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Phoebe's head sank upon her bosom; she slept. Florence rose, pressed her lips lightly upon the dying girl's forehead, wrung the widow's hand, and darted from the cottage. She regained the castle without let or hindrance, dressed for dinner, and appeared among the remaining guests without betraying any symptoms of vehement emotion. It is true, she was very pale, so pale that Lord Glenorme expressed undisguised solicitude about her health. She did not turn from him with her usual coldness; her voice faltered, and her eyes filled with tears, as she assured him that she was perfectly well.

He

"She is jealous." was his lordship's secret conviction. He devoted himself to Lady Elizabeth Beauclerk. observed that Miss Dudley's eyes followed him with a strange expression he could not exactly fathom. Miss Dudley was drawing a comparison between the haughty Lady Elizabeth, resplendent with diamonds, and the dying girl she had so lately quitted.

"Look on this picture and on this!"

She looked and listened until she was sick at heart, and then made her escape, unnoticed by all save Lord Glenorme, who put his own construction upon her precipitate flight. Florence could not bear the solitude of her own chamber; the dying Phoebe haunted her. She took refuge with Mademoiselle Despréaux. That lady was alone, her pupils having retired to rest.

"My head aches, and I am weary of society," said Florence, as she entered the room; "will you allow me to share your solitude?"

66

Gladly. You know one longs for some one to whom to comment on the charms of solitude."

I am indebted for these lines to the kindness of a friend.

Florence made no reply, but threw herself into her favourite rocking-chair.

"You are out of spirits-worn out with pleasure. Remember, toujours du plaisir, ce n'est pas du plaisir." "Are you happy, Mademoiselle?" demanded Miss Dudley, abruptly.

"Happy! in a foreign land-working for my bread ?" "I beg your pardon, but

دو

Mademoiselle Despréaux interrupted her. "I do not complain. I love my pupils; they have kind hearts and generous tempers. They love me, but their mother despises me."

"Mademoiselle, you exaggerate. Lady Wentworth cannot despise one to whom she has entrusted the education of her daughters."

Mademoiselle shrugged her shoulders. "I have learned to estimate my true position; it is a strange anomaly! The governess is a mere machine-a superfluous one-out of the school-room. Her role is an important one with respect to her pupils, but" she checked herself; she was thinking of a hint received a few days before, which had hurt her feelings not a little. The housekeeper, either with or without authority, had requested the governess not to mount the grand stairs when unaccompanied by her pupils. Whether this insult had originated with the housekeeper, the groom of the chambers, or some higher power, Mademoiselle Despréaux did not stop to enquire, but she felt it keenly.

Miss Dudley, whose experience of the trials of governesses was small indeed, was puzzled by Madmoiselle's half-confidence. She did not interrupt her companion's reverie, or ask for any explanation of the few phrases she had uttered, but sat, with half-closed eyes, idly watching the fitful blaze emitted by the decaying fire.

Mademoiselle, however, was no lover of silence. Presently, she looked up; a tear glittered in her eye; but, with the versatility of her countrywomen, she

dashed it away, as she exclaimed with piquant vivacity, "Je me moque de tout, moi!"

"Allons, Mademoiselle, parlez philosophie."

Mademoiselle laughed gaily, and exerted herself to amuse her unbidden guest. She was a lively, but not bitter, satirist of the faults and follies of the great. With much humour and nice discrimination, she gave many amusing sketches of character. Florence forgot her melancholy, and laughed merrily at some of Mademoiselle's sallies. Their tête-à-tête was interrupted by Lady Cecilia.

"Florence, you are incorrigible. Mamma has sent me to desire you to return to the drawing-room immediately. The Duchess has expressed a wish to see a charade en action; we cannot act without you."

"You were laughing two

"I am tired; indeed, I cannot." Cecilia shook her head. minutes ago; you must come."

Florence sighed, and submitted. Lady Wentworth looked haughtily displeased as she entered the room. "Are you ill, Miss Dudley? You are singularly independent in your conduct."

Lord Wentworth smiled at Florence's confusion; he was amused, never ruffled, at the caprices of his favourite. "When Miss Dudley is ready to comply with her Grace's wishes, she will find a grateful audience," said Lady Wentworth, in a freezing tone.

Miss Dudley's eyes filled; she was worn out in body and mind. The Duchess, who was a good-natured woman, interposed,-" My dear Lady Wentworth, Miss Dudley is tired. Excuse my thoughtless request, my dear young lady, and gratify my curiosity another evening."

Florence thanked the Duchess in a tremulous voice, and without waiting for Lady Wentworth's decision, made her escape sans cérémonie.

Lady Wentworth bit her lip with suppressed anger; the Duchess, all unconscious of the cause which ruffled the temper of her hostess, increased the evil by praising Miss Dudley.

"She is a lovely creature! I am never weary of admiring the play of her features; her smile is sweet as summer."

"You are poetical, Duchess," said Lady Wentworth, with a slight dash of irony.

"I have rarely seen a more expressive countenance. The sparkling intelligence which inspires every lineament is a charm of no mean order; but the heart betrays itself in the sensitive blush, in the intuitive appreciation of every touch of feeling" She stopped abruptly, struck by the portentous frown which contracted the fair brow of her hostess.

Lord Wentworth smiled; Lord Glenorme nodded his head approvingly; Mr. Temple turned away, to conceal his agitation. The conversation turned upon beauty of feature and beauty of expression-upon the relative charms of modern beauties and historical beauties. Lady Wentworth did not join in the disquisition; she fancied that she had detected a glance of intelligence between her son and Florence before the latter left the room. Her suspicions were roused; she would watch them; better still, she would depute Mrs. Gerald Herbert to keep a narrow espionage over Miss Dudley.

No sooner said than done; Mrs. Herbert accepted the office with the most obliging alacrity; she had taken an antipathy to our heroine, and longed to bring her into disgrace with her noble hostess.

CHAPTER XXI.

A boon, a talisman, O Memory! give,
To shrine my name in hearts where I would live
For evermore !

And Memory answer'd me: 'Wild wish, and vain!
I have no hues the loveliest to detain

In the heart's core.'

Hast thou such power, O Love? And Love replied:
'It is not mine! Pour out thy soul's full tide
Of hope and trust,

Prayer, tear, devotedness, that boon to gain-
'Tis but to write, with the heart's fiery rain,
Wild words on dust!'

MRS. HEMANS.

AFTER the departure of the guests who were invited to the masque of "Comus," the castle was hushed in unusual repose. The Temples lingered nearly a fortnight longer; they left, and of all the gay company Mrs. Gerald Herbert was the sole survivor. Preparations, on a scale of princely magnificence, were set on foot for the celebration of the marriage of the fair Geraldine. The trousseau and the corbeille might have moved the envy of a princess. The bride-elect turned from the costly offerings of her noble suitor with a bitter smile: "Le présent ne fait pas oublier le futur."

One morning, the ladies, including Mademoiselle Despréaux and her pupils, were assembled in Lady Wentworth's boudoir. Geraldine, pale and listless, sat, or rather reclined, in a low chair; her eyes were fixed

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