The page slew the boar,
  The peer had the gloire. 
               Quentin Durward.

Great uneasiness was excited at Dynevor Terrace by the tidings of the insurrection at Paris.  After extracting all possible alarm from her third-hand newspaper, Mrs. Frost put on her bonnet to set off on a quest for a sight of the last day’s Times.  James had offered to go, but she was too restless to remain at home; and when he had demonstrated that the rumour must be exaggerated, and that there was no need for alarm, he let her depart, and as soon as she was out of sight, caught up the paper to recur to the terrible reports of the first day’s warfare.  He paced about the little parlour, reviling himself for not having joined the party, to infuse a little common sense; Fitzjocelyn, no more fit to take care of himself than a baby, probably running into the fray from mere rash indifference!  Isabel exposed to every peril and terror!  Why had he refused to join them?  The answer was maddening.  He hated himself, as he found his love for his cousin melting under the influence of jealousy, and of indignation that his own vehement passion must be sacrificed to the tardy, uncertain love which seemed almost an insult to such charms.

‘What needs dwelling on it?’ he muttered; ’doubtless they are engaged by this time!  I shall surely do something desperate if they come here, under my very eye.  Would that I could go to the Antipodes, ere I forfeit Louis’s love!  But my grandmother, Clara!  Was ever man so miserably circumstanced?’

A hand was on the door; and he strove to compose his face lest he should shock his grandmother.

It was not Mrs. Frost.

‘Louis! for Heaven’s sake, where are they!’

‘In the House Beautiful.’

James breathed ­’And you! what makes you so pale?  What have you done to your arm?

’A little affair of the barricades.  I have been watering the French Republic with my blood.’

‘Rushing into the thickest of the row, of course.’

’Only escorting Miss Conway through an assault of the Garde Nationale said Louis, in a tone as if he had been saying ’walking up the High Street.’  How could he help teasing, when he could make such amends?

James began to pace up and down again, muttering something about madness and frenzy.

‘It was not voluntary,’ said Louis.  ’When the carriage was confiscated for the service of the nation, what could we do? ­I can tell you, Jem,’ he added, fervently, ’what a gallant being she is!  It was the glorious perfection of gentle, lofty feminine courage, walking through the raging multitude ­through shots, through dreadful sights, like Una through the forest, in Christian maidenly fearlessness.’

James had flung himself into a chair, hiding his face, and steadying his whole person, by resting his elbow on his knee and his brow on his hand, as he put a strong force on himself that he might hear Louis out without betraying himself.  Louis paused in ardent contemplation of the image he had called up, and poor James gruffly whispered, ’Go on:  you were happy.’

‘Very happy, in knowing what cause I have to rejoice for you.’

James gave a great start, and trembled visibly.

‘I did not tell you,’ pursued Louis, ’that the single moment when she lost her firmness, was when she thought she had lost a certain ivory clasp.’

James could endure no more:  ‘Louis,’ he said, ’you must try me no longer.  What do you mean?’

Louis affectionately put his hand on his shoulder:  ’I mean, dear Jem, that I understand it now; and it is a noble heart that you have won, and that can value you as you deserve.’

James wrung his hand, and looked bewildered, inquiring, and happy; but his quivering lips could form no words.

‘It was a time to reveal the depths of the heart,’ said Louis.  ’A few words and the loss of the bracelet betrayed much:  and afterwards, as far as a lady could, she confessed that something which passed between you the last evening ­’

‘Louis!’ cried James, ’I could not help it!  I had been striving against it all along; but if you could imagine how I was tried!  You never would come to plead your own cause, and I thought to work for you, but my words are too near the surface.  I cut myself short.  I have bitterly reproached myself ever since, but I did not know the harm I had done you.  Can you forgive me?  Can you ­No, it is vain to ask; you never can be happy.’

’My dear Jem, you go on at such a pace, there is no answering you.  There is no forgiveness in the case.  Further acquaintance had already convinced me that she was lovely and perfect, but that ’she is na mine ain lassie.’  Yes, she caught my imagination; and you and my father would have it that I was in love, and I supposed you knew best:  but when I was let alone to a rational consideration, I found that to me she is rather the embodied Isabel of romance, a beauteous vision, than the ­the ­in short, that there is another who has all that I am wanting in.  No, no, dear Jem; it was you who made the generous sacrifice.  Have no scruples about me; I am content with the part of Una’s Lion, only thankful that Sans-Loy and Sans-Foy had not quite demolished him before he had seen her restored to the Red Cross Knight.’

It was too much for James; he hid his face in his hands, and burst into tears.  Such joy dawning on him, without having either offended or injured his cousin, produced a revulsion of feeling which he could not control, and hearing the street-door opened, he ran out of the room, just before his grandmother came hurrying in, on the wings of the intelligence heard below.

‘Yes!  I knew my own boy would come to me!’ she cried.  ’Even Miss Conway has not begun to keep him from me yet.’

’Nor ever will, Aunt Kitty.  There are obstacles in the way.  You must be granny, and mother, and sister and wife, and all my womankind, a little longer, if you please.’  And he sat down fondly at her feet, on a footstool which had been his childish perch.

‘Not distressed, you insensible boy?’

‘Very happy about Isabel,’ said he, turning to look at her with eyes dancing with merry mystification.

’A foolish girl not to like my Louis!  I thought better of her; but I suppose my Lady has taught her to aim higher!’

‘So she does,’ said Louis, earnestly.

’Ungrateful girl!  Why, Charlotte tells me you led her straight over the barricades, with cannon firing on you all the time!’

‘But not Cupid.’

’Then, it is true! and you have really hurt yourself!  And so pale!  My poor boy ­what is it?  I must nurse you.’

’I had so little blood left, that a gnat of tolerable appetite could have made an end of me on Sunday, without more ado.  But, instead of that, I had a good little Sister of Charity; and wasn’t that alone worth getting a bullet through one’s arm?’

Aunt Catharine was shuddering thankfully through the narration, when James came down, his brow unclouded, but his manner still agitated, as if a burthen had been taken away, and he hardly knew how to realize his freedom from the weight.

Mrs. Frost could not part with her boy, and Jane Beckett evidently had a spite against ‘they French bandages;’ so that Louis only talked of going home enough to get himself flattered and coaxed into remaining at N, as their patient.

The two young men went in the afternoon to inquire after the Conway party, when they found that her ladyship was lying down, but Isabel, who had been summoned from a wholesale conflagration of all the MS. relating to the fantastic Viscount, brought down Miss King, apparently to converse for her; for she did little except blush, and seemed unable to look at either of the friends.

As they took leave, Louisa came into the room with a message that mamma hoped to see Mr. Frost Dynevor to-morrow, and trusted that he had made no engagements for the holidays.

James murmured something inaudible, and ran down stairs, snarling at Louis as he turned to the Miss Faithfulls’ door, and telling him he wanted to obtain a little more petting and commiseration.

‘I could not waste such an opportunity of looking interesting!’ said Louis, laughing, as he tapped at the door.

Delaford marshalled out the poor tutor with a sense of triumph.  ’His hopes, at least, were destroyed!’ thought the butler; and he proceeded to regale Marianne with the romance of the Barricades, ­how he had himself offered to be Miss Conway’s escort, but Lord Fitzjocelyn had declared that not a living soul but himself should be the young lady’s champion; and, seeing the young nobleman so bent on it, Mr. Delaford knew that the force of true affection was not to be stayed, no more than the current of the limpid stream, and had yielded the point; and, though, perhaps, his experience might have spared her the contaminating propinquity of the low rabble, yet, considering the circumstances, he did not regret his absence, since he was required for my lady’s protection, and, no doubt, two fond hearts had been made happy.  Then, in the midnight alarm, when the young nobleman had been disabled, Delaford had been the grand champion: ­he had roused the establishment; he had calmed every one’s fears; he had suggested arming all the waiters, and fortifying the windows; he had been the only undaunted representative of the British Lion, when the environs swarmed with deadly foes, with pikes and muskets flashing in the darkness.

Fanshawe had been much too busy with her ladyship’s nerves, and too ignorant of French, to gather enough for his refutation, had she wished for it; and, in fact, she had regarded him as the only safeguard of the party, devoutly believing all his reports, and now she was equally willing to magnify her own adventures.  What a hero Delaford was all over the terrace and its vicinity!  People looked out to see the defender of the British name; and Charlotte Arnold mended stockings, and wondered whether her cruelty had made him so desperately courageous.

She could almost have been sorry that the various arrivals kept the domestic establishments of both houses so fully occupied!  Poor Tom! she had been a long time without hearing of him! and a hero was turning up on her hands!

The world was not tranquil above-stairs.  The removal of the one great obstacle to James’s attachment had only made a thousand others visible; and he relapsed into ill-suppressed irritability, to the disappointment of Louis, who did not perceive the cause.  At night, however, when Mrs. Frost had gone up, after receiving a promise, meant sincerely, however it might be kept, that ‘poor Louis’ should not be kept up late, James began with a groan: 

’Now that you are here to attend to my grandmother, I am going to answer this advertisement for a curate near the Land’s End.’

‘Heyday!’

’It is beyond human endurance to see her daily and not to speak!  I should run wild!  It would be using Lady Conway shamefully.’

‘And some one else.  What should hinder you from speaking?’

‘You talk as if every one was heir to a peerage.’

’I know what I am saying.  I do not see the way to your marriage just yet, but it would be mere trifling with her feelings, after what has passed already, not to give her the option of engaging herself.’

’I’m sure I don’t know what I said!  I was out of myself.  I was ashamed to remember that I had betrayed myself, and dared not guess what construction she put on it.’

‘Such a construction as could only come from her own heart!’

After some raptures, James added, attempting to be cool, ’You candidly think I have gone so far, that I am bound in honour to make explanation.’

’I am sure it would make her very unhappy if you went off in magnanimous silence to the Land’s End; and remaining as the boy’s tutor, without confession, would be a mere delusion and treachery towards my aunt.’

‘That woman!’

‘She is not her mother.’

’Who knows how far she will think herself bound to obedience?  With that sort of relationship, nobody knows what to be at.’

’I don’t think Isabel wishes to make her duty to Lady Conway more stringent than necessary.  They live in utterly different spheres; and, at least, you can be no worse off than you are already.’

’I may be exposing her to annoyance.  Women have ten million ways of persecuting each other.’

’Had you seen Isabel’s eye when she looked on the wild crowd, you would know how little she would heed worse persecution than my poor aunt could practise.  It will soon be my turn to say you don’t deserve her.’

James was arguing against his own impulse, and his scruples only desired to be talked down; Louis’s generous and inconsiderate ardour prevailed, and, after interminable discussion, it was agreed that, after some communication with the young lady herself, an interview should be sought with Lady Conway, for which James was already bristling, prepared to resent scorn with scorn.

In the morning, he was savage with shamefacedness, could not endure any spectator, and fairly hunted his cousin home to Ormersfield, where Louis prowled about in suspense ­gave contradictory orders to Frampton, talked as if he was asleep, made Frampton conclude that he had left his heart behind him, and was ever roaming towards the Northwold turnpike.

At about four o’clock, a black figure was seen posting along the centre of the road, and, heated, panting, and glowing, James came up ­made a decided and vehement nod with his head, but did not speak till they had turned into the park, when he threw himself flat on the grass under an old thorn, and Louis followed his example, while Farmer Morris’s respectable cows stared at the invasion of their privacy.

‘Tout va bien?’ asked Louis.

’As well as a man in my position can expect!  She is the most noble of created beings, Louis!’

‘And what is her mother?’

’Don’t call her mother!  You shall hear.  I could not stay at home!  I went to the Faithfulls’ room:  I found Miss Mercy waiting for her, to join in a walk to some poor person.  I went with them.  I checked her when she was going into the cottage.  We have been walking round Brackley’s fields ­’

‘And poor Miss Mercy?’

‘Never remembered her till this moment!’

‘She will forgive!  And her ladyship?’

’That’s the worst of it.  She was nearly as bad as you could have been! ­so intensely civil and amiable, that I began to think her all on my side.  I really could be taken in to suppose she felt for us!’

’I have no doubt she did.  My good aunt is very sincerely loth to hurt people’s feelings.’

’She talked of her duty!  She sympathized!  It was not till I was out of the house that I saw it was all by way of letting me down easy-trapping me into binding myself on honour not to correspond.’

‘Not correspond!’ cried Louis, in consternation.  ‘Are you not engaged?’

’As far as understanding each other goes.  But who knows what may be her machinations, or Isabel’s sense of obedience?’

‘Does she forbid it?’

’No.  She went to speak to Isabel.  I fancy she found it unwise to test her power too far; so she came down and palavered me, ­assured me that I was personally all that heart could wish ­she loved her dear child the better for valuing solid merit.  Faugh! how could I stand such gammon?  But I must perceive that she was peculiarly circumstanced with regard to Isabel’s family, she must not seem to sanction an engagement till I could offer a home suited to her expectations.  She said something of my Uncle Oliver; but I disposed of that.  However, I dare say it made her less willing to throw me overboard!  Anyway, she smoothed me and nattered me, till I ended by agreeing that she has no choice but to remove instanter from the Terrace, and forbid me her abode!  And, as I said, she wormed a promise from me not to correspond.’

’You have no great loss there.  Depend upon it that Isabel would neither brave her openly by receiving your letters, nor submit to do anything underhand.’

’Nor would I ask her! ­but it is intolerable to have been tricked into complacent consent.’

‘I am glad your belle-mere knows how to manage you.’

’I told you she was only less unbearable than yourself.  You have it from the same stock.’

’The better for your future peace.  I honour her.  If she had let the Welsh dragon show his teeth in style, he would only have had to make unpleasant apologies when the good time comes.’

‘When!’ sighed James.

‘If Isabel be the woman I take her for, she will be easily content.’

’She is sick of parade; she has tried how little it can do for a mind like hers:  she desires nothing but a home like our own ­but what prospect have I of any such thing?  Even if the loss of my fellowship were compensated, how could I marry and let Clara be a governess?  Clara must be my first consideration.  But, I say, we ought to be going home.’

‘I thought I was at home.’

’My grandmother and Jane won’t be pacified till they see you.  They think you are not fit to be in a house by yourself.  They both fell on me for having let you go.  You must come back, or my grandmother will think you gone off in despair, as you ought to be, and I shall never dare to speak to her.’

‘At your service,’ said the duteous Fitzjocelyn.  ’I’ll leave word at the lodge.’

‘By-the-bye, are you up to walking?’

’Candidly, now I think of it, I doubt whether I am.  Come, and let us order the carriage.’

’No ­no; ­I can’t stand waiting ­I’ll go home and get over the first with granny ­you come after.  Yes; that’s right.’

So the hunted Louis waited, contentedly, while James marched back, chary of his precious secret, and unwilling to reveal it even to her, and yet wanting her sympathy.

The disclosure was a greater shock than he had expected from her keen and playful interest in matters of love and matrimony.  It was a revival of the mournful past, and she shed tears as she besought him not to be imprudent, to remember his poor father, and not rush into a hasty marriage.  He and his sister had been used to poverty, but it was different with Miss Conway.

He bitterly replied, that Lady Conway would take care they were not imprudent; and that instant the granny’s heart melted at the thought of his uncertain prospect, and at hearing of the struggles and sufferings that he had undergone.  They had not talked half an hour, before she had taken home Isabel Conway to her heart as a daughter, and flown in the face of all her wisdom, but assuring him that she well knew that riches had little to do with happiness, auguring an excellent living, and, with great sagacity, promising to settle the Terrace on his wife, and repeating, in perfect good faith, all the wonderful probabilities which her husband had seen in it forty years ago.

When Louis arrived, he found her alone, and divided between pride in her grandson’s conquest, and some anxiety on his own account, which took the form of asking him what he meant by saying that Isabel aimed higher than himself.

‘Did she not?’ said Louis; and with a sort of compunction for a playful allusion to the sacred calling, he turned it off with, ’Why, what do you think of Roland ap Dynasvawr ap Roland ap Gruffydd ap Rhys ap Morgan ap Llywellwyn ap Roderic ap Caradoc ap Arthur ap Uther ap Pendragon?’ running this off with calm, slow, impressive deliberation.

’Certify me, Louis dear, before I can quite rejoice, that this fun is not put on.’

’Did you think me an arrant dissembler?  No, indeed:  before I guessed how it was with them, I had found out ­Oh!  Aunt Kitty, shall I ever get Mary to believe in me, after the ridiculous way in which I have behaved to her?’

‘Is this what you really mean?’

’Indeed it is.  The very presence of Isabel could not keep me from recurring to her; and at home, not a room, not a scene, but is replete with recollections of all that she was to me last year!  And that I should only understand it when half the world is between us!  How mad I was!  How shall I ever persuade her to forget my past folly?  Past!  Nay, folly and inconsistency are blended in all I do, and now they have lost me the only person who could help me to conquer them!  And now she is beyond my reach, and I shall never be worthy of her.’

He was much agitated.  The sight of James’s success, and the return to his solitary home, had stirred up his feelings very strongly; and he needed his aunt’s fond soothing and sympathy ­but it was not difficult to comfort and cheer him.  His disposition was formed more for affection than passion, and his attachment to Mary was of a calmer nature than his fiery cousin would have allowed to be love.  It took a good deal of working-up to make it outwardly affect his spirits or demeanour, in general, it served only as an ingredient in the pensiveness that pervaded all his moods, even his most arrant nonsense.

The building of castles for James, and the narration of the pleasing delusion in which he had brought home his aunt, were sufficient to enliven him.  He was to go the next morning to call upon Lady Conway, and see whether he could persuade her into any concessions:  James was very anxious that Isabel and his grandmother should meet, and was beginning to propose that Louis should arrange an interview for them in Miss Faithfull’s room, before the departure, which was fixed for Monday.

‘I intend to call upon Lady Conway,’ said Mrs. Frost, with dignity that made him feel as if he had been proposing something contraband.

Louis went first, and was highly entertained by the air of apology and condolence with which his aunt received him.  She told him how excessively concerned she was, and how guilty she felt towards him ­a score on which, he assured her, she had no need to reproach herself.  She had heard enough from Isabel to lead to so much admiration of his generosity, that he was obliged to put a stop to it, without being skilful enough to render sincerity amiable, but she seemed satisfied, eagerly assured him of her approval, and declared that she fully understood him.

Had she explained, he would have thought her understanding went too far.  She entirely forgave him.  After all, he was her own sister’s son, and Isabel only a step-daughter; and though she had done her duty by putting Isabel in the way of the connexion, she secretly commended his prudence in withstanding beauty, and repairing the dilapidated estate with Peruvian gold.  She sounded him, as a very wise man, on the chances of Oliver Dynevor doing something for his nephew, but did not receive much encouragement; though he prophesied that James was certain to get on, and uttered a rhapsody that nearly destroyed his new reputation for judgment.  Lady Conway gave him an affectionate invitation to visit her whenever he could, and summoned the young ladies to wish him good-bye.  The mute, blushing gratitude of Isabel’s look was beautiful beyond description; and Virginia’s countenance was exceedingly arch and keen, though she was supposed to know nothing of the state of affairs.

Lady Conway was alone when Mrs. Frost was seen approaching the house.  The lady at once prepared to be affably gracious to her apologies and deprecations of displeasure; but she was quite disconcerted by the dignified manner of her entrance; ­tall, noble-looking, in all the simple majesty of age, and of a high though gentle spirit, Lady Conway was surprised into absolute respect, and had to rally her ideas before, with a slight laugh, she could say, ’I see you are come to condole with me on the folly of our two young people.’

‘I think too highly of them to call it folly,’ said the heiress of the Dynevors.

‘Why, in one way, to be sure,’ hesitated Lady Conway, ’we cannot call it folly to be sensible of each other’s merits; and if ­if Mr. Dynevor have any expectations ­I think your son is unmarried?’

‘He is;’ but she added, smiling, ’you will not expect me to allow that my youngest child is old enough to warrant any calculations on that score.’

’It is very unfortunate; I pity them from my heart.  An engagement of this kind is a wretched beginning for life.’

‘Oh, do not say so!’ cried the old lady, ’it may often be the greatest blessing, the best incentive to both parties.’

Lady Conway was too much surprised to make a direct answer, but she continued, ’If my brother could exert his interest ­and I know that he has so high an opinion of dear Mr. Dynevor ­and you have so much influence.  That dear, generous Fitzjocelyn, too ­’

As soon as Mrs. Frost understood whom Lady Conway designated as her brother, she drew herself up, and said, coldly, that Lord Ormersfield had no church patronage, and no interest that he could exert on behalf of her grandson.

Again, ‘it was most unlucky;’ and Lady Conway proceeded to say that she was the more bound to act in opposition to her own feelings, because Mr. Mansell was resolved against bequeathing Beauchastel to any of his cousinhood who might marry a clergyman; disliking that the place should fall to a man who ought not to reside.  It was a most unfortunate scruple; but in order to avoid offending him, and losing any chance, the engagement must remain a secret.

Mrs. Frost replied, that Mr. Mansell was perfectly right; and seemed in nowise discomfited or conscious that there was any condescension on her ladyship’s part in winking at an attachment between Miss Conway and a Dynevor of Cheveleigh.  She made neither complaint nor apology; there was nothing for Lady Conway to be gracious about; and when the request was made to see Miss Conway, her superiority was so fully established that there was no demur, and the favour seemed to be on her side.

The noble old matron had long been a subject of almost timid veneration to the maiden, and she obeyed the summons with more bashful awe than she had ever felt before; and with much fear lest the two elders might have been combining to make an appeal to her to give up her betrothal, for James’s sake.

As she entered, the old lady came to meet her, held out both arms, and drew her into her bosom, with the fond words, ‘My dear child!’

Isabel rested in her embrace, as if she had found her own mother again.

‘My dear child,’ again said Mrs. Frost, ’I am glad you like my Jem, for he has always been a good boy to his granny.’

The homeliness of the words made them particularly endearing, and Isabel ventured to put her arm round the slender waist.

‘Yes, darling,’ continued the grandmother; ’you will make him good and happy, and you must teach him to be patient, for I am afraid you will both want a great deal of patience and submission.’

‘He will teach me,’ whispered Isabel.

Lady Conway was fairly crying.

’I am glad to know that he has you to look to, when his old grandmother is gone.’

‘Oh, don’t say ­’

‘I shall make way for you some day,’ said Mrs. Frost, caressing her.  ’You are leaving us, my dear.  It is quite right, and we will not murmur; but would not your mamma spare you to us for one evening?  Could you not come and drink tea with us, that we may know each other a little better?’

The stepmother’s affectionate assent, and even emotion, were a great surprise to Isabel; and James began to imagine that nothing was beyond Mrs. Frost’s power.

Louis saved James the trouble of driving him away by going to dine with Mr. Calcott, and the evening was happy, even beyond anticipation; the grandmother all affection, James all restless bliss, Isabel serene amid her blushes; and yet the conversation would not thrive, till Mrs. Frost took them out walking, and, when in the loneliest lane, conceived a wish to inquire the price of poultry at the nearest farm, and sent the others to walk on.  Long did she talk of the crops, discourse of the French and Bohemian enormities, and smilingly contradict reports that the young lord was to marry the young lady, before the lovers reappeared, without the most distant idea where they had been.

After that, they could not leave off talking; they took granny into their counsels, and she heard Isabel confess how the day-dream of her life had been to live among the ‘very good.’  She smiled with humble self-conviction of falling far beneath the standard, as she discovered that the enthusiastic girl had found all her aspirations for ‘goodness’ realized by Dynevor Terrace; and regarding it as peace, joy, and honour, to be linked with it.  The newly-found happiness, and the effort to be worthy of it, were to bear her through all uncongenial scenes; she had such a secret of joy that she should never repine again.

‘Ah!  Isabel, and what am I to do?’ said James.

‘You ask?’ she said, smiling.  ’You, who have Northwold for your home, and live in the atmosphere I only breathe now and then?’

‘Your presence is my atmosphere of life.’

’Mrs. Frost, tell him he must not talk so wrongly, so extravagantly, I mean.’

’It may be wrong; it is not extravagant.  It falls only too far short of my feeling!  What will the Terrace be without you?’

’It will not be without my thoughts.  How often I shall think I see the broad road, and the wide field, and the mountain-ash berries, that were reddening when we came; and the canary in the window!  How little my first glance at the houses took in what they would be to me!’

And then they had to settle the haunts she was to revisit at Beauchastel.  An invitation thither was the ostensible cause of the rapid break-up from the House Beautiful; but the truth was not so veiled but that there were many surmises among the uninitiated.  Jane had caught something from my young Lord’s demeanour which certified her, and made her so exceedingly proud and grand, that, though she was too honourable to breathe a word of her discovery, she walked with her kind old head three inches higher; and, as a great favour, showed Charlotte a piece of poor dear Master Henry’s bridecake, kept for luck, and a little roll of treasured real Brussels lace, that she had saved to adorn her cap whenever Mr. James should marry.

Charlotte was not absolutely as attentive as she might have been to such interesting curiosities.  She had one eye towards the window all the time; she wanted to be certified how deeply she had wounded the hero of the barricade, and she had absolutely not seen him since his return!  The little damsel missed homage!

‘You are not heeding me!’ exclaimed Jane at last.

‘Yes; I beg your pardon, ma’am ­’

‘Charlotte, take care.  Mind me, one thing at a time,’ said Jane, oracularly.  ‘Not one eye here, the other there!’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Beckett.’

’Come, don’t colour up, and say you don’t know nothing!  Why did you water your lemon plant three times over, but that you wanted to be looking out of window?  Why did you never top nor tail the gooseberries for the pudding, but sent them up fit to choke my poor missus?  If Master Jem hadn’t ­Bless me! what was I going to say? ­but we should soon have heard of it!  No, no, Charlotte; I’ve been a mother to you ever since you came here, a little starveling thing, and I’ll speak plain for your good.  If you fancy that genteel butler in there, say so downright; but first sit down, and write away a letter to give up the other young man!’

Charlotte’s cheeks were in a flame, and something vehement at the end of her tongue, when, with a gentle knock, and ‘By your favour, ladies,’ in walked Mr. Delaford.

Jane was very civil, but very stiff at first, till he thawed her by great praise of Lord Fitzjocelyn, the mere prelude to his own magnificent exploits.

Charlotte listened like a very Desdemona.  He was very pathetic, and all that was not self-exaltation was aimed at her.  Nothing could have been more welcome than the bullets to penetrate his heart, and he turned up his eyes in a feeling manner.

Charlotte’s heart was exceedingly touched, and she had tears in her eyes when she moved forward in the attitude of the porcelain shepherdess in the parlour, to return a little volume of selections of tender poetry, bound in crimson silk, that he had lent to her some time since.  ‘Would she not honour him by accepting a trifling gift?’

She blushed, she accepted; and with needle-like pen, in characters fine as hair, upon a scroll garlanded with forget-me-nots, and borne in mid air by two portly doves, was Charlotte Arnold’s name inscribed by the hero of the barricades.

Oh, vanity! vanity! how many garbs dost thou wear!

Delaford went away, satisfied that he had produced an impression such as he could improve if they should ever be thrown together again.

The Lady of Eschalott remained anything but satisfied.  She was touchy and fretful, found everything a grievance, left cobwebs in the corners, and finally went into hysterics because the cat jumped at the canary-bird’s cage.