Alfred arrived at Cheltenham at an early hour in the morning. On repairing to Lady Arden's villa, however, he found that the family had already gone to the walks.

That Caroline was probably there also was his first thought; his next, that Willoughby perhaps at that very moment walked beside her as her received lover. He certainly dreaded to behold realized the picture his imagination had formed. Yet a strange restless feeling, a sort of desperation, blended with a faint hope that he might be quite wrong, impelled him to turn his footsteps towards Montpelier.

It chanced that the band which had paused for one of the usual intervals, recommenced just at the moment. It would be utterly impossible to describe the universal thrill which, on hearing the well-known sounds, took possession of Alfred's whole frame, the rush of associations, numerous, various, vivid, yet so cruelly contrasted with his present feelings.

He wandered on, and entering what may be termed the walk, beheld close to him, but in the act of turning, Caroline and Lady Palliser, with Willoughby in attendance. He had seen Caroline's countenance for one moment, but none of the party had seen him. Their backs being now towards him he followed within a few paces, endeavouring to summon resolution for the necessary task of joining and speaking to them.

Willoughby it was evident had no eyes for any object but his fair companion, towards whom he turned and addressed with an eagerness which precluded the possibility of his ever once looking before him, much less over his shoulder. Caroline of course turned her head from time to time towards Willoughby to reply. She wore the memorable close bonnet of white sarsenet which Alfred had thought so becoming. The morning he had first seen her wear it became present to memory, while imagination vividly pourtrayed within its own beautifying sanctuary that vision of loveliness which it now seemed to be the peculiar privilege of another to behold, as once it had been his, sheltered from the common gaze, and beautiful for him alone.

Lady Arden's party also was close before him, but his agitation, instead of being at all composed by the time he reached the front of the pump-room, was so much increased, that while the ranks of fashion were wheeling to the right or left, to turn down the prescribed limit, he found a convenient screen behind the crimson velvet pelisse of Lady Whaleworthy who chanced to be near, and a moment after, turning off by a cross walk, he made his way home. On the plea to the servant who admitted him, of fatigue after his journey, he sought the shelter of his own apartment; where, while he was supposed to have retired to bed and slept, he sat strengthening and preparing his mind by meditation for a meeting with his brother, and endeavouring to resolve what should be the tenor of his own conduct.

He had been but a very short time shut into his room, his mind still in much too perturbed a state for society, when he heard the family party coming in below. He could distinguish Willoughby's step cross the hall and hastily ascend the stairs, but he had not yet resolution to admit him; he therefore bolted his door without noise, and remained quite still. He heard Willoughby turn the handle of the lock gently, and after pausing a moment retire. "They have told him of my arrival, and with his wonted kindness, poor fellow, he is impatient to see me," thought Alfred. "And if he is destined," he added, after a pause, "to a better, a brighter lot than mine, shall I wantonly embitter his happiness by allowing him to perceive that the confirmation of hope to him will be the sealing of despair to me? No, no, I will be more generous, he shall see me firm, collected—if possible cheerful. Nay, that he is happy, surely ought to be, and as surely is, a source of rejoicing to me. Would this admit of a question were his happiness derived from any other source?—Certainly not! What perverted feeling, then, can it be to which I yield?—Selfishness! yes, selfishness the most aimless, the most degraded! For shame! for shame! I must cast it from me and be a man."

As he formed this resolve he rose from his seat and stood erect. After a few seconds he hastily decided on descending to the breakfast-room, lest Willoughby should again seek him; for he felt that he should have more self-command in the full family circle, than were his heart just at this moment subjected to the probing of his affectionate brother's anxiety in a private interview.

Alfred, too amiable not to be a general favourite, was received by every individual of the party with the most entire cordiality, except, indeed, Geoffery, who had no good will for any one.

Willoughby, by the manner of shaking hands, and a look which accompanied the action, implied a kind and even anxious enquiry into the state of his brother's feelings, which it cost Alfred an effort to parry. He did so, however, though with an air of rather overdone carelessness.

Willoughby, deeply interested in believing him sincere, and himself not a very keen observer, was more than satisfied—he was delighted. And by the time breakfast was concluded, so well had Alfred, aided by a feverish excitement, acted the part of cheerfulness and even gaiety, that Willoughby now looked forward to the coming evening with unmixed pleasure. It was the one fixed for a splendid ball at Lady Arden's, and Lady Caroline Montague was already engaged to open it with him.

The ball was so far a fortunate circumstance for our hero, for his sisters could think of little else, which prevented their bantering him in the unmerciful manner they might else have done about forsaking his post. Mrs. Dorothea Arden, who after being at the walks with the young people, always breakfasted with the family party, was so anxious on this particular morning to see that meal concluded—having many arrangements to recommend to her nieces, that she too made but one remark on the painful topic, merely saying, as she rose from table; "Well, I am glad, Alfred, you have returned in time not to allow your beautiful heiress to be run away with. Willoughby has been paying fierce love in that quarter I assure you. However, I should hope that with his ninety thousand a-year of his own, he has no serious intention of interfering with your making so desirable a match."

Mrs. Dorothea had effected her exit by the time she finished her speech, so that fortunately no answer was required. An awkward silence however followed; for though all the ladies had by this time departed in various directions, Geoffery's presence precluded any thing like confidential conversation between the brothers.

By our constant mention of Geoffery, it may be supposed he lived with the Arden family, and it must be confessed that he found it both convenient and agreeable to do so in a great measure; he had, however, a nominal home at a hotel. For the last few moments Alfred had yielded to a reverie of no very agreeable nature, the result of which was, a conclusion arrived at with inward dismay: namely, that if he would avoid calling down a universal clamour of remark both upon himself and Lady Caroline, he must continue on friendly, and apparently intimate terms both with Lady Palliser and her daughter, and for this purpose pay to both every polite attention which intimacy claims; and still more that the exertion, however painful, must be made at once.

Accordingly, with as much ease of manner as he could assume, he proposed to Willoughby and Geoffery that they should accompany him in a morning visit to Jessamine Bower.

"I suppose you forgot to ask Mrs. Dorothea's permission before you fall in love," murmured Geoffery aside to Willoughby, as they passed out; "how absurd it is of aunts and mothers to suppose that they are to dictate to young men in these matters; but women love to hear themselves talk."