"My dear Robert," cried Mrs. Mayne, fretfully, "do come here; you have twisted your cravat under your left ear; there― now do keep it straight, and pray do not look so wild; leave your hair alone; it sticks up frightfully."

Mr. Mayne bore somewhat impatiently his wife's fussy arrangement of his tie, and then he went and looked out at the door. Harriett's heart beat at every footstep she heard along the street; beat expectantly, as the footsteps neared-faintly, despairingly, when they passed. If he did not come to-night, she would really give him up. Yes, although it was only a few days since the dinner at the Hall-since his ring and his meaning words awoke wild. hopes in her too sanguine heart! These hopes were well nigh dead now there was only one left that she might see him tonight, be able to speak a few words apart. She did not fear her skill to sound him, and to discover whether or not he had any

meaning in those foolish words, and that foolish gift; but she now, for the first time, doubted her power to move and charm him. Yes, if he could pass her, and never see her, why, he could not love her. Just when her reflections were becoming very bitter, and her hands involuntarily clenched tight enough to be painful, Mr. Mayne turned from his post of observation at the door, saying, "Here they are at last." But Mr. Mayne was mistaken; only one person entered the room, the "they" being represented by Lord Talbot and a humble apology.

"St. Clare was called to London on such very important business. Nothing else, I am sure, would have prevented his being here." Lord Talbot never scrupled to tell these conventional lies when "good taste" required them. "But I have been careful to provide you with a substitute, Mr. Mayne. Quite as accomplished a musician" (fib number two), and a much more interesting

pianiste-a lady-Mrs. Romilly. She will be here directly."

"Really, this is very kind of her," exclaimed Robert Mayne, with a smile of gratitude; "most kind, But I am sorry to lose Mr. St. Clare. I have quite depended on him lately."

"Poor Sevelli!" said Talbot, laughing, "His beauty is entirely spoilt. That was a fine chase you had after the Burrows. Quite exciting. But I fear it will be a disagreeable business if it comes to a trial. I wish I could talk Leslie over about it. But he is so offended-Ah! here is Beatrice."

The door opened, and in rustled Mrs. Romilly. She shook hands with Mr. Mayne, and then the ladies. She was elegantly dressed, in a pale grey silk, a black lace shawl, and one of those wonders of elegant bonnets that look as though they had never been made, but tossed together in a freak by the milliner. She was self-possessed and smiling.

Harriett felt all at once strangely awkward and ill at ease, conscious that her dress was home-made, and her bonnet oldfashioned. She did not envy Mrs. Romilly, she rather disliked her. It gave her thrills of misery every time the cousins addressed each other as “Henry” and “Beatrice.” It was very foolish, very wrong; but it was so. The ring seemed to burn on Harriett's finger. "If only she could find an oppor

tunity to return it to-night!'

CHAPTER IV.

"Where'er a noble deed is wrought,
Where'er is spoke a noble thought,
Our hearts, in glad surprise,
To higher levels rise.

The tidal wave of deeper souls
Into our inmost being rolls,
And lifts us, unawares,
Out of all meaner cares."

LONGFELLOW.

HE lecture was finished, and the audi

THE

ence was quitting the room by twos and threes, to the music of "God save the Queen," very brilliantly played. As is generally the case in these institutions, there were very few of that class for whom the lectures had been particularly intended. One could tell, by the dress and bearing of the men and women, that they were not labourers and mechanics, and their wives; but, for the most part, small shopkeepers. They were all gratified by the lecture. Robert Mayne was accustomed to address

VOL. II.

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