attentive listener with vivid sketches of character. Sometimes he took delight in

guiding, as he fancied, her taste in literature; in forming her opinions on society; in provoking her to argument on subjects where his superior information enabled him to amuse himself with the naïveté of her replies. Then it was she would pretend to be angry at his impertinence; refuse to answer him until he apologized, or showed, by his manner, that he was sorry for the offence. She was too amiable to punish him long for his rudeness; and when she relented, there was something so inexpressibly sweet in her way of showing it, that he, like many a selfish man has done before him, often provoked her, for the pleasure of watching the smile which followed the pout and the frown.

Once when he had really annoyed her, and despaired of recovering her good-will, she forgave him; but he still continued to show his sorrow; and as he sat next her in

the evening, unnoticed by the others, she asked him if he had a head-ache, and said: "Smell this sprig of verbena, it will do you good."

But the sprig of verbena was in the girdle, where the sprig of verbena had been once before, and he did not know how to smell it; and only smiled.

Pinch the leaves," she said, "why don't you pinch the leaves ?"

He did as she told him, and said:

"I watched the other unhappy sprig that once before I pinched, and I saw it die. These poor leaves will perish, too, now that I have pressed them. Will you not be sorry

for their inevitable fate?"

'Oh, the sprig won't die; see with what unbending dignity it holds its head; besides," she replied, "it will die in a good cause if it cures your head-ache."

He ventured to press the leaves; and, emboldened by the act, took in his hand the

little crucifix she frequently wore suspended by a rosary round her neck.

"Tell me," he said, "why do you wear this and never any other ornament ?" "Because I like it," she replied.

"I admire your taste," he returned, "for I detest all gewgaws. But is there not some history attached to this cross? I have heard you call it the family crucifix. You are not a Roman Catholic, are you?"

"Why do you ask?" said she, "should very much horrified if I were ?"

you be

"I horrified? No, I have a good many sins to answer for, but I sincerely hope bigotry and intolerance are not amongst them. I have lived so much abroad, you know, that I have ceased to observe the difference between a pious Catholic and a pious Protestant-a difference, I believe, that exists more in outward observances than substantial faith."

"I cannot," said Lady Eda, "go quite so

far as you in thinking there is no greater distinction between these two forms of Christianity than that of mere forms; still I agree that charity of opinion is one of the noblest virtues; and intolerance, on the contrary, one of the most narrow-minded follies. However, the story connected with this cross may interest you. It is rather long, but I will, if you like, tell it.

"You must first observe that though very small the workmanship of the crucifix, and especially of the beads, is not of the most finished order. The wood, as you see, is walnut; age has

turned it this dark colour. Well, this little crucifix and rosary belonged once to Lady Maud Longvale, a daughter of a cruel old ancestor of mine who lived in the time of the Great Rebellion. Lord Longvale was of course a royalist and a Roman Catholic. Not far from this place, at the Manor House, you have already visited, lived, as I think I told you, a Sir Everard

Boulton, whose bigotry against Catholics was as bitter as his neighbour's hatred to a Protestant. Between Sir Everard and my ancestor, existed a rancorous hostility. There was no intercourse between the two houses and when by accident their heads met, the haughty pride of the knight was responded to by the arrogant contempt of

the peer.

"Sir Everard had two sons. John was the name of the elder; his tastes were those of a scholar. His younger brother was devoted to hawking, and hunting, and all such pastimes as were more congenial to the habits of the old knight. For this reason the younger child was the favourite; the eldest was taken little notice of, and was permitted to pursue his own devices without the interference of his family.

"It so happened that John in the course of his walks fell in with Lord Longvale's chaplain, Father Lungen. The learning and benevolence of the good priest won the affec