CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE FLAMING SWORD.

Amethyst held many more conversations with Oliver Carisbrooke during the next few weeks, with the result that a distinct, though peculiar, relation was established between them. He was the only person she ever met--Sylvester of course having returned to Oxbridge--who had any intellectual interests, and Amethyst had so vigorous and inquiring a mind, that even fashion and frivolity could not stifle it. He gave her to understand that he was quite outside the ranks of her suitors, and only aspired to a rational friendship, and flattery of her intelligence was so much rarer, and less a matter of course, than flattery of her beauty, that it had a greater charm. He afforded an outlet to that side of her nature which could not be satisfied with the splendid outside of life.

The world was pressing hard on her soul. What had she come to London for, but to make a great marriage? Her family had made sacrifices for it, her acquaintances looked out for it, she herself intended it.

Every day made her engagement to Sir Richard Grattan more inevitable. She liked him very well, she knew that she could make the position that he offered to her splendid, she believed that she should be happy in it, and yet she was buying it at the cost of the divine spark within her which was her very self. She believed that romantic love was over for her, and that she was no longer the kind of person to whom religion could be an inspiring enthusiasm, though she did find in it a standard below which she did not mean to fall. She thought that she had outgrown a great deal in her short life.

Rather, she had hardly begun to grow, and within her were budding impulses, the nature of which she could not yet know. She had decided that the best thing she could do under the circumstances was to marry Sir Richard Grattan, and the habit she had formed, in self-defence, of keeping to the surface of life, prevented her from realising exactly what her resolution involved. In the meantime, Mr Carisbrooke lent her books and discussed them, and made her, she hardly knew how, feel that she was not cut off from the other side of life. He said daring things that stuck in her memory. He, at least, was not worldly-minded.

"Oh, the hero and heroine made a wise choice, I think," he said, discussing a novel. "They had more--more life in one hour of each other, than in all the prosperity they sacrificed."

"But they did wrong," said Amethyst, who took things simply still.

"Did they? Ah, well,--perhaps that was worth while too, for each other."

It will be seen that the discussions had become of an intimate kind.

Amethyst soon found that her friend did not bear an unblemished character. She had already learned to know that many of the men she met did not. She was told he had broken more than one heart. She smiled, and said she happily had none to break. Una, with insight sorely gained, steadily detested him. But she had no help from Amethyst in her own struggle. Her sister did not understand the hope within her, and so could not sympathise with its downfall. She merely soothed the variations of excited feeling which tried Una's strength, and would not own that there was any adequate cause for them.

That all the girl's emotions were violent and morbid was true enough, but Una was engaged in a real battle, and she did not yield herself captive.

For her misfortune, Major Fowler, who had always found her attractive, was caught again by her peculiar looks, and more developed character, and, though he meant nothing more than a renewal of the old sentimental relation between them, he inflicted agony on Una, to whom that relation had been so real a thing.

All the peace of her soul was gone, and as with her all was emotion, the struggle between right and wrong was a struggle between two personal loves. Her prayers seemed all in vain, no image but one haunted her visions, but she never forgot that the love that she believed herself to have lost, was the higher and the better thing; and, as she passed through the tormented weary days, she watched her sister, and wondered what fate Amethyst was preparing for herself.

In the middle of June there was to be a great ball at the Grattans'. Kattern and Tory had been by favour invited to it, and there were many who expected that the announcement of Sir Richard's engagement would then be formally made. Although the need of fresh costumes was beginning to pinch the Miss Haredales, Amethyst prepared a new and becoming one for the occasion.

The day of the ball had been very hot. Una, as white as her gown, and very unfit for the exertion, was leaning back in a low chair in the open drawing-room window, resting till all the others were ready to go. Kattern, fresh and blooming, stood near her, buttoning the endless buttons of her long gloves. Tory was whisking about the room, and making remarks at intervals.

"I shall keep you in order, Kat," she said, "you don't flirt in good style. I shall tell mother to look after you."

"You know nothing about it," said Kattern, calmly.

"It's quite a family affair," pursued Tory, "even asking the children! Well, I wonder what the Leighs will think! Lucian treated Amethyst very