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"Was she!-why, is she not still ?" "No, she is not."

"Solemnly asserted, and, no doubt, deeply felt. Why, you answer, Bathurst, as if you were in a confessional, and I a holy father about to inflict penance."

Bathurst laughed as he replied, "I believe I was a little too serious; but as I know report has mixed my name with that of Miss Manvers, I thought it as well not to give report any help."

"Or rather," said Colonel Hawkins, "you were not thinking in the smallest degree about report or Miss Manvers either."

For at this moment the colonel observed that Bathurst had discovered Jeannette to be seated near them, and that he had in consequence raised his voice in making his assertion respecting Miss Manvers.

"Take care, Bathurst," resumed Colonel Hawkins in a lower voice; "you are, I am afraid, like a silly moth deserting a flower that could nourish you, for a light that may destroy you."

Bathurst paused for a second; for he fully understood the extent of the caution, and the reasons why it was given came before his mind like a cloud, darkening the brightness of his love. He felt at the same moment the necessity of answering, and the difficulty of doing so. Colonel Hawkins saw his embarrassment, and kindly continued,

"You mean, I see, that Una's angel face

Has made a sunshine in the shady place."

And, as he spoke, he pointed to a drawing of Westall's which was before them, representing a beautiful girl as the Una of Spenser.

Bathurst was relieved, but not pleasantly, and he ap proached Jeannette with some fear that she had overheard more of the conversation than he could wish.

"I have been repelling a charge brought against me," he said, "of admiring Miss Manvers."

"And why ?"

The simplicity of the question puzzled him, but he quickly answered,

"Because, in these days, to admit that you admire is dan

gerous. Your hearers forthwith conclude that you love, and are kind enough to announce in the Morning Post, that you will shortly lead to the altar the accomplished and beautiful Miss X. Y."

"Or, as in this case, Miss E. M., each name followed by its due proportion of expressive dots."

"Precisely, and then one has to be rude and distant to the parties, to prove that nothing has been meant, nor even will be. A sort of begging of the question, I allow; for men under such circumstances always act on the presumption that they would certainly have been accepted."

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"As perhaps," said Jeannette, smiling, " in some instances they might. You have however thoroughly convinced me that you do not at present mean to marry Miss Manvers— what you may do hereafter, you cannot know yourself."

Jeannette spoke en badinant, but Bathurst's answer was seriousness itself.

"Not know, Jeannette !-not know that I shall never marry where I do not love!" These words were uttered in a low voice, but spoken with earnestness, and Jeannette raised her eyes smilingly to his, as if to say to him, "Be not displeased,--I was but in jest." That smile threw a radiance over her countenance, that made her look more lovely, graceful, sweet, and kind, than ever. Had there been magic in the web of it, it could not have more suddenly or more vividly thrilled the heart of him to whom it had been directed. It left him no longer master of himself, and he said, in continuation, but in a still lower voice-" My affections are differently placed, and so placed, Jeannette, that they can never be transferred-no, never !”

And she felt that his eyes were fixed on her as he spoke, as if he would penetrate her very soul. Her cheek flushed violently, she dared not raise her eyes, she could not speak, she wondered whether these words were a direct appeal to herself, or spoken in confidence to her of his love for another. This doubt was so intensely painful, that, inopportune as was the arrival of her brother Hamond, she hailed it with delight. Speaking seemed to break the spell that enthralled her, and the words, "My dear Hamond!" enabled her again to breathe with freedom. For the whole of that evening one only thought crossed and recrossed her mind:-"If he should suspect that I imagined, for one moment, he could be thinking of me."

He certainly did more than suspect the exact nature of her feelings; and Hamond was not without some misgiving of his having interrupted a tête-à-tête more than commonly interesting to both parties. He was perhaps more angry with Jeannette than he had ever been before in his life; but he scarcely left her side again that evening, and never lost sight of her.

Jeannette was silent and absorbed; yet the conviction that she was beloved, gained strength every hour. Little more of distinct communication took place between herself and Lindsay Bathurst that evening: but he was ever near her, and when he wished her good night, he said,—“ What sweet hours have some of these been to me!"

She did not venture to reply, but hastened to the solitude of her own apartment to indulge her thoughts and to conceal her tears--such tears as are seldom shed, and which only spring from plenteous joys--tears of deep, ecstatic bliss. At one moment she thought of Matilda, and wished that she should know how blest she felt; but the brief inquiry, "What have I to tell?" checked the first intent of going to her.

She did not want society, for nothing on earth had ever been so precious to her as her own busy thoughts. What though, in their restlessness, they ever and again revolved the same small round of sweet sensations? What though blushing, smiling, weeping, the whole world was for a time forgotten, and Lindsay Bathurst alone beheld, alone remembered? She was but too happy in this first deep and entire concentration of her feelings. She paused not to remark that the fibres of which she was weaving the web of her happiness were of the finest and slightest texture. She did not remember that she had hitherto combated the love which she felt to be in her bosom, and called it prudent to do so. She recalled not a doubt that had ever existed in her mind-they were gone, never to return. She was beloved, and by Lindsay Bathurst. It was enough. Her heart, which she had hitherto watched so tenaciously, might now be abandoned to its own guidance! The past and future, as far as they entered into her calcula tions and there are few moments in which we do not turn to the one or to the other,—were equally marked by a train of light. And no bird ever joyed in a sunbeam as did this happy girl in her recollections, and in the swiftly created visions that sprung from them,

CHAPTER XXV.

Didst thou but know the inly touch of love,
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow,
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
SHAKSPEARE.

AND did Lindsay Bathurst, without a struggle, consent to love Jeannette Langham? Had his prejudices disappeared before the radiance of her beauty, and, as threads touched by the flame, given way when opposed to the charm of her unaffected manner, and the undimmed purity of her mind? No, he loved Jeannette fondly, but in his own despite, for his opinions remained unchanged. The idea of Mrs. Langham was perpetually haunting and annoying him, except in the immediate presence of Jeannette. Like the dream of Imogen, it was without him and within him, and he might with truth have laid his hand upon his heart, and said, "Not imagined, felt."

He endeavoured to change his opinions and to overcome his feelings; but, like well-practised wrestlers, they appeared to gain strength and activity by exercise, and he at length seemed to himself to be much in the condition of Sisyphus or Ixion. The stone which he had rolled so repeatedly to the top of the hill, was again at his heels in the valley,-the wheel of punishment still turned, and still carried him along with it.

But his love was deep-seated and sincere, and he therefore had intervals not only of exemption from painful reflections, but of perfect happiness. Jeannette's innocence of mind was a perpetual fountain of delight to him. "She herself," he said, "might have breathed on the mirror of Prince Zehn!" Then, too, the hope he possessed, that the sentiment he was inspiring was, or would be, as powerful as what he felt! For, however vacillating his mind with regard to the future, that hope, from the time it took possession of his breast, never deserted him. And it may be that in man, as in woit is more difficult to surrender the wish of being beloved than to conquer the most ardent passion. So at least it was

man,

with Bathurst! he could more easily have resolved never to see Jeannette again, than have put to silence one whisper of hope that told him she could and would adore him.

His faith on this head will possibly cause his subsequent conduct to be condemned as inconsistent and unnatural. That it was a thousand-fold more guilty, is admitted; but it was neither inconsistent with his character, nor, it may be feared, entirely out of nature. But this is to anticipate. He met Jeannette the morning after he believed her fully in possession of his feelings towards her, with an elated heart. He had been long waiting on the lawn, impatiently expecting her appearance; but that morning she came down later than usual; and a timidity which she could not overcome caused her accents, when she was called upon to speak, to die away upon her lips almost unheard. She however accepted Captain Bathurst's arm to walk towards some dahlias, but felt as if she were guilty of a fault in doing so. They met Matilda, which increased her embarrassment, and she rejoiced when the breakfast bell summoned them from their walk. Lindsay Bathurst perceived all that was passing in her mind, and was silent from exquisite pleasure. He strove in vain to meet her carefully averted eyes. Jeannette was justly afraid of all he might read there, and even at his solicitation never once raised them till seated at the breakfast table. When she did so, she found that Lindsay Bathurst, whom she considered still at her side, had placed himself opposite to her. The eye has long been pronounced a good messenger. Jeannette's crimsoned cheek and throbbing temples, and the nervous assiduity with which she endeavoured to talk to every body and of every thing, sufficiently attested that Captain Bathurst's fully supported their claim to this reputed quality.

She was soon restored to self-possession, or rather lulled into oblivion of what had too much delighted her, by an announcement from Colonel Hawkins as painful as it was unexpected.

"I am most unsoldierly late," said he, approaching Matilda; "and beg you a thousand pardons, Miss Langham, for my delinquency;. but I have had letters to occupy and annoy me, I am afraid I must tear myself from this elysium to-day."

Everybody exclaimed against such a possibility-and

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