OLD ACQUAINTANCE.

Lord Effingham's visits were constant and apparently welcome, for Kate soon began to observe a restlessness in her cousin, when the hour at which he usually made his appearance passed without his arrival. At first, Kate had taken her work or book to her own room or to the Palace Garden, when his name was announced, but Lady Desmond had soon cut off her retreat by observing—

"You must act chaperone for me, dear Kate, but if strangers are so repugnant to you, I will tell Lord Effingham, and he shall not come here any more."

And Miss Vernon knew very well, whatever her inclination might be, what was expected. Yet there was much in their visitor's conversation that drew her out of herself, and interested her by force of contrast to her own views, although the indolence of depression rendered her averse to the exertion of argument. Besides, Lord Effingham was often apparently unconscious of her presence, and scarcely ever addressed himself to her, so much so, that Lady Desmond had thought herself called upon to make a sort of apology for him.

Yet Kate more than once caught his eyes fixed upon herself, and felt that her few occasional observations were listened to with an attention all the deeper for its unobtrusiveness; in short, she felt certain he remembered her, and watched for some indication, either of consciousness or resentment on her part, while each day rendered her more at ease, as she observed his attentions to her cousin.

The quiet routine of their lives was seldom interrupted.

Lady Desmond sometimes went to town, and generally Lord Effingham's name figured in the same list of distinguished fashionables present at balls, dinners, &c., with her own. Kate began to think that their present intercourse had fallen into a natural channel of indifference, and that the bold stranger of Kensington Gardens, was totally merged in the high-bred reserved earl; but she was mistaken.

One morning a feverish cold confined Lady Desmond to her bed, and the Hampton Court doctor threatened her with every ill "that flesh is heir to," if she did not, by care and submission to a few days seclusion, nip the growing disorder in the bud. Kate was anxious and uneasy about her, the very thought of a sick room made her heart ache.

"Do not look so unhappy about me, love," said her cousin, "it is my will to remain here; I want solitude, I want freedom from external influences; you shall read to me good books."

"Milord, his compliments, is very unhappy to hear your ladyship is ill, and begs to know particularly how you are."

"Oh! Kate, run down to him, will you, dearest, say I am too unwell to see him, for a week to come, at least; you will—observe—there go, darling."

Kate obeyed, neither with alacrity or reluctance, Lord Effingham had almost ceased to be connected in her mind with the audacious stranger who had addressed her, and although this was the first time she had met him alone, since that occurrence, it was with perfect composure she returned his salute, and met his eager scrutinising glance without a shade more of colour tinging her pale cheek.

"I am inconsolable at hearing of Lady Desmond's indisposition," said Lord Effingham, before Kate could address a word to him. "How did she catch cold? Has she good advice!"

"I do not think her very ill," replied Miss Vernon, "a little care and quiet is all she requires; but she desires me to say, she fears she will not be able to see you for some days; next week, if you should be in this neighbourhood, probably you will find her reinstated in our usual morning room."

"Of course I shall make enquiries every day for the health of my charming friend."

And as Kate could not avoid thinking there was something of a sneer in the smile and tone with which these words were spoken, they revived all her antipathy to the dark browed peer. Anxious to dismiss him, yet not wishing to show it, she stood a moment, undecided, when Lord Effingham, with a sudden change of voice and expression, from the measured tone and listless look, with which he usually spoke, to one of animation and earnestness, exclaimed—

"No, Miss Vernon, I cannot go yet, though you indicate your desire that I should, by standing. I cannot let the opportunity, I have so long sought, pass, without ascertaining whether your memory is as imperfect as mine is vivid."

"If you mean," returned Miss Vernon, raising her eyes to his with the calmness now so habitual to her, "if you mean that you met me before, and that I forget it, you are mistaken; I remember that very unpleasant circumstance perfectly."

He was evidently annoyed by her candour and tranquillity.

"I regret to find you still resent my conduct, you at least might excuse it."

Kate smiled.

"I do not resent it now; since that," she continued, "I have gone through much affliction, I have experienced real grief and sorrow, such as reduce all petty annoyances to their proper level; but why revert to what is past."

"To ask you to—not exactly to forgive, but to acknowledge that my bold attempt to grasp the inexpressible pleasure of your acquaintance was not so heinous."

"Really, Lord Effingham, I should be obliged to you not to continue this conversation any further; I do not suppose it possible for you to comprehend the effect produced on my mind by your audacity; pardon me, but it is the only word that sufficiently expresses my impression of your conduct on the occasion to which you allude. Let it be forgotten, I would not for worlds disturb my cousin with any revelation so likely——"

"Yes," interrupted Lord Effingham, absently, "I perceived, at a glance, that the fair widow was ignorant of the affair, but be it as you choose, for the future, only, if you are to continue her inmate, take my advice, and withhold the disclosure altogether."

And he smiled with an expression of insolent power, that made Kate's heart thrill with indignation.

"My Lord, I do not require a stranger's advice, what to confide to, or what to withhold from my earliest and dearest friend; you must excuse me, I have left Lady Desmond alone."

"One moment," cried Lord Effingham, springing to the door, "we meet again as friends? You must not refuse to give me bulletins of your cousin's health in person."

"I have no wish to embroil the even tenor of my life, about what can concern me no more, I wish you a good morning, my Lord."

He held the door open, and bowed low, as she passed out, then returning to the place where she had stood, remained a moment in silent thought, gnawing his under lip.

"By——," he at length muttered, "I would hate her if I could; if she was less lovely; her supreme disdain of my admiration was so real, and her indifference! Yet her cousin is more beautiful, and would have acted the part perfectly, but all the time I should have felt it was only the graceful acting of my slave; this is real, this girl is free as air, and I feel as if afloat in some new and unexplored ocean, where my compasses are at fault, and the stars no longer those I used to steer by."

He looked absently through the window till the animated fiery glance faded into a cold, sneering smile, then slowly descending to the hall door, mounted his horse, and gallopped across the park at full speed.

Kate's heart was beating faster when she returned to Lady Desmond's room than when she left it; there was something of insolence and conscious power in Lord Effingham's manner, that was totally strange and repugnant to her; this short interview with him had recalled all the sore feeling of resentful indignation and wounded pride, that had so galled her on their first meeting, and though she felt, rather than reasoned, that it would be most unwise to disclose the rencontre to Lady Desmond, she was indescribably provoked to think there was any thing like a secret between her and the proud, bold Earl.

"Well, dear Kate, how did Lord Effingham take his sentence of banishment?"

"He did not take it at all; he said he would ride over every day, to make enquiries in person."

"And did he tell you any news?"

"No."

"He never tells news! How unlike the present race of babblings into which our aristocracy has degenerated."

"Why, what does he do?"

"Ah, Kate, he is no favourite with you; I see his foreign indifference to unmarried women has prejudiced you."

"No, indeed, I neither like nor dislike him, but there is something in his face, and voice, and manner, I could never trust."

"Lord Effingham does not pretend to be a pattern man, and certainly he is, when he likes it, a most agreeable member of society," returned Lady Desmond, rather coldly. "But will you answer that note of Lady Elizabeth's, I cannot, of course, dine with her."

And Kate perceived, by this sudden change, that her cousin did not like to pursue the subject.

True to his word, Lord Effingham rode over every day to make his enquiries for Lady Desmond, in person, and Kate resolutely secluded herself during the few moments of his stay, in her cousin's or her own chamber.

One morning the invalid was sufficiently well to receive two or three dear (fine lady) friends. Kate stole away from their gossip, to her an unknown tongue, and established herself on a shady seat, commanding a view of the park, her book lay idly in her hand, and lulled by the hum of the insects, and the gentle rush of the water from one pond to another, she gave herself up to the past.

"How poor dear grandpapa would have delighted in this place; how Georgy would have cheered him, and now it is too late!"

And the bitterness of sorrow softened for a while in new scenes, and the increased occupation of the last few days, came back all freshly to her mind; every look, every tone of her beloved parent, was recalled with a distinctness that made her heart ache, and the emptiness and aimlessness of her present life stood out vividly before her.

"Ah, forgive me great Father, if I cannot yet, with perfect submission, say, 'Thy will be done, help me, strengthen me.' She involuntarily raised her eyes as she murmured these last words, half aloud; and they met those of Lord Effingham, which wore a grave and more earnest look than usual, as if Kate's slight form, with its mourning garb, and her pale calm face, its expression, spiritualised by the thoughts that occupied her mind, had struck his hard nature with some new sense of truth and beauty.

"Forgive my intrusion," said he, advancing with his usual easy self-assured air, "they told me Miss Vernon was out, and as you have hitherto allowed me to languish, on such meagre reports of your cousin's health, as I could gain from Mademoiselle Louise, I ventured to seek a personal interview with you, al fresco."

"Lady Desmond will probably see you on Monday, my Lord. Mrs. Cranbourne and her sister were admitted to-day," returned Kate, with quiet politeness.

"Yes," said Lord Effingham, absently, "pray Miss Vernon, can you, and will you give me, le mot de l'enigme."

"I do not understand you."

"What was the cause of Lady Desmond's illness, or rather her sudden fancy for the retirement of her own chamber?"

"My cousin, unfortunately, caught cold on Thursday; she sat near an open window, at one of the Ancient Concerts, and——."

"My dear Miss Vernon, that is the official report, but I want to know why she chooses to submit to the martyrdom, which confinement and inaction is to her, rather than receive me?"

"You imagine then, that her illness is pretended to avoid you? if your curiosity lasts over to-morrow, I will ask her, and give you her solution of the enigma."

Lord Effingham laughed scornfully.

"I do not jest," continued Kate, simply. "I shall repeat to her, both what you have said, and any thing you may add, in the same tone."

"Then you are great friends," said Lord Effingham, seating himself on the bench beside her, "you are angry that I should doubt the illness of one of the fairest daughters of Erin, whose cheek was ever tinged by the roses of health; but, seriously, you will not make mischief between us? I would never forgive you; do you not see I am very fond of Lady Desmond?"

He leant forward as he spoke these words, with much earnestness, to see what effect they produced on Kate, and at the same time two officers in undress cavalry uniform lounged past; both glanced quickly at Miss Vernon and her companion, but withdrew their eyes immediately, as if conscious of having intruded on an interesting tete-À-tete.

Kate's heart almost stood still with a spasm of memory, as she recognised Colonel Dashwood; she could not refrain from exclaiming his name aloud, he turned immediately, and bowing, with a profound and grave respect, which showed Kate he had heard of the loss she had sustained, took her hand and made some general enquiries, with an air of kindly interest.

"I am staying with Lady Desmond," she said, her eyes filling with tears, "and you——."

"Oh, some of us are quartered here, the rest scattered in small detachments; I like the place, and am here as much as possible, if you will allow me, I shall do myself the pleasure of calling on you to-morrow."

"I shall be very happy to see you," she replied; and with another low bow, Colonel Dashwood joined his companion and walked away.

"So," exclaimed Lord Effingham, "you cultivate dragoons, do you, Miss Vernon? Well, has not the promise of that very "rear rank take open order," looking individual to call upon you, softened your intention of making mischief between me and La Vedova ammalata?"

"Lord Effingham," said Miss Vernon, quietly, rising from her seat, "I do not know why you choose to adopt a sneering tone towards people in general, but this I do know, that to me, such confidences, as are implied by questions, about Lady Desmond, are peculiarly distasteful; I have no wish to say anything in the least uncivil, but I should prefer remaining on terms of the most distant acquaintance with you." She bowed slightly, and walked away, but he followed her in an instant, looking dark and haughty.

"I thank you for so clear an exposition of your sentiments; perhaps it was scarcely required; but you have not yet answered my question; will you repeat my observations to Lady Desmond?"

"I shall—may I beg you to leave me."

"Ha," said Lord Effingham, "you have not your canine ally to compel me doing so."

At this moment, all Kate's pride and decision melted before the memories thus called up; and, with a sudden gesture, indicative of her incapability to endure his presence another moment, she pressed her hands to her eyes, in the vain effort to stem the torrent of grief, that swelled her heart.

Lord Effingham retired at this silent, but unmistakeable expression of her feelings, with a look of half startled, half sullen, yet not wholly uncompassionate; and Kate, stealing quickly through the open window of the morning-room, reached her own unnoticed.

Lady Desmond was in remarkably good spirits at dinner, and Kate was struck by the air of joyous exultation, that seemed as it were to illuminate her grand style of beauty.

"I am right glad to be well again, cousin mine," she exclaimed. "Glad to be in the world, though, alas! all the mental revolution I intended to make is unaccomplished."

"I do not know what it was, dearest," returned Miss Vernon, "so I cannot tell whether I ought to mourn over another block being added to that pavement of which we have heard so often."

"Well, perhaps it was needless, but now we are free from the servants, tell me all that news over again."

"Lord Effingham," began Kate.

"Nay, dear girl, your own friends first."

"Well then, Colonel Dashwood said he would call here to-morrow."

"I shall be very glad to know him. I had left Dungar long before he was there; and I have a grudge against him, Kate, for I fancy it was the remembrance connected with his appearance, that caused those tears, of which I can still detect the traces on your face."

"No, Georgy, no, indeed" replied Miss Vernon, earnestly. "Now," she continued, "let me return to Lord Effingham, he heard, it seemed, that I was in the Palace-gardens, and came after me, to ask me what was the real cause of your indisposition, and to laugh at my story of "a cold!""

"Indeed!" said Lady Desmond, with a slight start. "What other reason could he imagine?"

"I do not know, but—" she paused.

"Pray go on," said Lady Desmond, impatiently, "I hate to have things cut short."

"Really," returned Miss Vernon, "I only hesitate, because it seemed so impertinent, what I am about to tell you."

"Never mind—go on—dispense with preface."

"Lord Effingham said, or rather by what he said, seemed to think, it was to avoid him, you feigned illness!"

"He does," exclaimed Lady Desmond, with interest; then an instant after, with haughty indifference, she continued—"He gives me credit for more ingenuity, than I possess! yet—" and she leant back, resting one cheek on her hand, the expression of disdain, she had called up, fading into a look of pensive thought, almost sad. "How strange he is—how impenetrable; but these things are so much altered by repetition."

Lady Desmond thought long and gravely, at length her brow cleared—a smile parted her lips—

"Perhaps I have disentangled this mystery," she said; "time will tell, at all events, bella mia, I know the world—Lord Effingham's world—better than you do. I shall not notice 'the impertinence,' as you deem it."

"Indeed you do know best, Georgy dear, at least, in general, for you have experience, which I have not; but as to Lord Effingham, I have an instinct, worth whole a life-time of experience, that he is false and selfish—he admires you, indeed he said he was fond of you; but, oh, do not regard him with anything except the—"

"Ah, Lord Effingham appears to have been making quite a confidante of you, Kate! a rare compliment let me tell you," interrupted Lady Desmond, laughingly, "of course he begged of you not to repeat his confidence?"

"Yes, and I told I would."

"Well, dearest, it is a strange intimacy that has sprung up between you, and this very Giaour-like peer," returned Lady Desmond, in her sweetest manner, and quite regardless of Kate's warning. "I know not where it—"

"Lady Elizabeth Macdonnell," announced the footman; and the privy council was ended.

Colonel Dashwood made his appearance, at the proper hour for visiting, the next morning, and very much rejoiced was Kate to welcome him; he reminded her of much that was sad, 'tis true, but of sadness untinged by any bitter; and then, she had, since the day before, been haunted by the image of Fred Egerton, as he lay, pale and helpless, on a blue chintz sofa, in Mr. Winter's drawing-room, which was the latest, and clearest memory connected with Colonel Dashwood.

The conversation was, at first, rather constrained, the mind of both the visitor and visited being full of thoughts they feared to broach—Kate dreaded, yet longed to speak of her grandfather—she feared a rush of tears, that might embarrass her kind and pleasant acquaintance, but her candid, real nature, soon helped her out of the difficulty. Dashwood spoke in terms of cordial and judicious praise of the kind old man; Kate listened with delight, and told him of her happiness with her cousin, to whom she longed to present him, and felt more intimate with the gay, high-bred dragoon, than she had ever felt before.

"You remember Egerton, at A——, Miss Vernon?"

"Oh, yes, I wished to ask you about him."

"He has just been Gazetted Lieutenant Colonel of the —th Lancers, you have heard, of course, he distinguished himself greatly, at ——."

"Yes, he wrote to dear grandpapa; we got the letter scarcely a week before—" she turned aside to hide the tears that would roll down her cheek, in spite of all her efforts to restrain them. "If you should write to Captain—Colonel Egerton, I mean, pray tell him, stern was the summons that prevented a reply to his kind letter, he will be sorry to hear of my irreparable loss."

"Colonel Vernon had not a warmer admirer in the world, than Fred Egerton," cried Dashwood. "Indeed Fred was just the sort of fellow to appreciate him. Well, good morning, Miss Vernon, I am most happy to have seen you, and hope you will allow me to call occasionally, while I am here."

The Monday specified by Lady Desmond, as the day on which she would receive Lord Effingham, was anticipated by Kate with some anxiety, and no small degree of curiosity. She wished to see on what terms her cousin and her admirer would meet, if any quarrel had been at the bottom of Lady Desmond's indisposition; and if the Earl was really apprehensive of one arising out of her report of his conversation in the Palace-garden.

Lady Desmond had certainly, not resented her information, for never had Kate seen her so gentle, so loving, and so considerate. They took long drives together, in the balmy summer evenings, sometimes enjoying the exquisite, dewy, perfumed air, and rich cultivated scenery in sympathic silence, sometimes recalling past summer evenings, to each other, and talking at intervals of the past.

At this time a letter reached her from Winter. He had been a much better correspondent since the poor Colonel's death, and his letters were a source of inexpressible comfort to Kate; they cheered, while they sympathized in her deep sorrow—she wrote to him in the fullest confidence, and detailed all matters of personal interest, with a minuteness that showed how welcome was the task of correspondence to her.

The present despatch, after some slight sketch of his plans, which included an excursion of some months into Spain, and a few rapturous exclamations at the scenery, continued thus—"You say, 'now I have room enough in my heart to think of it, I begin to feel, in spite of Georgy's excessive kindness and generosity, a strangely, painful sensation, at times, that not even the clothes I wear, are, properly speaking, my own—shelter, food, all are hers; and though she never, I am certain, gives this a thought, I feel that it mars the equality, which is the soul of friendship—I feel strongly, though indistinctly that this must not, and cannot last; but I am, as yet, incapable of forming any future plan.'

"All this is very natural, and exactly what I advised you and our dear departed friend against, when your cousin invited you to join her at Florence, last year. Dependency is a thing repugnant to human nature; but for the present it is right for you to stay where you are; so be patient, it will be time enough to talk of plans when we return, which will be soon, certainly before Christmas. I want to have you quietly to ourselves, away from finery and fashion, then we will settle everything. Meantime, as I consider you my adopted daughter, if you will allow me, you must just put the enclosed cheque in your dressing-box, as a sort of reserve, in case of foul weather—this is a mere sop to my fidgetty conscience, as I am too selfish to return home at once, to take care of you, which I believe it is my duty to do, and I shall have but small comfort if you refuse; pooh! my dear, it is only to oblige your old maestro!

"I see our former acquaintance, Fred Egerton has been performing prodigies of valour against those wretched Sikhs—what deplorable insanity war is! I have no patience with such courage. Well, good night, I wish you could have a peep at the moon-lit mountain range, opposite my window. Ah! dear child, you have known much sorrow, but who can look on the exquisite loveliness, which earth, though cursed for our sins, still possesses, and doubt that boundless beneficence and wisdom alike framed our dwelling place, and directs the current of our lives, God bless you, Kate; my wife greets you, write soon.

"Your true friend,
"J. Winter."

It may be derogatory to a heroine's character; but the truth must be confessed, that the consciousness of having fifty pounds in her dressing-box, was a great source of repose and security to ours; her own slender means were nearly exhausted, and the alternative of being literally penniless, though surrounded with every luxury, or mentioning the exhausted state of her purse to her open handed cousin, were most insupportable to her—then she could not bear that nurse should feel a want of any kind, and she not able to supply it. It was therefore with no small thankfulness, she penned a reply to her kind friend. Mr. Winter was one of those calm, rational, unselfish people, a compound seldom to be met with, from whom a favour may be safely taken.

"See what Mr. Winter has sent me; a sort of birthday present before hand," said Kate, holding up the cheque to nurse.

"Ah, how much, alanah?"

"Fifty pounds, nurse."

"Och, good christhians! think iv that now, athen, is'nt Misther Winther mighty like that little scrap iv paper himself, a thrifle to look at—but worth a power!"

"Worth so much, that I for one, can never look upon the outward and visible sign of so much goodness, without respect and affection."

"Thrue for ye, Miss Kate, an' so lock it up jewil, there's no sayin' the minnit ye may want it, I've sometimes a ton weight here, so I have, that's mighty quare, an' us in the haigth of grandeur, may be; but where's the use iv makin' ye down-hearted, darlint, wid me dhreams be day or night."

"No, dear nurse," sighed Kate, "I do not wish to hear them."

Monday morning dawned bright, but before noon, dark clouds rolled up from the horizon, Lady Desmond was looking royally beautiful, as she reclined in her bergÈre, her luxuriant, glossy black hair, braided under a small cap of exquisite lace; she was paler than usual, but there was a delicacy in her complexion, that contrasted favourably with her large, dark eyes, which looked up, at intervals, through their long, black lashes, with languid calmness, reminding Kate of the unnatural lull that preceeds a thunder storm.

Kate was utterly dissimilar to the fair widow; her golden brown hair had a light in its waves—her high, calm brow, beneath which her soft eyes beamed with a glance, so earnest, and so pure—her girlish figure so graceful, and pliant, in its drapery of black—the air of deep repose, of unconscious harmony that pervaded every attitude and tone, all framed a totally different picture from the queen-like woman, who, sometimes arranging a few flowers she held in her hand, sometimes dropping them in her lap, heard, without attending to it, her cousin's voice, as she read aloud.

The day was sultry; heavy, brassy-looking clouds obscured the sun, and the birds chirped in that low, sleepy tone, which always indicates a lowering sky, or a coming storm; and now and then a sudden warm breeze swept back the muslin curtains, and filled the atmosphere of the room with the rich perfume of the garden.

"How oppressive! I can hardly breathe," said Kate, laying down the book which she found could not engage her cousin's attention, and walking towards the window.

"Yes," said Lady Desmond, languidly, "draw up the blinds, Kate, to the top; let us have all the light and air we can."

"If Lord Effingham is not here very soon he will get a wetting; I am sure we are on the edge of a thunder storm," observed Miss Vernon, after a pause.

"Then you fancy he will come."

"I do not think about it; but I find I anticipate his arrival as something quite certain; I confess I feel anxious to see how he will meet you, for he knows I repeated his—"

"I will tell you," interrupted Lady Desmond, with a tinge of bitterness in her tone, "as if it could not be the slightest consequence to him, what my opinion, or that of any one upon earth may be."

"What a character! but this must be acting!"

"No, I believe his manner to be a true index of his mind; I have now known Lord Effingham for nearly two years; and I pronounce him incomprehensible, impenetrable; and yet," continued Lady Desmond, passionately, "as mystery has always proved the strongest attraction to man's mind, so I feel irresistibly impelled to gaze into an abyss, I cannot fathom, where everything seems uncertain and obscure; I am undecided whether he is the coldest of egotists, or a man of the strongest, deepest, most passionate feeling. Do you believe in mesmerism, Kate? I begin to do so; how otherwise can I account for the influence that unaccountable man exercises over me; I do not know whether I love or hate him. I must speak out to you, my own, dear one; let me tell you all that I have suffered!"

"Dearest Georgy, though I hear you with pain, yes, a thousand times; but not now; every moment may bring the earl here, and he must not see you thus agitated; do not let him see any emotion; you must not let him think he has so much power; I dread his influence over you. He is not good. I always think of Milton's Satan, when I hear him speak."

"And what a grand creature Milton's Satan is," cried Lady Desmond; "but, Kate, let me speak now."

"Hush, hush," said Miss Vernon, again, and more eagerly stopping her. "I hear some one coming; and the door into the next room is open."

Lady Desmond looked towards it, her dark eyes flashing eagerly; but her countenance rapidly assuming its usual expression of proud reserve; it was thrown open to its fullest extent, and the footman announced—"Colonel Dashwood;" and Kate, as she went forward to receive him, could not restrain a smile at the unexpected finale to their anticipations.

Lady Desmond received the gallant Colonel with more than her usual suavity and grace; and he, notwithstanding his good nature, seemed more at ease than when alone with Kate, whose pale cheeks and tearful eyes forbade the gay badinage, which, truth to tell, formed Colonel Dashwood's principal stock in conversational trade, when Melton Mowbray and the moors, were not congenial topics.

Lady Desmond, after the first moment of disappointment, felt the Colonel's visit to be a relief from her own stormy thoughts; and she entered fully into his light and lively conversation; while Kate, though silent, felt soothed and pleased, to have an old acquaintance thus restored to her, a sort of link with by-gone days, ever present to her. She sat near the window copying some manuscript music, for her cousin, to which she had taken a fancy, but oftener resting her head on her hand, half listening, half thinking.

They were laughing at Colonel Dashwood's description of some adventure of his in Dublin; and he was looking very much at home, when Lord Effingham entered, unannounced; and, at the same moment, a vivid flash of lightning illuminated the apartment, which was gloomy as night.

"I found your doors most hospitably open, Lady Desmond," said the Earl, advancing with his cool self-possession, "and meeting no one to oppose my progress, entered, with a flash of lightning, like the devil in Der Freyschutz."

"I am glad you escaped the shower which is sure to follow," returned Lady Desmond, endeavouring to recover the double agitation, occasioned by the lightning and Lord Effingham's entrÉ.

"And now," he resumed, quite regardless of the thunder, which almost drowned his voice, and holding her hand, perhaps a moment longer than was strictly selon les regles, "now that you have, at last, permitted me to enter your presence, I must say, I see but little sign of the indisposition that banished your friends. Miss Vernon has been in league with you against us—I told her as much the other day—and she bristled up most indignantly; you must tell her I was right, and you were only fanciful, or—"

"You hear Lord Effingham, Kate?" said Lady Desmond, gently.

He turned and bowed to her, as if he now observed her for the first time, since his entrance; but his keen eye had noted each individual in the room, from the moment he crossed its threshold.

Kate returned his salutation; and as she observed the transformation of Lady Desmond, from an unembarrassed talker, to a silent listener, absorbed in self-watchfulness and intense attention to every syllable that dropped from Lord Effingham's lips, she longed for Sabrina's power to free her from his unholy influence.

"Lord Effingham, Colonel Dashwood," said Lady Desmond.

The gentlemen bowed, and subsided into their respective seats.

"I feel completely exhausted by the heat," said Lord Effingham, sinking back in his chair, "the heat and the cold of England are equally unendurable. We have enjoyed a thunder-storm in the Appenines, Lady Desmond; and you did not start then, as you did just now, when I entered; it is this heavy atmosphere."

"Yes; yet the storm you mention was awfully grand—and at night, too."

said Lord Effingham, as if to himself; but, with a glance at Lady Desmond, while Colonel Dashwood was playing with Kate's pen-wiper, and talking of the band of the —th.

Lady Desmond sighed, and looked away towards Kate, Lord Effingham following the direction of her eyes with his, smiled.

"Miss Kate, agrah," said Mrs. O'Toole's voice, from the verandah, at that moment, "don't be sitting wid the winda wide open, an' the lightnin' strikin' right an' lift—sure it'll be powerin' cats and dogs in a minit;" and nurse's good-humoured face, though not quite so bright as in former days, beamed in on them. "The Lord save us! I beg yer pardon, me lady; sure I thought Miss Kate was all alone be herself, an' I niver thought to find—"

"No apology, nurse," said Lady Desmond, good-humouredly.

"Mrs. O'Toole," cried Colonel Dashwood, "I hope I am not quite forgotten;" and he stepped forward to greet her.

"Faith, ye'r not, sir; sure, a dog that I remimbered at Dungar, would be light to me eyes, let alone a grand lookin' gintleman like yer honor!"

"It is raining heavily already, nurse," said Lady Desmond, with whom Mrs. O'Toole was a great favourite; "come in, at once, and you can speak to Colonel Dashwood."

"Och, Kurnel, what's the Captin doin'? an' where is he?"

"Which Captain?" he returned; "I know so many."

"Och, mee own Captin—him that I nursed through the faver!"

"Oh, Captain Egerton; he is in India, and is a Colonel now; he has been doing wonders. I will tell him you were asking for him; he will be delighted."

"Me blessin' on him, wherever he goes. Och, it's a weary sore world;" and she glanced at Kate, and wiped a tear from her eyes with the corner of her apron; then curtseying profoundly, retired, saying—"I'll niver forget the Captin, an' him that's gone. How happy they wer togather!"

"Pray," said Lord Effingham, as she passed, "is your memory always equally good for every one and everything?"

"I always had a wondherful memory, mee lord," said Mrs. O'Toole, with another low curtsey; "for it can remimber an' disremimber, mee lord! just what's convanient betimes!"

"Very convenient," replied his lordship, with a laugh; "good morning."

The storm of rain and thunder growing every moment fiercer and more loud, Lady Desmond ordered the windows to be fastened; and the party drew naturally closer together, while the vivid flashes of lightning, at intervals, displayed their countenances to each other; and Kate, her nerves not yet braced back to their former strength, almost blushed for her own cowardice, as she, sometimes, covered her face with her hands, and scarce could refrain from seizing the arm nearest her; but that arm was Lord Effingham's. At last, one fearful crash, and blinding blaze of light, the climax of the storm, startled her out of every consideration, save the momentary terror; covering her eyes with one hand, she stretched out the other blindly, catching Lord Effingham's arm in the involuntary grasp of alarm and leaning towards him; it was but for a moment, and she drew back.

"By Jove, a thunder-bolt must have fallen," cried Colonel Dashwood, springing to the window, as if to look for it.

Lady Desmond followed him.

"It was of no use," said Lord Effingham, rapidly, in a low voice, to Kate; "you see my position is not the least shaken! why interfere between your cousin and myself?"

"Would it give you pain if I succeeded?" she asked, in the same tone.

"Yes."

"Do you answer me in all sincerity?"

"In all sincerity, I do."

"Then I am satisfied."

"Then we are friends—at least, not foes."

Kate bent her head, and said, frankly—

"I wish to know you."

Lord Effingham could only reply by a look of surprise, when Colonel Dashwood approached to take his leave. The Earl bowed formally to him.

"I suppose I must not ask you to stay for dinner," said Lady Desmond. "It would not be comme il faut for recluses such as Kate and myself to have so gay a guest as Lord Effingham!"

"That is as you think," he returned; "I would, however, certainly stay, even on that faint shadow of an invitation, were I not unfortunately engaged to dine with a grand-aunt of mine, just arrived at the Palace. By the way, would you like to know her? she has two daughters. Miss Vernon might find them acceptable; young ladies are, you know, gregarious."

"We shall be most happy to make your aunt's acquaintance," returned Lady Desmond.

The Earl bowed, and departed.

"I am weary, Kate—my head aches—I cannot speak to you to-day—some other time—I will go and lie down."

"As you like, dear Georgy."