaven alone knew how arthur bohun succeeded in making mrs. cumberland believe in the necessity for a private marriage. he did succeed. but he used no subterfuge. he frankly told of the prejudice his mother had taken against ellen adair, and that she had gained the ear of sir nash. in short, the same arguments he had used to himself the previous evening, he urged now. mrs. cumberland--naturally biassed against madam for the injury she had striven to work upon dr. rane--thought it a frightful shame that she should also strive to destroy the happiness and prospects of her own son arthur, and sympathized with him warmly. it was this feeling that rendered her more easy than she would otherwise have been--in short, that made her give her consent to arthur's plan. to counteract the bitter wrong contemplated by mrs. north, she considered would be a merit on arthur's part, instead of a sin. and then, when things were so far settled, and the speedy marriage determined on, mrs. cumberland astonished captain bohun by putting mr. adair's letter into his hands, explaining how it came to be received, and what she had written to that gentleman to call it forth. "so that her father's blessing will rest on the marriage," remarked mrs. cumberland; "but for that fact, i could not have consented to a private one."

this gave arthur the opportunity to ask about the position of mr. adair, which, in the heat of argument, he had been forgetting. certainly he was a gentleman, mrs. cumberland answered, and of very good scotch family. major bohun, mr. adair, and her own husband, george cumberland, had been firm friends in india at the time of major bohun's death. she could not help thinking, she added in conclusion, that it was the remembrance of that early friendship which induced mr. adair to give so ready and cordial a consent to his daughter's union with major bohun's son.

and so there the matter ended, all couleur-de-rose; arthur believing that there could be no possible objection to his marrying ellen adair; nay, that the way had been most markedly paved for it through this letter of mr. adair's; mrs. cumberland deeming that she was not indiscreet in permitting the marriage to be a private one. both were unsuspicious as the day. he, that there existed any real objection; she, that mr. adair's consent applied to a very different man from arthur bohun.

captain bohun went out from mrs. cumberland's in search of ellen, with the light of love flushing his cheeks. he found her in the same sheltered spot, hedged in from the gaze of the world. again alone. the servant had gone to the shops, to buy ribbon. their salutations hitherto had been nothing but decorum and formality, as witness that of the previous day.

"good-morning," said ellen, rising and holding out her hand.

instead of taking it, he took herself. took her in his arms with a cry of long-repressed emotion, and laid her sweet face upon his breast, kissing it with impassioned kisses. ellen, utterly astonished, could not escape.

"do not shrink from me, ellen. you are to be my wife."