his cause. He did not ask for a return of his ardent affection, he durst not aspire so high, he only asked for hope, a word, a look of encouragement to assure him his presumption was pardoned, and that he might persevere, and so on, expecting her to give him some sort of reply; but she kept her eyes fixed on the Dying Gladiator, and neither spoke nor moved. Ferdinand began to fear he had over estimated his chances, and in a tone of deep dejection, implored her at least to give him one forgiving look. Miss Martin then turned her head, and looked full in his face, and considerably perplexed him thereby. There was nothing repulsive in her glance, yet there was not the encouragement he expected her eyes, which like her complexion, were of no particular colour, were yet by no means devoid of expression, and their steady penetrating gaze brought the conscious blood into the lover's cheeks. Still, as she did not dismiss him, he would not appear dismissed; and by returning her gaze as passionately as he could devise, hoped to obtain something more conciliatory. "But one word, Miss Armadale! only one! may I, dare I hope?" Miss Martin again looked at the statues, and slightly raised her eyebrows. "You are under a mistake, Mr. Ferdinand." He protested the contrary: mistake! how could he mistake his own ardent feelings? Miss Martin quietly shook her head. "You know sir, that a person of my appearance and habits is not calculated to win your affection: you are dazzled by my fortune." He clasped his hands in agony; he would have torn his hair, only that would have attracted other people's attention he groaned, protested, would have sworn but that she checked him in time. 66 'I repeat sir, that you are mistaken: do not interrupt me, if you please. I am very sorry that it should have come to this, very sorry but it is not my fault. However, since you are so eager and positive, Mr. Ferdinand, I must request you to wait till this day month. If you are then in the same mind, why that will alter the case; but do not go on making promises and speeches now: I will not consider you bound by any of them, remember that: you may be thankful to remember it some day." Ferdinand, who now thought his prize secure, poured forth his thanks in spite of her prohibition, and undismayed by the coldness of her manner, looked the very picture of adoring gratitude. "All right, mother," he whispered in Mrs. "Crawford's ear as they were coming away, "I am to wait a month, and then she has half promised, if I am of the same mind. "Bless you, my dear boy!" was all his happy mother had time to reply, and when in the carriage, with her guest, she could not refrain from pressing her hand in hers. Miss Martin looked out of the window. Long was the drive, and slippery the road, even as Jem had foretold; Miss Martin was tired, and vexed and fidgetty, but little did she know how every delay in their progress was felt by her imprisoned leader. As hour after hour passed slowly away, and no one approached her place of confinement, and the fire went out for want of coals, and the long wick of the candle grew gigantic for want of snuffers, Margaret's feelings of impatience and irritation became almost insupportable. In all her adventures it had never yet happened to her to be restrained to a few feet square without the power of escape, and she felt more and more convinced every minute that she should make a most indifferent martyr. At the same time, a sensation of absurdity made it impossible to feel seriously exasperated. "It is all my own fault," thought Margaret, " poor comfort though that may be: and what makes it worse, I have been outwitted. Well, henceforth, straight paths for me! I have had masquerading enough: and yet on the whole, I cannot regret what I have done. I have learnt more in this month than in my whole previous life, and more I trust, than I shall ever quite forget." She walked to the window and looked out, or rather up, for the lower panes were whitened, but from the upper ones she could see the bright starry heavens, in all the beauty of a clear frosty night. Miss Armadale felt as if she had never appreciated that beauty before and gazed and gazed again, till her high heart melted, and her eyes filled with tears, and her soul lifted itself in prayer. Yes, she had begun to look on those far radiant worlds, not as a spectacle to admire, but as a shrine in which to praise; the yearning void in her desires which nothing earthly could fill, was being filled by slow but sure degrees, with that for which it was created: drop by drop, she scarcely knew how, the dew of religious peace had come down on her awakened spirit, making the tender herb push forth and grow, and the green blade lift its head. She felt not now that sinking depression in which Mary Leyden had found her, for the time in which her accident had kept her to her room, had been well and seriously employed, and having discovered the secret of religious strength, she could boldly look her weakness in the face. As Miss Armadale watched the heavens, Alfred's Christmas song came floating back to her ears; and that passage in particular which had gone like a spear to her heart. "To give with both hands liberally-to love with the whole heart fervently-to press onward, onward still, in the pathway of joyful obedience — bringing heart, and soul, and strength, and intellect, as offerings to the Bridegroom's table; and drinking here on earth of the cup of felicity that shall crown the marriage supper of the Lamb!" And, as she repeated the words, her head bowed itself, and her knees bent, and she was engaged in |