Coleridge. Piccolomini. It would be difficult adequately to portray the conflict of emotions which now agitated our hero. His life at Trevethlan Castle might be described as a long childhood, and the boy became a man at one bound, instead of by insensible degrees. Hence he had not learned to control his sensations. He He revelled in the new passion. In those few moments he lived an age. What face was that which intervened between him and his love? Where had he seen those proud lineaments? He required no hint from Helen to remind him of the miniature. He recognised his father's Esther at a glance; he sprang to the conclusion that it was her daughter he adored; and he remembered the vow that lay upon his soul. What wonder that he should feel a presentiment of ill? There are those who smile when they hear of "love at first sight." But he who drew Romeo was better versed in the heart of The first effect of his new passion upon Randolph was to give tenfold vigour to his hatred of his assumed name. Of right, he was Mildred's equal. Even studying for his profession as Randolph Trevethlan, he would still be her equal. But as the obscure pretender, Morton, he was degraded far beneath her. In his proper person, he could surmount all obstacles to obtain her. Could he? What, then, became of his vow? That very pledge he had given in exchange for permission to wear the detested mask. What a web he had spun around His wavering irresolution made him fretful, and almost morose. It caused also a strange craving for excitement. He became impatient of his quiet evenings at Hampstead. It was ungrateful, but he could not help it. Helen saw his irritation with sorrow, but without complaint. Rereworth saw it, and tried vainly to soothe it. He had frequently pressed Randolph to accompany him into society; he prevailed on him to acquire the accomplishments of life, and thereby provided a considerable source of "My dancing!" Randolph might exclaim in answer to such queries; "it prospers marvellously. Yet methinks it is a ridiculous occupation." "By no means, my dear sir," would be the reply. "Hath not the 'Spectator' observed, that 'no one was ever a good dancer that had not a good understanding?' Ah! I see why you smile; but that's not the meaning." But hitherto Rereworth had been unable to persuade his friend to avail himself of his new acquirements. Trevethlan's secret held him back. It met him at every turn. But now, in his eagerness to forget himself, he at last consented to go with Seymour to an assembly at the house of a near relation, "You may call yourself a happy man, Morton," cried Rereworth gaily. "You shall be the envy of all our sex, for my fair cousin's sister is the loveliest girl in London, and I have made her promise to be disengaged to dance with you. I told her you were a very good-looking fellow." "That is not a good introduction," Randolph said, with a faint smile. "But you sacrifice yourself." "Never fear, you won't disappoint her," Seymour continued. "And as for me, I have romped with her this many a day. She waltzes with me in the morning, and teazes me in the evening. I shall really be glad to inflict her upon you." "Then I accept the doom," said Randolph. "Dance with her after supper," added his friend. "That's the time when 'beauty like the midnight flower—'" and Rereworth whistled "Fly not yet." His companion's spirits rose under the influence of his own. "Another glass to her health, Morton, and let us away." It was quaffed, and they departed. A lumbering hackney-coach conveyed them to Cavendish-square. "Mr. Rereworth." ... "Mr. Rereworth." And Randolph had made his bow to Mrs. Winston. It is not easy for one who went down his first country-dance when seven years old, at a children's ball, and has since practised the festive science until he is too old to obtain any but children for partners, to It was a little sudden. Schoolboys tell Mechanically, intuitively, he offered Mildred his arm. She laid her hand lightly within it, and they moved onward with the crowd. They made the tour of the saloon before the cavalier uttered a syllable. "Seymour has brought me an oddity," thought Mildred. Randolph was overwhelmed with a flood of rapid emotions, sombre as the canopy which hung above "Pardon me, Miss Pendarrel," at length Randolph said, in a voice of tremulous tenderness: "I am new and strange to society. I have relied too lightly on my friend's promises. I walk in a dream." There is a sort of seeming egotism which is very profitable in love. Few men will fail to excite interest by the true account "A pleasant dream, Mr. Morton, I hope," she said. He quivered at the sound of the name. "Pleasant!" he exclaimed; and then recovering himself partly—"I think it is pleasant.... They are forming quadrilles. Shall we dance, Miss Pendarrel?" "If you please," answered Mildred, partly puzzled and partly provoked. "Mr. Melcomb," she added to that gentleman, as he passed with a lady, "you will be my vis-À-vis." Melcomb bowed, looked at Mildred's partner, and raised his eyebrows slightly. Randolph recollected the man he had seen at the opera, disliked what he fancied was a singular familiarity, and wondered what was the coxcomb's position in the family. As he warmed in the dance, however, his moodiness and taciturnity gave way. He flung himself into the humour of the moment, retrieved his character with his partner, and obtained another engagement. "Let destiny decide," he said to himself. Melcomb was Mildred's partner in the next set. "Who is your unknown knight?" he asked. "My partner!" said the lady. "A friend of Mr. Rereworth's." "He is in love with you," remarked the coxcomb. "I hope he is," Mildred laughed. "Cruel! He will languish and die." "That is as I please. I am to dance with him again." "Is Mrs. Pendarrel here?" It was a taunt, and Mildred felt it. Turn the kaleidoscope. "I consider," wrote Sir Richard Steele, "woman as a beautiful romantic animal, that may be adorned with furs and feathers, pearls and diamonds, ores and silks. The lynx shall cast its skin at her feet to make her a tippet; the peacock, parrot, and swan shall pay contributions to her muff; the sea shall be searched for shells, and the rocks for gems; and every part of nature shall furnish out its share towards the embellishment of a creature that is the most consummate work of it." The numerous fair forms in Mrs. Winston's saloons, on which Solitude in a crowd has been the theme of much moralizing. In Randolph's case it was peculiarly striking, for it was due, not In such mood he was, when a voice pierced through the cloud which surrounded him. Rereworth came to seek his friend. "Morton," he cried, laughing, "'awake, arise, or be for ever fallen.' Winston desires me to present you. Winston, Mr. Morton—Morton, Mr. Winston. Pray find my friend a partner, most philosophical sir." But Randolph begged to be excused. He escaped from the metaphysician, found In this disposition he sought Mildred to claim her engagement. She could complain of no want of devotion now. Her partner was romantic, without sentimentalism; serious, and yet full of imagination. He was pleased, and he exerted himself to please. He allowed his natural enthusiasm A quadrille affords but scanty and inconvenient opportunity for conversation. But Randolph managed to protract the subsequent promenade. He even drew Mildred apart to that deserted window from which he had been gazing on the sky, and rehearsed some of the marvels of the astrologers, pointing out the planet which had attracted his attention. But he was suddenly awakened from his entrancement. Mrs. Pendarrel, leaning on Melcomb's arm, came to seek her daughter. "Mildred, my dear," she said, "I have sent to call our carriage." And she held her arm to the young lady, and bowed very loftily to Randolph. "The carriage is at the door, my dear," "Mr. Trevethlan Pendarrel, I should be glad if you would ascertain who that gentleman is. A Mr. Morton, I understand. Hark, sir," she whispered, "do you see no likeness?" "Yes, my dear, certainly I do," said the obsequious husband. "To whom?" Randolph advanced at the same moment. "Spare your pains, sir," he said; "I am Randolph Trevethlan." Face to face, only two steps apart, with their eyes fixed on each other, stood the son and the lover of Henry Trevethlan. Esther's countenance was inscrutable. Her daughter clung to her arm, with cheeks |