When Lord Dewry quitted Colonel Manners at the end of the flower-garden, as we have shown in a preceding chapter, the gallant soldier had turned back towards the house, but with steps much less rapid than those of the peer, from the simple fact of no violent passion moving in his breast. In truth, it would seem, after all, that man, notwithstanding his great pretensions, his reasonings about his own existence, and his conceit in his painted jacket, is not at all unlike one of those figures that children buy at fairs, with his arms and legs, and even his head, hung on by wires; and with the passions to pull the string at the back, not only without his volition, but often against his will. Wrath pulls, and he kicks; revenge pulls, and he strikes; jealousy pulls, and he writhes; fear pulls, and he runs; love pulls, and he dances; and, as no one of these passions was behind Colonel Manners at the time, he had walked on slowly and deliberately towards the house, sometimes turning to look at the landscape, sometimes trifling with a flower, but doing neither one nor the other, perhaps, quite so often as when he set out that day upon his morning's walk.

Still, it is not to be supposed that, though no very violent affection of the mind followed Lord Dewry's departure, Colonel Manners remained perfectly indifferent to what had occurred: on the contrary, it threw him into a fit of musing, if not of deep thought, and produced reflections which ended in resolutions, such as Colonel Manners might be expected to form. At the peer's wrath he laughed, and laughed at his menaces equally, secure in that calm, self-confident courage, which, not knowing what fear is, never dreams that it can be attributed to us; but at the uncomfort that his dispute with De Vaux's father might and would produce in the family he had come to visit, Colonel Manners did not laugh. He had assented on the preceding night, in words which, with him, amounted to a promise, to forget the baron's rudeness, and not to suffer it to abridge his stay; but, at present, new provocation had been given, and he had every reason to believe that his visit could not be prolonged to the period he had at first proposed, without material uncomfort to the family at Morley House, however strongly their kindness or their politeness might urge his stay.

"Doubtless," thought Colonel Manners,--for we must put his private cogitations into the form of that necessary folly, a soliloquy,--"doubtless, the worthy peer will not go and expose himself so much to his own family, as to tell them what has occurred between us this morning; but equally, without doubt, he will contrive, by his demeanour towards me, to render the house, not only very unpleasant to me, but also to all its occupants; and, therefore, as this is a field where honour is neither to be gained nor supported, I must even beat a retreat. Yet De Vaux will, I know, feel very much mortified, if he fancies that his father is the cause of my departure; and therefore I suppose that the best plan be, to wait a day or two, and then, with the first letters that arrive,--and I must receive some soon, to plead important business, and set out. I suppose I must bear with this ill-tempered old gentleman's behaviour as best I may for eight and forty hours, though I am afraid it will be a struggle to avoid retorting a little of his bitterness upon himself."

Such had been the substance of Colonel Manners' thoughts upon this subject, as he walked back, and such the determination he formed; but as he did form them, there was something like a sigh escaped from his bosom. The reception he had met with from Mrs. Falkland and her family, on his first arrival, had been so warm and kind, that all the best feelings of his heart had been enlisted on their side. He had completely made up his mind to spend a happy three weeks with people who seemed, in every respect, so amiable; and although he felt that it might be a little dangerous,--by making him feel more acutely, from comparison, the want of domestic ties and comforts,--although he felt it might be a little dangerous, yet he had experienced a pleasure at the idea of thus dwelling, even for a short space, in the midst of a true old English family, that made him bitterly regret the necessity of foregoing what he had set his heart upon. As he thought of going forth again alone, it seemed as if it were the voice of fate that forbade him to expose himself to the sight of feelings and enjoyments that he was never to know personally, and sent him back imperiously to the solitary state of existence which was to be his portion; and although Colonel Manners was accustomed to the contemplation, and had nerved his mind, not only to bear the uncomforts of his lot, but to resist every thought that would teach him to repine, yet there were times--and this was one--when he could not but feel the chill wind of solitude blow from the dreary prospect of the future, and blight even the enjoyment of the present. A dissertation on the moral and physical nature of man might be given to prove to a demonstration, that domestic ties are a necessity of his existence: and let any man gaze forward into future years, and fancy that some cold barrier is placed between him and domestic affection; that no kindred eye is to brighten at his presence, no affectionate lip smile at his happiness, no tear of sympathy to wash away one half of his griefs, no cheerful voice to dispel the thoughts of care, no assiduous hand to smooth the pillow of sickness, and close the eye of death,--let him picture his being solitary, his joys unshared, his sorrows undivided, his misfortunes unaided but by general compassion, his sickness tended by the slow hand of mercenaries, and his eyes closed, while the light has scarce departed, by the rude touch of some weary and indifferent menial,--let him fancy all this, and then he will feel, indeed, that domestic ties are a necessity of our existence; at least, if he be not either drunk with licentious passions, or a mere calculating machine.

We do not mean to say that all these ideas, or any one of them, presented themselves to the mind of Colonel Manners. Far be it from us to insinuate that he was foolish enough to give a vivid form and painful minuteness to the evils of a state that he believed he could not avoid. He struggled even against the general impression; but, as we have said, there were moments in his life--and this was one--when, notwithstanding reason and resolution, he would feel bitterly that it is sad and sorrowful to pass through life alone, to spend one's days in solitude, and to go down into the grave without a tie. The impression was so strongly raised, and clung so firmly to his mind, at the moment we speak of, that he took a turn of a hundred yards back upon the walk, to give the thoughts full range. Then remembering himself, he broke out into an involuntary exclamation of, "This is folly!" and turned quickly back to the house.

In the breakfast-room he found Miss Falkland alone, and was not sorry so to find her; for there was in her conversation a pleasant and good-humoured sparkling, a frank and fearless liveliness, which amused and interested him. Besides, Colonel Manners was by no means a man to object to the society of a very beautiful girl: on that score he was quite fearless; for he had so guarded his heart by rampart, and bastion, and half-moon, that he feared no attack, either by siege or storm. The thing that he feared was, the sight of a state of happiness which he coveted, but did not hope for; and therefore he could enjoy the gay conversation and pleasing presence of Isadore Falkland without alloy, though he might apprehend that a lengthened stay, in the midst of a cheerful family circle, might deepen his regret at his own loneliness.

Now, although the house of Mrs. Falkland, like most other houses of its date, had a certain ramblingness of construction, midway between the Gothic of Henry the Seventh's and the anomalous architecture of the nineteenth century, yet the rooms were sufficiently proximate to allow Colonel Manners to hear every now and then, as the servant opened and shut the door of the breakfast-room, the voice of Lord Dewry, in tones more sharp than was becoming. Nor was he slack in attributing the acerbity of the sounds he heard to their right cause; so that, as we have before shown, when Mrs. Falkland and her nephew spoke of the departure of the noble lord as a thing that had taken place in the ordinary course of affairs, Manners had very nearly smiled.

However, having taken his determination in regard to his proceedings, and, seeing no better plan that he could pursue, he suffered the matter to pass quietly, well knowing that real delicacy never makes a noise. To say the truth, he was not at all sorry to find that Lord Dewry had taken his departure; for he had every inclination to make himself both comfortable and agreeable while he did stay, neither of which objects are very attainable in the same house with a man who wants to fight a duel with you. After breakfast, as Manners was too much of a general to leave any thing to chance, he retired to his own apartments, in order to write such letters to London as would ensure immediate replies of the kind that would afford him a fair excuse for breaking through his engagement with De Vaux, without rendering the matter painful to his friend by any direct reference to his father; and, when this was accomplished, he returned to the rest of the party, whom he found in the act of seeing the footman leave the room with Marian's note to her uncle.

"We propose to take a walk, Manners," said De Vaux, as he entered; "I must show you the beauties of our county; and I think we will go upon the path which leads across the hill, and brings us through the wood to within a few hundred yards of the spot where we saw the gipsies. We call it Marian's Walk, as she might always be found there when we were but little boys and girls."

"It might have been called Edward's Walk as well, then," answered Isadore, gayly; "for I am sure she was never there without you, Edward. At all events, if you did not go with her, you were not long before you found her."

"And can Miss de Vaux venture on so long a walk?" asked Colonel Manners, "in the present day, when the extent of a lady's morning promenade is twice round the room and once round the garden--when shoemakers stare, I am told, at the name of walking shoes, and declare that they never heard of such things?"

Marian smiled. "You are severe upon us, Colonel Manners," she said; "but this walk is not so far either--though it is a little steep."

"It seemed to me nearly six miles," replied Colonel Manners; "six miles, at least, from this spot to the place De Vaux mentions."

"Oh, that was because you came by the road," replied Isadore: "if you had come over the hill, you would have shortened the way by one half--but I forgot; you would have met with some accident also, as it was dark, and you were on horseback. It is not much more than two miles to the place where the path again joins the high-road after passing through Morley wood."

"If you find it so short, I trust you are to be of the party, Miss Falkland," said Colonel Manners.

"Oh, most certainly," she replied. "It was all very well for Edward and Marian to wander through the woods together when they were boys and girls; but now propriety, you know, Colonel Manners, requires a sedate and aged chaperon; and besides, I could not leave the party of such an odd and unfortunate number as three: I should be afraid of some accident happening to you by the way."

"But three is a fortunate number, my gay cousin," replied De Vaux, smiling, "not an unfortunate one, by every rule of cabalistic science."

"In figures, but not in love, Edward," answered his cousin, with a gay laugh. "At least, I have read as much in your face, more than once, when I happened to be the unfortunate third--"

"Hush, hush, Isadore," cried Marian. "Come, let us dress ourselves to go;" and taking her cousin's arm, she hurried her away. Now Marian de Vaux, who knew her cousin well, was quite sure that Isadore would not push her raillery of her lover one step too far; but still she was not sorry to break off Isadore's discourse; for love is one of those things that people may talk about a great deal when they feel it not, but which they bury deep in the heart's innermost tabernacle as soon as they know its value, and, like misers, tremble even when their treasure is named.

Every one was soon ready to set out; and strolling through the garden separately, they proceeded to what was called the little gate, which gave them exit upon the road of which they were in search. By separately, I mean that neither of the gentlemen offered an arm to their female companions so long as they were within rows of box-wood bordering and upon gravel walks. There would have been something ridiculous in it; although, perhaps, the quality of walking arm-in-arm is to be looked upon as one of the peculiar privileges of humanity, which as much distinguishes man from other animals, as any other quality of his mind or body. He has been called, by those who strove to define him, "a forked radish, fantastically cut," "a viviparous biped, without feathers," "a cooking animal," and many another name. But had they called him "the animal that walks arm-in-arm," philosophers might have come nearer to his distinctive quality; for not only is it a thing that no other animal does, but it also gives at once the idea of many of the finer qualities of man's mind, and is, in fact, a sort of living hieroglyphic of affection and sympathy, and mutual assistance and support.

Now Colonel Manners and Edward de Vaux, looking upon the privilege of walking arm-in-arm in its true light, might consider it with too much reverence to enter upon it lightly, and therefore not offer to exercise it towards their fair companions, till the steepness of the way and the openness of the country seemed to render it necessary for their convenience and protection. There might, indeed, be another reason, which was, that in issuing forth from the house, a little derangement in the natural order of things had taken place--some stray glove, or wandering stick, or something of the kind, had been forgotten, so as to throw out the order of the march; and Colonel Manners found himself walking beside Marian de Vaux, while De Vaux was at the elbow of his cousin Isadore. Colonel Manners, in agreeing to go out upon this expedition, had perfectly well understood the part he was held to play; and De Vaux had the most firm and implicit reliance upon his friend's tact in the business; so that by a tacit convention it was arranged between them, that the long ramble which Marian had promised to take with her lover was to be as completely solitary and agreeable as if they had not a friend or relation upon the face of the earth. But the derangement which had taken place in the position of the forces of course rendered a counter movement on the part of De Vaux and his friend necessary; and yet, as the walk they followed was narrow, and did not admit of the advance of more than two abreast, the desired evolution could not be performed without rendering the object unpleasantly obvious, till some little accident came to their aid. Colonel Manners, however, had been out in the morning, as we have already seen, to reconnoitre the ground; and as soon as he saw the difficulty, he instantly laid out the plan of the evolutions, and fixed upon the exact position, walking on still by the side of Marian de Vaux, and talking of les mouches qui volent.

But to proceed. Colonel Manners and Marian reached the little gate first, and unlocked it, and then Colonel Manners halted till Miss de Vaux and Miss Falkland had passed. The two ladies immediately halted on the bank of the little road facing the gate, with Marian on the right hand and Isadore on the left. Colonel Manners then resigned the command of the gate to Edward de Vaux; but, in marching out, while the other locked the door and brought the key, Manners took up a position upon the extreme left. De Vaux then advanced to the right of the line, and, wheeling about, gave his arm to Marian; Colonel Manners offered his to Miss Falkland, and led the way up the road to the left. This detail is given as an exemplification of Manners' military skill,--a quality which, unfortunately, we shall have no other opportunity of displaying throughout this book. Nor was Isadore Falkland's knowledge of strategy less marked, in taking up the position to the left, as it entirely commanded the road up which they were about to proceed; and as people in love in general walk a great deal slower than people not in love, it was necessary that she and Colonel Manners should lead the way, in order at once to give Edward and Marian de Vaux the protection of their presence and the benefit of their absence.

Colonel Manners and Miss Falkland did not lose much time in silence, for they were both people who could talk very pleasantly; and, whatever they might think in regard to themselves, they each felt that it was so in regard to the other. They spoke of many things; and Isadore's conversation, as she became better acquainted with her companion, and discovered that there were stores of feeling and kindness at his heart which would prevent him from laughing at her own enthusiasms, poured forth more of the deeper stream of her character, over which the rippling current of gay and sparkling jest that she usually displayed, flowed as much to conceal the depth, as for any other purpose. Besides, she was happy and young; and where was ever the stream, however profound, that did not sparkle when the sun shone full upon it?

Their first topic, as perhaps might be expected, was De Vaux and Marian; a topic which, under some circumstances, might have been dangerous; but Manners and Miss Falkland felt themselves perfectly secure. Still it was a delicate one: for however deep and true Colonel Manners' friendship might be for De Vaux, and however warm and enthusiastic might be the love of Isadore for her cousin Marian, there were, of course, a thousand little circumstances and feelings, upon which neither could enter, out of respect for the very friendship and affection which they felt for the two lovers. Nevertheless, perhaps, this very retenue, with the sort of faint and misty allusions which they were obliged to make to their friends' love and their friends' hopes and prospects, and the graceful circumlocutions and explicative figures that it obliged them to seek, were not without charms in themselves. Colonel Manners, for his part, felt very sure that, under Marian de Vaux's calm and tranquil manners were very deep and powerful feelings; but, at the same time, he wished--if consistently with delicacy it were possible--to find out from Miss Falkland whether his opinions were fully justified; and Isadore longed to know--with all a woman's yearnings to prove to her own heart the substantial existence of real, pure, permanent, unswerving love--whether her cousin had retained, during his long absence, all that tender, devoted, undivided attachment which he displayed towards Marian when present. Not at all did she wish to know whether Edward de Vaux had made love to, or flirted with, or talked sweet nonsense to any other woman. Do not let it be misunderstood; she never suspected such a thing, nor would have believed it had it been told her: but she would have given a great deal to find out, whether in the bosom of her cousin, the one thought of his affection had ever been paramount; whether the world, and ambition, and other scenes, and absence, and danger, and excitement had never banished the image of Marian from the bosom of Edward de Vaux; and, in short, she would have willingly heard it proved, in his instance, that love can exist in the bosom of man, under prolonged absence and varying circumstances. In all this, she was as disinterested as a woman ever can be in regard to an affair of love; but, the truth is, no woman can be totally so. The whole of that bright race are, in this respect, but a joint-stock company--to borrow a figure from familiar things--and love is their capital, in which all have an interest, and all a share.

However, it will be easily conceived that, under these circumstances, the conversation between Miss Falkland and Colonel Manners was as nice, and delicate, and difficult an encounter of their wits as ever was practised. Colonel Manners was soon satisfied; for, in answer to some complimentary observation upon her cousin's manners and appearance, which went to praise their tranquillity as well as their elegance, Isadore answered frankly, and smiling as she did so, "Oh, Marian is often more commoto dentro than you think." Miss Falkland's researches, however, were less easily pursued, and they led her, like a child hunting a butterfly, through a world of flowers. One time, she would put her problem generally, and wonder whether any man ever did feel, and continue to feel, as she wished to believe Edward had done towards Marian; and then she would put it particularly, and say, that she thought such an attachment as his must have been a wonderful solace and delight to him; an inexhaustible fund of sweet feelings and hope, throughout all that he had been obliged to endure. But still Colonel Manners, who very clearly understood what she meant, hung back a little in his explanations; pleased, in truth, to watch the feelings that prompted her and the path she pursued; pleased with all the graces that the subject called up in her countenance and her manner; the beaming smile, the sparkling eye, and sometimes the sudden stop and passing blush, when she became uncertain of the next step and dared not advance.

After he had amused himself a little, and saw that she might misconstrue his backwardness into something disadvantageous to his friend, he caught at the next sentence, and replied, "Yes, indeed, I look upon De Vaux's attachment, and his engagement to your fair cousin, before he went to America, as one of the greatest blessings that could have happened to him; especially for a man whose heart was calculated to make it his happiness and his safeguard, and his leading star wherever he went."

Isadore blushed warmly; and perhaps there was a little mingling of emotions in her blush; for, in the first place, the full confirmation of what she had wished and hoped, made her cheek glow; and, in the next place, Colonel Manners' words were so exactly a reply to the questions which had been lurking unspoken in her heart, that she almost suspected he had seen deeper into her thoughts than she had anticipated. A slight smile that followed upon his lip she considered as excessively malicious; but she was one who never suffered wrath to rankle in her bosom, but, in her way, revenged herself always on the spot. "You speak so feelingly, Colonel Manners," said she, just suffering a single ray of laughing light to gleam out of her fine dark eyes; "you speak so feelingly, that I doubt not you have been guarded and led in the same manner."

Let it be clearly kept in mind, that Isadore Falkland had only known Colonel Charles Manners fourteen hours and a half, or she would not have said what she did for the world. It may be thought that the case ought to have been quite the contrary, and that she might have ventured more had she been more intimate. But such would be an erroneous view of the matter. Isadore Falkland well knew that fourteen hours and a half was not a sufficient space of time for any rational man either to feel or to affect love for the most enchanting being that ever the world beheld, and, consequently, that she might say a sportive thing in regard to Colonel Manners' heart, without any chance of a retort which might have been disagreeable--unless he had been a fool or a coxcomb, which she knew him not to be. Had she known him a fortnight, he might have made the retort, as a jest, which would have been disagreeable enough; or as a compliment, which would have been still more disagreeable; or as a serious fact, which would have been most disagreeable; and therefore, under such circumstances, she would never have thought of talking about the heart of one of the company, when there were but two in it. Had she known, too, that the subject was a painful one to Colonel Manners, she would as little have thought of touching upon it; and, indeed, a feeling that he was not handsome, and a vague misty sort of consciousness that that fact might have something to do with his remaining unmarried, did make her regret that she had said such words, almost as soon as they were beyond recall.

"No, indeed," said Colonel Manners, with a touch of melancholy in his manner that could not wholly be banished; "no, indeed, I have not been so fortunate as either to have guardian angel or leading star;" and he smiled at the triteness of his own figures of speech, but with a smile that did not counteract, to the mind of Miss Falkland, the sadness of his tone. She was vexed with herself, and would have done anything on earth, in a reasonable way, to efface whatever painful feelings she might have awakened: but though she was generally skilful enough in putting an end to a difficulty where others were concerned, she found it not so easy to disentangle the affair when she herself was the culprit.

Whether Colonel Manners perceived that Miss Falkland felt she had given pain, and was vexed with herself, or whether he likewise wished to get rid of the subject, matters little; but he now changed the topic somewhat abruptly; and looking round upon the woods, into the very heart of which they were plunging, he said, "I wonder that you fair ladies are not somewhat afraid of walking through these solitudes by yourselves."

"There is no danger," she replied; "we have none but very orderly, peaceable people in our part of the world: though, in truth," she added, after a moment's thought, "we are the last family that should say there is no danger; but I have never heard of any very serious offence being committed in our neighbourhood since the murder of my poor uncle, which, as it is long ago, of course I do not recollect.

"I remember having heard something of that event," replied Colonel Manners, "but do not recollect the particulars. Was he killed by highwaymen?"

"I believe so," answered Miss Falkland, "though I know too little about it to tell you exactly what happened. But--oh, yes!--he was robbed and murdered, I remember; for it was proved that he had a large sum of money upon his person when he went out--several thousand pounds--and it was supposed that some one who knew the fact had either waylaid him, or had informed the murderers of the booty they might obtain."

"He was, I think, your uncle by the side of Mrs. Falkland," said Colonel Manners, who of course felt an interest in the matter in proportion to the little difficulties of obtaining information.

"Yes, my mother's brother," replied Isadore; "Marian's father. You may easily imagine that such a story rendered her an object of double interest to all her family--of redoubled tenderness, I believe I should say, and even my uncle, who is not very scrupulous in regard to what he says to any one, is more kind and considerate towards Marian than towards any other human being. That great and horrible crime, however--I mean the murder--seems to have frightened others from our neighbourhood; and though we occasionally hear of a little poaching, the people round us are uniformly well-behaved and peaceable."

"Can you say as much for the gipsies towards whose encampment, if I understood De Vaux right, we are bending our way?" asked Colonel Manners. "They are, in general, very troublesome and unquiet neighbours."

"I had not heard of their being here," replied Miss Falkland: "we are very seldom so honoured, I can assure you. I do not remember having seen gipsies here more than once; and that was not in this wood, but on a large common up yonder at the top of that hill, behind the house. They are a strange race!"

"They are, indeed," answered her companion; "and De Vaux and I, as we passed their encampment, could not help marvelling that no government had ever thought it worth its while to pay some attention to them, either for the purpose of reclaiming them to civilized life, or, if that were judged impossible, for the purpose of obtaining those traces of knowledge which are waning from among them every day, but which some of their better men are said still to retain."

"Do you mean their astrological knowledge?" asked Miss Falkland, with a look of no slight interest in the question.

"O, no!" answered Colonel Manners, with a smile; "I mean the knowledge of their real history, of their original country, of their former laws, of their language in its purity, and of many facts of great interest, which, though with them they are merely traditionary, yet might be confirmed or invalidated by other testimony in our own possession."

"They are a strange people, indeed!" said Miss Falkland. "Do you know, Colonel Manners, that the separate existence of these gipsies and of the Jews--coming down, as it were, two distinct streams, amid all the whirling confusion of an ocean of other nations--keeping their identity among wars, and battles, and changes, and the overturning of all things but themselves; retaining their habits, and their thoughts, and their national character apart, in spite both of sudden and violent revolutions in society, and of the slow, but even more powerful efforts of gradual improvement and civilization. Do you know, whenever I think of this, it gives me a strange feeling of mysterious awe that I cannot describe? It seems as if I saw more distinctly than in the common course of things the workings of the particular will of the Almighty; for I cannot understand how these facts can be accounted for by any of the common motives in existence; as, in both instances, interest, ambition, policy, and pleasure, with almost every inducement that could be enumerated, would have produced exactly the opposite result."

"I shall not attempt to reason against you, Miss Falkland," replied Colonel Manners, with a smile; "and, indeed, I very much agree with you in opinion, though perhaps not in your wonder; for being a complete believer in a special providence, I only see the same hand in this that I think is discernible throughout creation."

"But tell me, Colonel Manners," said Isadore, "have you any belief in the fortune-telling powers of the gipsies?"

"None whatever," answered Colonel Manners.

"Nor perhaps have I," said Isadore; "but at the same time it is strange that in all ages and in all countries, as far as I can understand, these gipsies have pretended to this particular science, and have been very generally believed. At all events, it shows that they have an immemorial tradition of such a power having been possessed by their ancestors; and if it were possessed by their ancestors, why not by themselves?"

"But we have no reason to believe that it was possessed by their ancestors," replied Colonel Manners, "except, indeed, their own tradition, which, as you say, is evidently very ancient."

"Nay, nay, but I think we have other proofs," replied Isadore, "and very strong ones, it appears to me. It is evident from the historical part of the Bible that the most ancient Egyptians had various means of divination, and even a magical influence, the reality and power of which is admitted by the sacred writers most distinctly; and consequently, when these facts are joined to an immemorial tradition of the descendants of the same nation, it seems that there is strong reason for believing that these powers existed even after the period to which the sacred volume refers."

"I am inclined, indeed, to believe," replied Colonel Manners, "that the gipsies are descendants from some Egyptian tribe, although the fact has been contested strongly, and the French call them Bohemians--unreasonably enough. In regard to the powers of divination attributed to the ancient Egyptians, too, I believe them to have existed, because I believe the Bible not only as an inspired record, but as the best-authenticated history, without any exception, that exists; and at the same time I cannot suppose that men who had so grand, so comprehensive, and also so philosophical an idea of the Divinity, that four thousand years have not been able to produce the slightest enlargement of it, as displayed in many passages of Holy Writ--I cannot suppose that such men would have recorded as facts anything substantially inconsistent with the majesty of that Being whom they alone knew in the age when they wrote. But you must remember that these powers, though permitted then for reasons we know not, may have ceased now, like the powers of prophecy, and many other things of the same kind; and did the gipsies possess such powers at present, depend upon it, we should find them clothed in purple in the closets of kings, instead of wandering upon bare heaths, and stealing for a livelihood."

"You are right, I know," replied Miss Falkland, with a smile, at the lingerings of credulity that still haunted her own bosom, "and I have convinced myself, and been convinced by others over and over again, that it is all nonsense; and yet,--"

She paused, and Manners rejoined, "One of our old humorous poets says,

"And perhaps you think the verses still more applicable to a woman, Colonel Manners," replied Miss Falkland; "but that is not exactly the case with me. My weakness extends no farther than this:--were a gipsy to predict any great evil for my future life, it would make me very uneasy, however much I might struggle against the impression; and, on that account, I would not have my fortune told, as they call it, for the world! Would you?"

"Without the slightest apprehension," answered Colonel Manners, laughing. "They may try their chiromancy on me, when they please, and do me all the harm they can for half a crown, which is, I believe, the stipulated sum."

"That is, because you are a man and a hero," replied Miss Falkland, in the same gay tone, "and you are bound by honour and profession to be afraid of nothing; but remember, I look upon it as an agreement--you are to have your fortune told this very day, and that will do for the whole party; for I will not have mine told, and I am sure Marian shall not, if I can prevent it."

"Oh, I will be the scape-goat, with all my heart," he replied; "but I suppose we cannot be far from their encampment, if your computation of miles be correct."

"We are close to the high-road," answered Miss Falkland; "but how far up the hill they are, you best know. However, let us wait for Edward and Marian. We must not make the babes in the wood of them; and of course they are a good way behind. Now, I dare say, while you and Edward were in America, you heard of Marian de Vaux till you were tired--was it not so, Colonel Manners?"

"No, indeed," he answered, smiling; "far from it, I can assure you. Although I long ago found out by various infallible signs that De Vaux was in love; yet, never till circumstances had produced esteem and friendship, and friendship had become intimacy, did he ever mention his engagement, or the object of his attachment."

"And then he doubtless painted her in very glowing colours," added Isadore, trying strenuously to while away the time till her cousins came up, they having lingered behind farther than she had expected.

"Oh, of course, all lovers are like the old painter Arellius," answered Colonel Manners, "and always paint the objects of their love as goddesses. But I will not gratify your malice, Miss Falkland; De Vaux has too fine a sense of the ridiculous ever to render himself so by exaggerating any feeling."

"He has, indeed, too fine a sense of the ridiculous," answered Isadore; "it is his worst fault, Colonel Manners; and I fear that, like all the rest of our faults, it may some day prove his own bane; but here they come! Now, Colonel Manners, prepare to hear your fate. Edward, here is your friend going to have his fortune told."

"You mean going to give half a crown to a gipsy," said De Vaux; "but if you are serious, Manners, I will, of course, stand by you to the last, as if you were going to fight a duel, or any other unreasonable thing. Turn to the left and you will see the appointed place, as the newspapers call it, before you."

In this expectation, however, De Vaux was mistaken; for the gipsies and their accompaniments, men, women, and children, pots, kettles, and tents, had all disappeared. It must not be said, indeed, that they had left no vestige of their abode behind them, for half a dozen black spots burnt in the turf, and more than one pile of white wood ashes, attested the extent of their encampment; but nothing else was to be seen in the green wood, except the old oaks, and the yellow sunshine streaming through the rugged boughs, with a squirrel balancing itself on the branch of a fir, and two noisy jays screaming from tree to tree.

"This is a very Robin Hood like scene," said Colonel Manners, as he looked around, "and less gloomy in the broad daylight than at eventide. But here are no gipsies, Miss Falkland; and I am afraid that you must put off hearing the future fate and fortunes of Charles Manners till another time."

"I am very much mortified, indeed," replied Isadore, "and I see that you only laugh at me, Colonel Manners, without sympathizing in the least with disappointed curiosity; which,--as no one believes more fully than yourself,--is a very serious event in a woman's case. However, I shall hold you bound by your promise, and look upon you engaged as a man of honour to have your fortune told the very first time you meet with a party of gipsies,--nay, more, to let me know the result also."

She spoke with playful seriousness; and Colonel Manners replied, "With all my heart, Miss Falkland; and, indeed, you shall find that your commands are so lightly borne by me, that I will take other obligations upon myself, and even seek out your favourites, the gipsies; for these protegÉes of yours seldom move far at a time, unless, indeed, all the poultry in the neighbourhood happens to be exhausted."

"Oh, that is not the case here," answered Isadore; "there is plenty yet remaining in every farm-yard, and I dare say you will find them on the common."

"I will go to-morrow, then, without fail," he answered, "for--" and he had nearly added words which would have betrayed his meditated departure; but he turned his speech another way; and all parties, well satisfied with their ramble, returned by the same path to the house.

Nothing occurred during the rest of the day to disturb the tranquillity of the party. The evening passed away in conversation, generally light enough, but of which we have given a specimen above, fully sufficient to show its nature and quality. Sometimes it touched, indeed, upon deeper feelings, without ever becoming grave; and sometimes it ventured farther into the realms of learning, without approaching pedantry. The annoyance of Lord Dewry's behaviour on the preceding night had at the time reconciled Colonel Manners in some degree to the idea of quitting a circle in which he found much to please and interest him; but no such annoyance interrupted the course of this evening, and he experienced more pain than he liked to acknowledge, when he thought of leaving behind him for ever, a scene in which the hours passed so pleasantly. He felt, however, that the annoyance might soon be renewed, or that even if it were not, he had no right by his presence to shut out De Vaux's father from Mrs. Falkland's house; and he resolved still to adhere to his purpose, and set out for London on the day after that which was just about to follow.