Lord Glenorme, for it was he, offered his arm. Florence dared not refuse to take it, but she trembled so much that he asked, with real concern, whether she was ill. Florence made some inarticulate reply. As soon as they reached the castle, she took refuge in her own apartment. On the plea of indisposition, Miss Dudley remained alone for the rest of the day.

CHAPTER XIX.

PARBLEU! je ne vois pas, lorsque je m'examine,
Où prendre aucun sujet d'avoir l'ame chagrine;
J'ai du bien, je suis jeune, et sors d'une maison
Qui se peut dire noble avec quelque raison;
Et je crois par le rang que me donne ma race,
Qu'il est fort peu d'emplois dont je ne sois en passe.
Pour le cœur, dont surtout nous devons faire cas,
On sait, sans vanité, que je n'en manque pas;
Pour de l'esprit, j'en ai, sans doute; et du bon goût,
A juger sans étude, et raisonner du tout;

Je suis assez adroit ; j'ai bon air, bonne mine,
Les dents belles surtout, et la taille fort fine.
Quant à se mettre bien, je crois, sans me flatter,
Qu'on serait mal venu de me le disputer.

MOLIÈRE.

SUCH was Lord Glenorme's estimate of himself. Did he over-rate his importance in the social scale? Decidedly not. Young, handsome, noble, wealthy, not above par in intellect, but competent (in his own eyes) to discuss, with ease and fluency, all subjects, from church discipline or political economy down to the cut of a paletôt or the pirouette of an opera-dancer,

"Que son mérite est extrême!

Que de graces, que de grandeur!
Ah! combien monseigneur

Doit être content de lui-même!"

He was a universal favourite; all felt the charm of the gay insouciance of his temperament, the graceful abandon of his conversation. Was he capable of true friendship? Assuredly he had none of the qualities of

a good hater. The world smiled upon him, and he smiled upon the world. Did he remember

"Sur quelque préférence une estime se fonde,

Et c'est n'estimer rien qu'estimer tout le monde ? At Eton, at Oxford, in his own family, he was equally popular. A high spirit, a ceaseless flow of good humour, a lively wit, a lavish expenditure, ensure universal approbation far more than the most sterling qualities of heart and head. Few stopped to enquire whether a want of principle lay beneath this flowery surface; the fate of Phoebe Brown opened the eyes of a few, a very few. Lord Wentworth, who had indulged his son with culpable weakness, was startled, as by the trump of doom, when he awoke to the selfishness of Lord Glenorme's character. Lady Wentworth treated the affair very coolly; she looked with superb disdain upon the sacrifice of the one ewe-lamb. "Glenorme must sow his wild oats, make a brilliant marriage, and all Iwould be well. As for Phoebe-poor creature-gold would wipe out shame!"

Her ladyship was mistaken; no golden shower could restore the tarnished purity of the maiden's fame; no earthly dross could efface the foul blot of sin. The widow and her child shrank with horror from the glittering bribe. "Thy money perish with thee!" was the bitter taunt of the despairing mother, in answer to the offered bounty of the haughty Countess.

Phoebe never held her head up again, but withered away, like a rifted branch, grovelling in the dust, trodden under foot of men.

Lord Glenorme, stung by remorse, mourned, for a time, with poignant anguish, the ruin he had wrought, but he speedily recovered his usual happy indifference to everything not centred in self. He was the first person to be considered, and to him all minor objects must give way.

Phoebe had crossed his path; he had gathered the rose, and flung it away-what of that?

"Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero sate," &c.

Florence Dudley was the first person who staggered Lord Glenorme's opinion of his own invincible powers of attraction. He had been struck by our heroine's beauty at first sight; upon further acquaintance he was fascinated by the originality of her character, the simplicity of her manners; finally, he was piqued by the perfect nonchalance with which she treated him. He did not entertain the least doubt of winning the young lady's affections if he chose to enter the lists, but Cecilia's inuendoes were not thrown away. Another might win and wear the prize while he was deliberating whether to contend for it. After all, she was wellborn, beautiful, accomplished; she would wear the ancient coronet of the Wentworths with dignity and grace. She would add another to the long line of beauties who had played their little hour as Countesses of Wentworth. She is capable of real passion, she would love me for my own sake, and then I should ensure her eternal gratitude by my disinterested choiceI, who might select a bride among the noblest daughters of England!"

Upon the strength of these meditations his lordship devoted himself seriously to Miss Dudley. To his surprise and anger, his advances were received, not only with coldness, but with ill-concealed aversion. For the first time he encountered an obstacle; of course, he fell desperately in love with his fair tormentor, and, as a necessary consequence, was furiously jealous of Mr. Temple. That gentleman gave no grounds for Lord Glenorme's jealousy; he was polite and attentive to Miss Dudley; nothing more.

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"As

To return to the daily routine at the castle. You Like It" was given up; "" Comus was rehearsed daily, and half-a dozen tableaux vivants, selected from the Waverley Novels, were arranged and rearranged with admirable perseverance. From these rehearsals Miss Dudley would make her escape to Lady Mary Temple's

dressing-room. Florence and Cecilia passed many happy mornings with her ladyship, who welcomed them with unaffected pleasure. The society of Lady Mary was inexpressibly delightful to our heroine; she had the organ of veneration (so lamentably lacking in the rising generation of this enlightened age) powerfully developed. She was never weary of admiring her new friend. "The most delightful faculty of the human mind is veneration," was her creed. "We rise above our grovelling sphere when our love is blended with generous admiration. Heaven grant I may never learn the art 'not to admire !""

One morning, Lady Mary asked Florence to describe her mountain-home; she drew a sketch con

amore.

"Are you very sure, my dear girl, that the still life among the mountains will not lose its charms after the gay routine at Wentworth Castle?"

Florence smiled. "Our mountains remind me of the effect the pines produced upon the little child of Madame. Le Brun, Ces arbres invitent au silence!' Every thought of worldly gaiety, every sound of idle mirth, is hushed in the holy shadow of the everlasting hills."

Lady Mary sighed. "The happiest hours of my life were passed in a mountainous country," she said. Florence's eyes asked to hear more, but her tongue was mute. Lady Mary smiled sadly. "Something prompts me to tell you my story."

"Oh dear Lady Mary, will you be so very kind?" "My love, if you expect to hear a 'strange, diverting history,' you will be cruelly disappointed. Such as it is, however, you shall hear it."

Florence drew near to her ladyship, and listened eagerly to the following sketch :—

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My youth was not happy; left an orphan at a very early age, I was reared by strangers (a distant relative succeeded to my father's title and estates) in my ancestral home. My aunt (so I was taught to call Lady