While such events as have just been described were passing in the wood, the two travellers whom we first brought before the reader, and to whom we must now return, rode on; but begging leave to pass over all their farther journey, as it did not consist of more than half a mile, we may bring them safe to the gate of the very house, whose lights and shadows they had seen from the slope above the village.

By this time it was as dark as could well be desired. It was not exactly Egyptian darkness, for there was nothing in it that could be felt, but the sun was gone entirely; and the last fringe of his golden robe had swept the sky some time. The moon was not yet up, so that the stars had the sky all to themselves; but though they were shining as brightly as they did many a thousand years ago, when they were first sent glittering into the depths of space, they did very little to show the travellers their way.

Edward de Vaux, indeed, had taken it into his head to go to the back entrance of his aunt's house. But the truth is, he had worked himself up, as he came along, into a belief that there might be some fuss made upon his return, and had conjured up before his imagination everything that might or could possibly occur, in which there was the least smack of ridicule; although all the time he knew perfectly well that his companion was of too generous and feeling a disposition even to dream that anything was ridiculous which sprung from the heart. He well knew, also, that those he was about to meet were by education, and habit, and natural character, the last persons in the world to do or say anything that was not graceful and biensÉant. But still, as his imagination was not the most tractable imagination in the world, but roved hither and thither, whether he liked it or not, on all occasions, he could not get the better of her in the present instance; and therefore, in order that everything in the way of reception might pass as quietly and as quickly as possible, he rode up to the gate of the back court, and after feeling about for the bell for some time, he rang for admittance.

After a little delay, a coachman with a powdered wig, and three rows of curls round his ears, opened the gates with a lantern in his hand, and demanded what the strangers wanted; but without other reply, De Vaux rode into the yard with his companion, and springing to the ground, exposed his well-known face to the glare of the lantern and the wondering eyes of old Joseph, the immemorial coachman, who, bursting forth into a loud exclamation, called vehemently to the groom, and the helper, and the stable-boy. "The oaken doors returned a brazen sound!" and not only those that the old curly-wigged official of the hammercloth called to his aid appeared with ready promptitude, but eke a footman emerged from the passage of the servants'-hall, and two or three pippin-faced housemaids were seen "peeping from forth the alleys green" beyond.

Thus, as usual, De Vaux's precaution in regard to not making a bustle had, in fact, the very contrary effect in the house itself. But this was not all: his method of proceeding had the very contrary effect with his companion, also, to that which he had purposed. Colonel Manners certainly did think, in the first instance, that such an entrance was a somewhat strange one for the house he saw before him; and when he found that it was in truth the stable-yard into which he had been taken, he thought the conduct of his friend still stranger. But by this time Charles Manners had known Edward de Vaux too long not to have some slight insight into his character and into the weaknesses thereof; and as they had ridden along together upon that day's journey, various little traits, which might have escaped any but a very keen and a very friendly eye, had given him the key of his friend's feelings on his return--a key which he did not fail to apply on the present occasion. The result was, that he soon comprehended the general motives of De Vaux, though perhaps not all the little ins and outs of the business--ins and outs, by-the-way, which depended as much upon the plan and architecture of the house, and upon the fact of the first landing of the grand staircase leading at once into the little ante-room of the drawing-room, so that the voice and step of any one ascending could be recognised instantly, as upon anything else in the world.

A slight smile curled Colonel Manners's lip as he perceived what had been passing in his friend's mind; but he would not have had that smile seen for any recompense that could have been offered to him, unless it had been that of curing his friend of a folly. But he knew very well that De Vaux was not a man to be laughed out of anything on earth; and that, with all his sensibility to ridicule, it was only so long as the sneer was silent and suppressed that he cared anything about it. The moment that the laugh was open, his pride took arms to defend the position which he occupied, and every one knows that pride would always rather blow up the place than capitulate.

Colonel Manners did, indeed, wish that his friend could be taught, with the same sort of bold determination which he displayed in opposing the loud laugh, to despise the silent sneer, which is as often excited in the minds of the worldlings by traits of a good and noble nature as by folly or by awkwardness: but he knew that the only lessons he would receive upon the subject would be gentle ones, spoken by the voice of friendship, without a touch of sarcasm.

"It is a pity, a great pity," thought he, "that De Vaux, who affects to, and perhaps really does, despise the opinion of the general fool, should thus, as it were, make himself a slave to the laugh of his own fancy. I hope and trust that his fair future bride may have influence enough to school him from these weaknesses."

Such was all his comment; and by the time it was made their horses were in safe hands, and a footman, as antique as the coachman, was leading the way up the back stairs towards the drawing-room.

De Vaux was somewhat uneasy at the back stairs, and at a distant prospect of the kitchen, and the servants' hall, and the housekeeper's room; but Manners, though he saw it all, appeared to see nothing, rubbed his boot with his riding-whip, and talked of North America with all the zeal and volubility of a Mohawk. His companion was relieved; and following the fat legs and white stockings of the old footman up the narrow staircase, they were soon in a small lobby which led into the drawing-room. Soft Turkey carpets covered the floor of the lobby; against each of the piers stood a small antique table of tortoise-shell and brass; and in the deep recesses of the windows were placed those immense and beautiful china jars which formed the glory of our great-grandmothers. These again were filled with a composition of all the sweet-scented leaves gathered from the garden during the past year; and which, mingled with orris-root and many a fragrant spice, diffused through the whole air a rich perfume of the eighteenth century.

But there was music upon the air of this bower as well as perfume. It was the music, however, of a sweet, low-toned woman's voice, speaking some sentences of which nothing could be distinguished but the melody. Nevertheless, it made the fitful colour come up for a moment in the cheek of Edward de Vaux; and whether his heart beat more quickly, or whether it maintained its even pulse, is a problem which we shall leave others to solve; for, the next moment, the door was thrown open, and the visiters all silently and unannounced entered the room.

It was a large handsome chamber, fitted up as unlike a modern drawing-room as possible. There was nothing in it of the last fashion, even of that day; but all was comfortable, and all bespoke both taste and affluence. On the walls were a few cabinet pictures, which at first appeared dark and dingy, but which, when any one looked farther, turned out gems; and on the rich and massive marble mantel-piece--which was itself nearly equal in size, and quite equal in value, to a house in a modern square--were placed pagodas, and feather fans, and screens, and many a little curiosity from different parts of the world--bracelets that might have clasped the arm of Cleopatra, and idols that had been acquainted with Captain Cook. The room, like every clever room, had a great number of tables of all sorts and sizes; and at two of these tables, not with hospitable cares intent, but very busy with that sort of idleness which ladies call work, sat two fair dames, who, in point of age, might divide between them the apportioned years of man. The division of those seventy years, however, was very unequal, as the one nearest the door had monopolized at least forty-six of them to herself, and had left her daughter--for such was the other lady--not much more than twenty-three. They were both very handsome women nevertheless; the mother feeling her years as light as a young king's crown, and the daughter, in addition to a very beautiful person, and a face where all that is fine was softened by all that is pleasing, having the advantage of youth and all youth's graces. There was one peculiarity in her countenance, which, as it had something to do with her mind, may as well be noticed. It was one of those faces which love not clouds--which smile where others frown; and as she sat with her eyes bent upon a provoking knot in her work, which for the last ten minutes had defied all her efforts to disentangle it, she was still half-laughing at the perversity of the silk, which seemed to take a pleasure in baffling her.

There was a third person in the drawing-room, younger than either, and very different from both. As she lay upon a sofa at the other side of the room, with a book in her hand, and her eyes bent upon the pages, the light of the lamp falling at the same time from above upon her clear fair forehead, on her beautiful eyelids with their long dark eyelashes, and on the marble white chiselling of her nose and upper lip, she did not appear to be more than eighteen; but her real age, which we are bound to give, was twenty years, eleven months, and a few days, the exact number of which is forgotten. Her form was light and beautiful, and though those who did not love her might contend that she was certainly not equal to the Medicean Venus, yet she was a great deal more graceful than many another goddess, and as fair a specimen of the fairest of earth's creatures as the eye of man has ever seen since Eve's ill-fated experiment in Eden.

Her hair was of that glossy golden brown, which is so beautiful and so seldom seen; and as the whole party had given up the expectation of their visiters for that night, she had turned back the shining curls which would have fallen into her eyes while reading; so that, with a wavy line on either side, they left her fair forehead bare, and formed a bunch of ringlets behind each ear, that might have defied the chisel of a Chantry.

As the door which admitted De Vaux and his companion was that which led to the back staircase, the party in the drawing-room concluded, naturally enough, that it was opened by one of the domestics on some of the many motives or pretexts upon which a servant can visit the drawing-room. No one took any notice, no one looked up; and the fair girl upon the sofa went on commenting upon the book in her hand, without knowing that any one was listening to her gentle criticism.

Thus each of the two visiters had time to make their own observations, if they chose it. A bright pleased smile lighted up the rough features of Colonel Manners, as he was thus at once admitted, without the help of an Asmodeous into the very heart of an English domestic circle, to each member of which he was a stranger. To him it was a sight full of pleasure and interest; it was a sight that he had seldom seen even when in England, and which he had not seen at all for several years while serving abroad: but it was one which fancy had often renewed for him in his solitary wanderings, which had been painted to his eye in the still night, and in the tented field on distant shores, which had been to him a dream, whereunto imagination could cling without the apprehension of disappointment; for he had ever thought of it as a thing whereof he might be the spectator, but never a sharer in its dearer ties.

As for Edward de Vaux, he did not choose to make any observations on the scene at all, for more fastidious in anticipation than in reality, the moment he was in the midst of his domestic circle a host of bright warm feelings rose up at once in his heart, and trampled every cold calculation of Chesterfieldism beneath their feet. Passing the old servant, who was himself amused to see the unconsciousness of the party in the drawing-room, De Vaux at once advanced towards the fair girl on the sofa. But there was a sound in his step different from that of any of the servants, which only let him pass half across the room ere her eyes were raised from the book and fell upon him. The sight instantly called into them a gleam as bright as sunshine after a storm, and the warm, eloquent blood rose into her cheek and brow, while with a voice of unquestionable icy, she exclaimed, "Edward! My dear aunt, here is Edward!"

The next moment, however, the light of her glance faded away, the blood ebbed back from her cheek, and from that moment it was scarcely perceivable that Edward de Vaux was anything more to her than an intimate friend. It was all the work of an instant, and Colonel Manners had only time to think, "This is all very odd!" ere the other two ladies rose to welcome his companion and himself; while the one who had spoken, gracefully but composedly drew her small foot from the sofa to the ground, and advanced to meet her lover; contriving to execute what is sometimes a difficult manoeuvre, without showing half an inch of her ankle, though it might very well have borne the display.

The elder lady now of course took the lead, and expressed her joy at the return of her nephew, in a manner which showed how compatible real dignity and grace are with every zealous and kindly feeling. "And this," she said the next moment, "is of course Colonel Manners; though you have not introduced him to me, Edward; but Colonel Manners indeed requires no introduction here; for allow me to say, my dear sir, that even were it not that you had saved the life of my nephew, and rendered him so many inestimable services, the son of your mother, who was my dear and early friend, would always be the most welcome of guests at my fire-side."

Colonel Manners bowed, and replied, "I have been lucky enough to find among my mother's papers, madam, the letters of the Honourable Mrs. Falkland; and am aware how fortunate in a friend my parent was during the greater part of her short life. Most proud shall I be if the son may merit some portion of the same regard which you bestowed upon the mother."

"You already command it, Colonel Manners," she replied: "Isadore,--Marian--Colonel Manners! My daughter--my niece, Miss De Vaux."

Now this introduction puzzled Colonel Manners a good deal, for reasons which may as well be explained. He had heard long before, while abroad, that his friend Edward de Vaux, the only son of Lord Dewry, was affianced to his cousin, and that their marriage was to take place as soon as the young heir of the barony could return to his native country, provided that the lady were by that time of age. In the course of their intimacy in other lands, De Vaux had often spoken of his fair cousin Marian, and had indeed on their return besought Colonel Manners to accompany him down to the house of his aunt, in order to act the part of bridesman at his wedding, which was to take place immediately. With this request we have seen that he complied; but he had completely made up his mind to the belief that his friend was about to be united to the daughter of Mrs. Falkland, and he was now surprised to find a Miss De Vaux, towards whom the manner of Edward de Vaux was not exactly that which men assume towards their sisters. Besides, her name was Marian, that of his promised bride; and although this discovery, leaping over the head of all his own preconceptions, puzzled Colonel Manners for a moment, he soon set it all to rights in his own mind, by supposing, what was in fact the truth, that the fair girl we have described was the daughter of Lord Dewry's brother.

All the while he was settling this to his own satisfaction, he was going through the manual of politeness, and doing De Vaux the favour of talking to Mrs. Falkland and her daughter, while the lover spoke in a lower tone to the other fair cousin. Whatever he said, however, seemed to have no very great effect upon her. She smiled, and seemed to answer him kindly and affectionately; but she displayed no further sign of that agitation which a girl in her situation might be expected to feel on the return of her lover from a long and dangerous expedition. Once, indeed, she laid her hand upon the table near her, and Colonel Manners saw that, notwithstanding the general composure which she seemed to feel, that hand trembled so much, that, as if conscious its tremour might be perceived, she instantly withdrew it, and suffered her arm to fall gracefully by her side.

Manners marked all this, for from their first acquaintance De Vaux had interested him, as much perhaps by the contrast of the little foibles of his character with the greater and nobler qualities it possessed, as by any other circumstance: he had gradually suffered a deep regard for him to rise up in his heart; he had permitted imagination to indulge herself with bright pictures of his friend's domestic happiness; and in every little trait connected therewith he had a sort of personal feeling, which made him seek to discover all that he wished might be.

After standing booted and spurred in the middle of the room for about ten minutes, and having learned that their servants had arrived with their baggage early in the morning of the same day, the two gentlemen retired to cast off their travelling costume, and attire themselves in apparel more suited to the drawing-room. Colonel Manners proceeded to the task systematically; and although he knew that nothing on earth could ever make him handsome, yet he took every reasonable pains with his dress, and was soon ready to descend again, with that neat, clean, soldier-like appearance for which he was particularly distinguished. De Vaux acted differently, as may well be supposed, and giving his man the keys of the trunk-mails, he cast himself on a chair; and, with his arms leaning on the dressing-table, remained for full ten minutes in deep and somewhat melancholy thought, while the servant continued to torment him every other minute, with--"Sir, do you want this?" or, "Sir, shall I do that?"

Into his private thoughts we shall not at present pry, although we consider that we have a right to do so whenever the necessities of the tale may demand it; but in this instance it is only requisite to give the ending reflection of his revery, which may serve as a key to all the rest. "How cold Manners must have thought her reception of me! and yet her own lips, which never from her infancy spoke any thing but truth, have given me the assurance of her love. Well, we cannot change people's nature!--and yet she was very different as a child!"

Such were the last dying words of his meditation and then, starting up, he proceeded hastily to dress himself, addressing the servant with as much impatience as if the man had been dreaming instead of himself. "There, give me that coat," he exclaimed. "Set down the dressing-case here. Put those shoes on the other side of the table; and throw the stockings over the back of the chair. How slow you are, William! Here now, pull off these great boots, and then go and see that old Joseph does not poison the horses with any of his nostrums." These various commands the man obeyed with as much promptitude as possible; and after he was gone, De Vaux proceeded to dress himself with all the haste of one who is afraid of being detected in loitering away his time. He was half-way through the operation, and was just arranging his hair, when Manners, whose rooms were on the opposite side of the corridor, rejoined him; and they descended together, without having made any comment on the subject which was certainly next to the heart of Edward de Vaux. He felt that in common delicacy he could not begin it, though he would have given worlds, by any curious process of distillation, to have extracted Colonel Manners's first impression of her he loved; and Manners was resolved to see more and judge more clearly, ere he ventured even the common nothings which are usually said upon such occasions.

In the meanwhile, the ladies in the drawing-room had not, of course, refrained from comment on the appearance and arrival of their visiters. As the first object of all their affections was Edward de Vaux, his appearance and health naturally occupied several moments ere anything else was thought of.

"How very well he looks!" said Mrs. Falkland; "his health seems greatly improved."

"I never saw him look so handsome," said Isadore Falkland, "though he was wrapped in that horrid great coat."

Marian de Vaux said nothing, but she repaid her cousin for her praises of her lover's looks by a smile as bright as an angel's, which fluttered away in a warm blush, though it had nearly been drowned in some sparkling drops that rose into her eyes. So she turned away, and began playing with the seals on the writing-table.

"I am delighted that Edward has prevailed on Colonel Manners to come down with him," said Mrs. Falkland; "for I have longed to see him on his mother's account."

"And I, because he saved Edward's life," said Marian de Vaux.

"And I am delighted too," said Isadore Falkland, "because he seems a very agreeable gentlemanly man, though certainly a very ugly one--I think as ugly a man as I ever saw."

"His face is certainly not handsome," replied her mother; "but his figure seems remarkably fine. His mother was as beautiful a woman as ever lived; and I have heard that till he was twenty he was equally good looking."

"Poor fellow!" cried Isadore; "he has been very unfortunate, then; for it is better to be born ugly than to become so afterward."

"I did not think him ugly at all," said Marian de Vaux.

"That was because you only saw the man that saved Edward's life," replied Isadore, laughing; "but he is not beautiful, I can assure you, Marian."

"Happy are they, my dear Isadore," replied her mother, "who can 'see Othello's visage in his mind;' and I do not think you, my dear girl, are one either, to value any one for their personal appearance."

"No, no, no, mamma! I am not," answered Miss Falkland; "but still, some sensible old gentleman has said that a good countenance is the best letter of recommendation; and now, had it not been that you had known Colonel Manners's mother, or that he had saved Edward's life--yet, notwithstanding--" she added, breaking off her sentence abruptly--"after all, perhaps, his face is just the one from which we should expect a man to save people's lives, and do a great many brave and noble things."

"I think so, certainly," answered Mrs. Falkland. "However ugly it may be, I have seldom seen a face through which a fine mind shone out so distinctly."

Such was the tenour of the conversation that went on in the drawing-room till the two gentlemen returned, and by their presence took themselves out of the range of topics. Other subjects were soon started, and filled the hours till supper-time. Edward de Vaux naturally took the place he loved best; and what passed between him and his fair cousin was not always loud enough in its tone, or general enough in its nature, to be very distinct to the rest of the party, or very interesting to the reader. Manners, who knew as well as any one how to effect a diversion in favour of a friend, placed himself near the other ladies, and displayed such stores of varied information as well occupied their attention. Those stores were somewhat desultory, perhaps, but they were gained from every source. Man, and all the fine and all the amusing traits of his character; countries, and all their beauties and their disadvantages; the history of other times, the varied events of the present; matters of taste and of science, the light wit of a playful imagination, and the choice knowledge procured by very extensive reading; all seemed to come within the scope of his mind. All too, had been refined and ornamented by judgment and good feeling, and his conversation had still the peculiar charm of appearing far less profound than it really was. It was all light, and playful, and gay; and yet, on rising from it, one felt improved and instructed, without well knowing how or in what. His memory, too, was excellent, and stored with a number of little anecdotes and beautiful scraps of poetry; and, without ever seeming to intrude them, he knew how to mingle them in the general current of what was passing, with tact almost as skilful as that of the greatest writer and most amiable man that centuries have witnessed upon earth--Sir Walter Scott.

So extensive, indeed, seemed to have been the reading of their new acquaintance, that Mrs. Falkland wondered thereat in silence; while Isadore, well knowing that there is scarcely any question on the face of the earth that a young and pretty woman may not ask of a man under forty with perfect biensÉance and propriety, looked up with a smile, and said--"Pray tell me, Colonel Manners, where you have found time, while you have been defeating the king's enemies night and day, to read everything of every kind that is worth reading."

"Oh, madam," he replied, "I am afraid I have read but little as compared with what I might have done. A soldier's life is the most favourable of all others for general reading; though, perhaps, not for pursuing steadily any particular study. He is for a few days full of active employment, and then for many more has hardly anything to do; and if he gives one half of his spare time to reading, he will, I believe, read more than many a philosopher. The only difficulty is in procuring books that are worth the trouble of poring over."

In such conversation passed the hours till supper; for those were days of supper,--that most pleasant and sociable of all ways of acquiring the nightmare. When the meal was announced, it of course caused some derangement in the local position of the parties; and Edward de Vaux being brought for a moment nearer to his aunt than his other occupations had hitherto permitted, she took the opportunity of saying,--"I hope, Edward, your father will not be at all offended at your coming here first. He is sometimes a little ombrageux, you know; and I would advise you to ride over tomorrow as early as possible."

"Oh! no fear of his being offended, my dear aunt," he replied. "In the first place, he wrote to give me that assurance. In the next place, as we chose to ride our own two best horses down, rather than trust them to two break-neck grooms, we could not have gone seventeen miles farther to-night: and in the last place," he added, in a lower tone, "you know that his lordship never likes visiters to take him by surprise; and as the invitation to Manners was yours, not his, of course I could not have brought him to the hall without writing, which I had no time to do. There is nothing he hates so much as any one taking him by surprise."

Almost as he spoke, the old servant Peter, who had retired after announcing supper, once more threw the door open with a portentous swing, and proclaimed, in a loud voice, "Lord Dewry!" Something like a smile glanced upon Mrs. Falkland's lip, as the sudden and unexpected arrival of her brother contrasted somewhat strangely with what her nephew had just been saying. She paused in her progress to the supper-room, however; and, in a moment after, with a slow step, which was languid without being feeble, Lord Dewry entered the ante-room, and came forward towards them.

While he is in the act of doing so, let us paint him to the reader--at least, as far as the outward man is concerned. Of the inward man more must be said hereafter. He was tall--perhaps six feet high, or very near it--and well made, though not excessively thin. His frame was broad, and had been very powerful; his shoulders wide, his chest expansive, and his waist remarkably small. In feature, too, it could be still discerned that he had once been a very handsome man; but his face was now thin and sharp, and his complexion extremely sallow. His eyes, however, were still fine, and his teeth of a dazzling whiteness. He might have numbered sixty years, but he looked somewhat older, although he had taken a good deal of pains with his dress, and lay under considerable obligations to his valet-de-chambre. The first impression produced on the mind of a stranger by the appearance of Lord Dewry was imposing but not pleasing; and, unfortunately, the unpleasant effect did not wear off. He looked very much the peer and the man of consequence, but there was a gloomy cloud upon his brow which was not melancholy, and a curl of the lip which was not a smile, and both prepared the mind of all who approached him, for not the most agreeable man in the world. His general expression, too, was cold, he had a look like the easterly wind, at once chilling and piercing; and though report said that he had been a very fascinating man in his youth, and had not always made the best use of his powers of pleasing, he did not seem at present to consider it at all necessary to use any effort to render himself agreeable, farther than the common forms of society and what was due to his own station required.

"Well, my lord," said Mrs. Falkland, as he came forward, "I am happy to see you come to welcome our wanderer back again."

As she spoke, Edward advanced to his father, who grasped his hand eagerly, while a smile of unfeigned pleasure for a single instant spread a finer expression over the worn features of the baron. "Welcome back, Edward!" he said; "welcome back! you look remarkably well! I have to apologize, Maria," he added, turning to his sister after this brief salutation bestowed upon his son, "I have to apologize for coming thus, without notice; but I have some business to-morrow, down at the park-house, of which I knew nothing till this morning; and I also wished to see Edward, whose devoirs here," and he turned towards Marian, "I knew must first be paid, according to all the rules of gallantry. How are you, my fair niece? You look a little pale. How are you, Isadore?" And the peer, without waiting to hear how any one was, cast his eyes upon the ground, and fixing upon a spot in the carpet, seemed calculating geometrically the precise measurement of all its strange angles.

"We were just going to supper, my lord," said Mrs. Falkland; "will you come with us? But first let me introduce you to Colonel Manners." Lord Dewry acknowledged the introduction by a cold bow, while Manners said some words of course; and the question of supper being renewed, the nobleman agreed to go down with the party to the table, though he bestowed a word or two of heavy censure on the meal they were about to take.

"It is, nevertheless," said Colonel Manners, "from its very hour, the most sociable one of the whole day; for by this time, in general, all the cares, and annoyances, and labours of the busy daylight are over; and, as is justly observed--I forget where--'nothing remains for us but enjoyment and repose.'"

"Eating and sleep!" muttered Lord Dewry; "the delights of a hog and a squirrel;" but as what he said did not seem intended to be heard, Colonel Manners made no reply, though he did hear it; and the party seated themselves round the supper-table, in walking towards which these few sentences had passed. For some time the presence of the peer seemed destined to cast a gloom over the society in which he had so suddenly appeared. His manner even here, in the midst of his nearest relations, and by the side of his newly-returned son, was cold, stern, and gloomy, only broken by some flash of cynical scorn for things that other people valued, or by some biting sneer at the follies and weaknesses of his fellow-creatures.

To his niece Marian de Vaux, however, his conduct was very different. At table he placed himself by her side; made an evident effort to render himself agreeable to her; and whenever he spoke to her softened his tone, and endeavoured to call up a smile. Such was his conduct on the present evening; but it maybe necessary also to stretch our view over the past, for his behaviour to his niece had always formed a strange contrast to his conduct towards others. The first effect of her presence, when he had not seen her for some time, was almost always to throw him into a fit of deep gloom; and those who watched him narrowly might have remarked his lip move, as if he were speaking to himself, though no sound was heard. From this fit of abstraction he generally roused himself soon, but it was evidently at the cost of great efforts; and then he would speak to his niece with a degree of tenderness which bordered on timidity, and treat her with attention approaching to gallantry. Any one who saw him in conversation with her might easily conceive him to have been the fascinating and courtly man that report had represented him in his younger days; and there was a kindness and gentleness in his whole demeanour towards her, which, together with the family name that she bore, had often caused her to be taken for his daughter. Nevertheless, even across the moments when he seemed exerting himself to please her, would break occasionally the same fits of gloom, called up by apparently the least calculated to produce any such effect. They were then always brief, however; and a seemed that the original exertion to conquer the dark feelings which the first sight of his niece appeared to arouse, was sufficient to hold all the rest in check.

It was only to her, however, that he was thus gentle. Her presence made no difference in his conduct towards others; and the moment his attention or his speech was called from the conversation with his niece, he seemed to become a different being,--dark, stern, and overbearing.

Such a demeanour, of course, was not calculated to promote any thing like cheerful conversation; and the atmosphere of his gloom would have affected all those by whom he was surrounded, and extinguished every thing like pleasure for that night, had it not been for the counteracting influence of Colonel Manners. He, without the slightest touch of obtrusiveness or self-conceit, by a just estimation of himself and others, was always in possession of his own powers of mind; and never suffered the presence of any other individual--unless, indeed, it was that of one whom he could at once admire and love--to give a tone to his behaviour, to restrain him in what he chose to say, or to frighten him from what he chose to do.

He took the tone of his conversation from his own heart, and from its feelings at the time; and, guarded by fine sensibilities, good taste, knowledge of the world, and a refined education, there was not the slightest fear that he would ever give pain to any one whose approbation he valued. Of all this he was himself well aware; and, after a few moments given to something like wonder at the character of Lord Dewry, he proceeded in the same manner as if such a person had not been in existence.

Isadore Falkland, as soon as she found that such powerful support was prepared for her, boldly resisted the influence of her uncle's presence also. Mrs. Falkland, whose naturally strong mind was not unfitted to cope with her brother, held on the even tenour of her way; and Edward de Vaux joining in, the conversation soon became once more general and cheerful. It had taken another turn, however; and the subject had become the mutual adventures of Colonel Manners and Edward de Vaux, in the war which was then raging between France and England in North America. Many was the wild enterprise, many the curious particular, that they had to speak of; "hair's breadth escapes and perils imminent"--scenes and persons quite fresh and strange to Europeans; a new world, and all that a new world contained, with a system of warfare totally different from any thing that had ever been seen on the older continents. At that time, neither a barbarous policy nor a criminal negligence had produced any of those lamentable results which are rapidly exterminating the Indian nations of America: but, at the same time, a most barbarous policy had--instead of endeavouring to civilize and soften the dusky natives of the woods, the real lords of the land--had engaged them, with all their fierce and horrid modes of warfare, in the contention between the two great bands of European robbers, who were struggling for the country that really belonged to the savage. Of these Indian nations, and of their wild habits, both Manners and De Vaux spoke at large; and many a strange scene had they witnessed together among the uncultivated woods and untamed people of the transatlantic world.

Often, too, Manners, with kind and friendly zeal, would make Edward de Vaux the hero of his tale; and while he related, as if he were speaking of ordinary events, some gallant exploit or some noble action, would suffer his eye to glance for a single instant, unperceived, to the countenance of Marian de Vaux; it was generally calm and tranquil--beautiful, but still; yet occasionally, when the moment of danger or of interest came, and when Edward extricated himself gallantly from some difficult or dangerous situation, there was a bright light beamed up in her eyes, a long-drawn breath, and a flickering colour, which satisfied Manners that all was well.

Nevertheless, Manners could not, of course, speak of his friend's adventures without a little delicate manoeuvring, in order to make the tale appear more a general than a personal one; nor could he continue the subject long. Often, therefore, he returned to the Indians, and often to the state of America in general, while Mrs. Falkland and her daughter gave him, by manifold questions and observations, full opportunity of varying the subject ad libitum. They sought to know, among other facts, what link of connection could possibly have sprung up between the Indians and the Europeans so strong as to make the savage nations have any feeling of regard or interest towards either of the countries which only struggled to monopolize the means of plundering and destroying them.

"Oh, you must not think, my dear madam," answered Colonel Manners, "that all persons who visit America are actuated by one selfish motive, or pursue one system of fraud and oppression towards the Indians. On the contrary, there are many who go over there with the philanthropic motive of civilizing and benefiting the savage tribes themselves; and who, in the endeavour to effect this object, display a degree of wisdom, perseverance, judgment, and courage, that is quite astonishing. Nor are these qualities without the most immense effect upon the wild aborigines of the land, who look up to such men almost as they would to a god. De Vaux and I know a very remarkable instance of the kind, in one of the most noble-spirited and excellent of human beings, to whom we are both under no small obligations. He nursed me through a long and severe fever, when my senses were quite gone; and afterward enabled me, by his influence with the Indians, to render your nephew some small service--which, however, was entirely attributable to his exertions."

"Nay, nay, Manners," replied De Vaux; "to yours as much as his, and more; for had you not ventured, at the head of a party of Indians, two hundred miles into a hostile country, not a step of which you knew--"

"Well, well, De Vaux," answered his friend, "you must own that he went with me, though he did not know you, and I did. You must not take away from the merit of my hero, for such I intend to make him in these ladies' eyes. I know not, however, how you will like a hero of sixty, Miss Falkland; but such, I must confess, he is at least. He has now lived for many years, upon the very borders of civilization, or rather beyond it, for his house is surrounded by forests and Indian wigwams. He has never taken any part in the contentions of the tribes, and seems equally venerated by all, showering good and blessings upon the heads of every one who approaches him. He is deeply versed in the laws and the manners of the natives, too; and, though a finished and elegant scholar and gentleman, conforms when necessary, to their usages, in a manner that is at once amusing and admirable. He is, at the same time, the most skilful and indefatigable hunter that the world, perhaps, ever produced,--an accomplishment which renders him still more venerable in the eyes of the Indians, who, on account of all these qualities, have named him 'The White Father.'"^[2]

"Delightful creature!" exclaimed Miss Falkland, with her beautiful eyes sparkling like diamonds; "but tell me, Colonel Manners, tell me, what is he like? Mamma, if you have no objection, I will go out and marry him."

"None in the world, my love!" answered Mrs. Falkland; "but, perhaps, it may be better, first, to send over and ask whether he will marry you."

"That he will of course," answered she: "but, Colonel Manners, you have not told me what he is like--in person I mean."

"Oh, he is fresh and hale as a life of exercise and a heart at rest can make him," replied Manners. "Indeed, he is as handsome a man as ever I saw."

"Oh, that will do exactly!" cried Miss Falkland, laughing. Colonel Manners smiled too; but there was a tinge of melancholy in his smile; for, however much he might have made up his mind to the fact, that personal beauty is an indispensable requisite to obtain woman's love, yet every little trait which served to confirm that opinion touched a gloomy chord in his bosom, which again called forth the tone of many a harmonizing feeling, and made somewhat sad music within.

"And pray, Colonel Manners," said Lord Dewry, with the cold, if not supercilious tone which he generally employed, "what may be the name of the wonderful person who does all these wonderful things?"

"The name, my lord," replied Colonel Manners coolly, "the name of the gentleman who went two hundred miles into the Indian country to save your son, Captain de Vaux from the tomahawk, without ever having seen him, is one known throughout the greater part of America,--Sir William Ryder."

Lord Dewry turned suddenly still paler than he was before; and then as red as fire. Whether it was that some feelings had been excited by that name with which he did not choose to trust his lips, or whether his emotion proceeded from temporary illness, did not appear; but he replied nothing; and Colonel Manners, by whom the peer's agitation had not been totally unmarked, went on. "If I remember right," he said, "I heard Sir William Ryder ask after your lordship's health from De Vaux, and say that he had known you many years ago in England."

"I once knew, sir," replied Lord Dewry, drawing himself up, "I once knew an unworthy blackguard of that name, who is now I believe, in America; but he has no right to claim acquaintance with me."

De Vaux looked at his father with astonishment, and then turned his eyes towards Manners, as if to pray him patience; but his friend was perfectly calm, and replied:--"Your lordship must allude to some different person, as the description does not at all correspond with him of whom I speak."

"No, no, sir," answered the baron, reddening, "I speak of the same person,--there can be no doubt of it,--a gambling beggar!"

"If you do speak of the same person, Lord Dewry," replied Colonel Manners, quite calmly, "I must beg of you to remember, that you speak of my friend; and in the presence of one who does not like to hear his friend's character assailed."

"Indeed, sir, indeed!" exclaimed Lord Dewry, rising; "do you kindly wish to dictate to me, in my sister's house, what I am to say of a person, who it seems, has formed an unfortunate intimacy with my own son; and is, as I said, a gambling beggar?"

Manners paused a moment. He and De Vaux were alike under deep obligations to the man of whom Lord Dewry spoke; and he felt that the language used by the peer was not only a gross personal insult to both of them, but especially to himself, who had been the means of introducing him to his companion, and who had the moment before bestowed such high and unqualified praise on the very person whom he now heard reviled. He remembered Lord Dewry's age and situation, however, and his own particular position, and endeavoured to moderate his reply as much as possible; though to pass the matter over in silence, or to leave the charges of the peer without direct contradiction, he felt to be impossible, as an officer, a man of honour, or the friend of Sir William Ryder.

"Your personal opinion, my lord," he answered, "you may, of course, express to your own son, or your own family whenever you like, provided it be not injurious to any friend of mine. In which last case I shall, as before, beg your lordship to refrain in my presence, for I am not a man to hear a friend calumniated in silence."

"Calumniated, sir! calumniated!" exclaimed Lord Dewry.

"Yes, sir, such was the word I made use of," replied Colonel Manners, "because the expressions you applied to Sir William Ryder were calumnious, if applied to my friend, whom a long life of noble actions raises above suspicion; but I trust and believe we are speaking of different persons."

"'Tis well, sir; 'tis very well!" replied Lord Dewry, appearing to grow somewhat cooler; "'tis extremely well!--I trust it is as you say. Give me a glass of soda-water. Maria, I shall now retire to rest; I am somewhat fatigued: my apartments are, I think, opposite the drawing-room. Good-night!--Colonel Manners, I wish you good-night!" And, bowing with low and bitter courtesy, he left the room.

Colonel Manners, whatever might be his feelings, and whatever might be his intentions, took no notice of what had passed after Lord Dewry left the room, although he could not but feel that he had been insulted by a man whose age protected him; but both Mrs. Falkland and De Vaux spoke upon the subject, after a moment's painful pause. The first apologized with dignified mildness for the occurrence, and assuring her visiter that something strange and extraordinary must have irritated her brother during the course of the day, or that he would not so far have forgot his usual biensÉance; and the latter pressed his friend with kindly earnestness to forget what had occurred, and not to suffer it to affect his conduct, or abridge his stay.

Colonel Manners smiled, and suffered himself to be overcome: "You know, De Vaux, that I am not one to be driven from my position by the first fire," he said; "and as I suppose that Lord Dewry and myself will not meet very frequently after the present time, we shall have but few opportunities of being as agreeable to each other as we have been to-night."

Thus ended the conversation, and soon after the party separated, each grieving not a little that the harmony of the evening had been so unfortunately interrupted, when there was no reason to expect such an event.