the details of a certain legal transaction; anon sweetly deploring that the sunshine of living beauty had departed from her home, and anticipating its reappearance with the bright spring days.

In the meantime the staid old house of Deanbar was doomed to be roused from its lethargic sleep, its hidden echoes were to be revealed, its solemn gravity to be dissipated. Sir Frederick had declared he was bored to death with ennui, Lady Ida had begun to weary of the happy tranquillity and sameness that environed her from morning till night, and Mr. Illford had grown slightly restless and uneasy under the influence which the emotional disturbance of his rulers and advisers exercised upon him. Therefore, it was decided that guests should be invited to fill the lonely and silent cham

bers, to traverse the dreary, remote galleries, to lounge in the saloons, to dance and banquet in the lofty halls.

Amongst the visitors who presently arrived were Lady Wardlaw and her nieces, Dora and Lydia Newhaven, Lady Ida's brother (the Earl of Derrington), and his friend, Colonel Fairfort, and many others.

It chanced one morning, as Geraldine was sitting alone in the library, the door being slightly ajar, her attention was caught by the sound of voices in the adjoining apartment, in earnest conversation.

"I could credit anything of him," she heard Colonel Fairfort exclaim indignantly; "did he not urge his friend Beryll to claim the property left by Mr. Dernevor, on the ground that his daughter had forfeited all right to it; and then, as soon as he had

become acquainted with the lady, and found her, I suppose, accessible accessible to his suit, threaten to proceed against Beryll in support of the just title of Miss Dernevor, and to ruin him, if possible, if he did not retire from the field."

"True," replied Lord Derrington, "he would hesitate to do nothing, however base, that would answer his purpose; but was not there some rivalry between him and Assulton ?"

"I really don't know; but Assulton's been desperately ill at Boulogne; in fact, his recovery was despaired of. He is recovering now, slowly, I believe, and will go to Italy, I dare say, to recruit."

One of the gentlemen advancing towards the library-door as these words were uttered, Geraldine was glad to escape by

another door which led into the hall, and thence she made her way to her own apartment. As she mused on Colonel Fairfort's words, she wept, but her grief was softened by a sweet consolation: had not Conrad Assulton, she remembered, mourned for her almost unto death, yet safely passed the critical period, and must not that long endurance have chastened and purified his soul, she questioned; and then, though it might still be wrong to unite her fate with his, would it be so to welcome back to her heart, in secret, the image of his wounded and repentant spirit-to cherish it there unknown even to him?

"And here it is actually Valentine's Day!" exclaimed Sir Frederick some days afterwards, as he was standing in a recess of an oriel window, watching the meridian sun

disperse the winter fog; "and the birds are singing jubilantly, and the gaudy yellow crocus (poetically termed saffron, is it not, Lady Wardlaw?) gazing at the sun, and the very sea dancing like a company of mad fairies and yet not a love-letter, I'll swear, has penetrated into these aristocratic halls, this vulgarest of mornings! It is really sad to consider how his saintship has gone out of fashion; none but greasy butchers' apprentices, doughy-faced bakers' assistants, lumbering young farmers, or dapper young drapers, kneel, in these degenerate days, before his violet-scented shrine.

For my

part, I feel shockingly disconsolate, and begin to think seriously and philosophically, that we are growing too refined to be happy, that incessantly spiritualizing as we are, we shall dissolve away into rosy clouds,