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Edward for a moment leant over the balustrade. At first all was a bright and gay confusion-colours only seemed to strike the eye

-gradually the figures stood out distinctly, and Lorraine could distinguish every face except the one which he especially wanted. Yet his eye involuntarily lingered on the scene; for he had caught sight of the Countess, who was standing in the centre of a little group, whose looks told their language was flattery; and she herself wore that bright excited air which the words of the flatterer, even more than those of the lover, can call up in woman's face. Every aet a coquetry, every look a captivation, she just realised one of the brilliant beauties of La Fronde, a Duchesse de Longueville, for whose sake Rochefoucauld made love, war, and epigrams, and to whom he addressed his celebrated lines,

"Pour mériter son cœur, pour plaire à ses beaux yeux,

J'ai fait la guerre aux rois, je l'aurois faite aux dieux."

She wore a dress of azure blue velvet, with a deep border of gold; her luxuriant hair was put back from her brow in a style which no face but the most perfect could have borne, and was then gathered in a form like that of

an ancient helmet, every plait glittering with diamonds: it was peculiar, but it suited her. What," thought Edward, "the poet says in praise of one beauty, I say in dispraise of another :

• Her eyes, like suns, the rash beholder strike,

But, like the sun, they shine on all alike.'

This is very well for indifference, but very bad for vanity. I trust (and the Jover smiled in scornfulness at the very idea) my Beatrice will be more exclusive of her smile." And with this wish, which with him took the shape of conviction, Edward turned into the gallery which led to the turret.

It was a narrow, gloomy passage, hung with very old tapestry. How strange did the fantastic and discoloured shapes appear by the dim light of the single lamp! At first the sounds of music seemed like a connexion with the gay and the bright left behind-soon the tones became confused-and before Edward had threaded two-thirds of the many turnings, the music was quite inaudible.

One large room only remained to cross: it had in former days been a picture gallery, but now, being apart from the other suite of apart

ments, it was never used. old and faded, and a few mouldered on the walls.

The furniture was worthless paintings Among them was

one which, in Edward's estimation, deserved a better place. It was the portrait of himself and his brother, taken years ago, when Algernon was a fine handsome boy, of about thirteen years of age, and Edward not quite three. The younger, a frank, bold, bright-eyed child, was mounted on a large Newfoundland dog, whose impatience the elder brother was trying to soothe. This was another proof how little Algernon's affections or recollections were considered by the Countess Adelaide.

Lorraine was now at the foot of the winding staircase which led to the turret, and he could not but recall his brother's luxurious habits, as he ascended the steep and narrow steps. At last he entered the chamber, and his first look was caught by its comfortless and unfurnished aspect. There was a little table, on which stood a common inkstand, some scattered papers, and a candle which had burnt down in the socket; but the room was illumined by the moonlight, which streamed in from the uncurtained window. Lord Etheringhame was seated with his back to the door, so that his visitor entered

unobserved.

"My dear Algernon, how comes it that I find you here, and alone?" There was no answer. With a vague feeling of alarm, rather than positive fear, Edward sprang to his brother. The lamp fell full upon his facethere was no mistaking its awful likeness. The features were drawn frightfully aside, and the open eyes looked out with that stony stare which says light has forsaken them for ever. Edward caught his hands, but they were deathcold. Algernon had been dead some hours. "God of heaven! my brother dead and our parting was in anger!"

CHAPTER XIX.

"And impulses of deeper thought

Have come to me in solitude."

WORDSWORTH.

"This cell hath taught me many a hidden thing:
I have become acquainted with my soul
Through midnight silence, and through lonely days
Silent as midnight. I have found therein
A well of waters, undisturbed and deep,
Of sustenance, refreshment, and repose."

66 Supported by the very power of sorrow,
And Faith that comes a solemn comforter,
Even hand in hand with death."

WILSON.

"DEAREST LADY MANDEVille,

"If you have not already forgotten my wilful, wayward, and ungrateful conduct, I am persuaded it will be forgiven when I tell you, that I have suffered much both in mind and in body, and am now at home-but ill, very ill, and pining to see you, my kind, my almost only friend. The fatigue of writing is great, and I will enter into VOL. III.

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