'Learn to win a lady's faith

Nobly, as the thing is high;

Bravely, as for life and death--

With a loyal gravity.

Lead her from the festive boards,

Point her to the starry skies,

Guard her, by your truthful words,

Pure from courtship's flatteries.'

MRS. BROWNING.

'Mr. Henry Lennox.' Margaret had been thinking of him only a

moment before, and remembering his inquiry into her probable

occupations at home. It was 'parler du soleil et l'on en voit les

rayons;' and the brightness of the sun came over Margaret's face

as she put down her board, and went forward to shake hands with

him. 'Tell mamma, Sarah,' said she. 'Mamma and I want to ask you

so many questions about Edith; I am so much obliged to you for

coming.' 'Did not I say that I should?' asked he, in a lower tone than

that in which she had spoken.

'But I heard of you so far away in the Highlands that I never

thought Hampshire could come in.

'Oh!' said he, more lightly, 'our young couple were playing such

foolish pranks, running all sorts of risks, climbing this

mountain, sailing on that lake, that I really thought they needed

a Mentor to take care of them. And indeed they did; they were

quite beyond my uncle's management, and kept the old gentleman in

a panic for sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. Indeed, when I

once saw how unfit they were to be trusted alone, I thought it my

duty not to leave them till I had seen them safely embarked at

Plymouth.' 'Have you been at Plymouth? Oh! Edith never named that. To be

sure, she has written in such a hurry lately. Did they really

sail on Tuesday?' 'Really sailed, and relieved me from many responsibilities. Edith

gave me all sorts of messages for you. I believe I have a little

diminutive note somewhere; yes, here it is.' 'Oh! thank you,' exclaimed Margaret; and then, half wishing to

read it alone and unwatched, she made the excuse of going to tell

her mother again (Sarah surely had made some mistake) that Mr.

Lennox was there.

When she had left the room, he began in his scrutinising way to

look about him. The little drawing-room was looking its best in

the streaming light of the morning sun. The middle window in the

bow was opened, and clustering roses and the scarlet honeysuckle

came peeping round the corner; the small lawn was gorgeous with

verbenas and geraniums of all bright colours. But the very

brightness outside made the colours within seem poor and faded.

The carpet was far from new; the chintz had been often washed;

the whole apartment was smaller and shabbier than he had

expected, as back-ground and frame-work for Margaret, herself so

queenly. He took up one of the books lying on the table; it was

the Paradiso of Dante, in the proper old Italian binding of white

vellum and gold; by it lay a dictionary, and some words copied

out in Margaret's hand-writing. They were a dull list of words,

but somehow he liked looking at them. He put them down with a

sigh.




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