THE NOVELIST

New Zealand Herald, Volume XVI, Issue 5496, 28 June 1879, Page 2

THE NOVELIST

A MAD LOVE. BY BfcBTHA M. CLAY. Authorojs of " A Bitter Atonement" "A V» Sin," "Thorn In Her Heart." ic. * * CHAPTER I. A DISCONTENTED BEADTY. "Leone," cried a lond voice, "where a ydn? Herej there, everywhere, except W in the place-where you should be." The speaker was a tall, stout, good. ' tempered looking man. Farmer Noel people* called him all over the country side. g stood in the farmyard, looking all the warmer on thie warm day lor hie exertions in finding his niece. " Leone 1" he crie3, again and again. At last the answer came, "I am here uncle," and if the first voice startled one with its loudness, this second was cqnaUy startling from its music, its depth, and pathos. "I am here, uncle," she »aid. "I wish you would not shout so loudly. I am quite sure that the people at Rashleigh can hear you. What is it that you want t" " Have you made up the packets of whea I asked you for ?" he said. " No," she replied, "I have not." He looked disappointed. " I shall be late for market," he said. ■' i must do them myself." He went back into the house without an. other word. He never reproached Leone, let her do what she would. On Leone's most beantiful face were evident marks of bad temper, and she did not care to conceal it. With a gesture of im. patience, she started forward, passed over the farm-yard, and went through the gate, out into the lane, from the lane to the high-road: and she stood there leaning over the white gate, watching the cattle as they draak from the deep, clear pool. The sun shone full upon her, and the warm, sweet beams never fell on anything more lovely ; the only drawback to the per. fection of the picture was- this: She did not look in harmony with the scene—the quiet English landscape, the golden corn-fields, the green meadows, the great spreading trees, whereon the birds sang, the tall spire of the little church, the quaint little town in the distance, the brook that ran gurgling by. She looked out of harmony with them all; she would have been in perfect keeping had the background been of snow-capped mountains and foaming cascades. Here she looked out of place ; she was ou an English farm ; she wore a plain English dress, yet she had the magnificent beauty of the daughters of sunny Spain. Her beauty wa3 of a peculiar type—dark, paosionate, and picturesque, like that of the pomegranate, the damask rose, or the passion-flower. There was a world in her face —of passion, of genius, of power; a face as much out of place over the gates of a farm as a stately gladiolus would be among buttercups and daisies. An artist looking for a model for some great queen who had conquered the world, for some great heroine for whom man had fought wildly and died, might have chosen her. But in. a farmyard—there are no words in which to tell how out of place it was. She stood by the gate holding the ribbons of her hat in her hand—beautiful, imperious, defiant—with a power of pMsion about her that was perhaps her greatest characteristic. She looked round the quiet picture of country life with unutterable contempt. "If I could but fly away," she said. " 1 would be anythirig on earth if I could get away from here—l would not mind what; I would work, teach, anything—the dull monotony of this life is killing me." Her face was so expressive that every emotion was clearly ehown on it, every thought could be read there ; the languid scorn of the dark eyes, and the proud curves of the daintily arched lips, all told of unconcealed contempt. " A farm 1" she said to herself; "to think that when the world is full of beautiful places, my lot must be cast ou a farm. If it had been. in. a palace, or a gipsy's camp—anywhere where I could have tasted life, but a farm 1" The beautiful, restless face looked contemptuously oat on the green and fertile land. " A farm means chickens running under one's feet, pigeons whirling round one's head, cows lowing, dogs barking, no conversation but crops " She stopped suddenly. Coming up the lane she saw that which had never gladdened her eyes here before; she saw a gentlemaD, handsome and young, walking carelesnly aown the high roaO, and as he drew near, another gentleman, also handsome, but not quite so young, joined him. They came laughing down the high road together, but neither of them saw her until they reached the great elm-tree. The sight of that wondrous young face, with iSa rich, piquant beauty, startled them. One passed her by without a word, the other stopped, so entirely was.he charmed by the "lovely picture. Aβ he passed by he raised his hat Her beautiful face flushed; she neither smiled nor bowed in return, but accepted the ealute as a tribute to her beauty, after the same fashion a queen acknowledges the salutes and homage of her subjects.. With one keen glance she divided him from his companion, the man who had not bowed to her. She took in that one glance a comprehensive view. She knew the colour of hie eyes, of his hair, the shape of his face, the peculiar cut of his clothes, so different to those worn, by the young farmers; the clustering hair, the clear-cut face, the delicate profile, the graceful ease of the tall, thin figure, were with her from that moment through all time. • The deep, low bow gratified her. She knew that she was gifted with a wondrons dower of beauty. She knew that men were meek when a beautiful-face charmed them. The involuntary homage of this handiome young man pleased her. She would have more of it. When he rejoined his companion she heard him say : "What a wonderful face, Euston—themost beautiful I have ever seen in my life 1" That pleased her still more; she smiled to herself] " Perhaps I shall see him again, ,: ehe thought. Then one of the girls from the village passed the gate, and. stopped for a few minutes conversation. '' Did you see those gentlemen ?" -laked the girl, and Leone answered: "Yes." " They have both come to live at Doctor Hervey's to 'read,' whatever that means , . The young one with the fair hair is a lord,, the eldest son of a great earl; I do not remember the name." So it was a great lord who had bowed to her, and thought her more beautiful than any one he had ever seen. Her heart beat with triumph. She bade the girl good morning, and went back. Her beautiful face was brilliant with smiles. She entered the house, and went up to her glass. She wanted to see for heraeK the face he bad called beautiiul. Mirrored there she uaw two dark eyes, fnll of fire—bright, radiant, and Iturinons; eyes that could have lured and ewayed a nation ; a beautiful oval face, the features of which were perfect; a white brow, with dark, straight eyebrows; sweet red lips, like a cloven rose; the most beautiful chin, with » dimple; an imperial face, suited for a queen's crown or the diadem of an empress, but out at place on this simple farm. She saw grand, sloping shoulders, beautiful arms, and a sgure that was perfect in its symmetry and grace. She smiled contentedly. She was bsanti:ul, undoubtedly. She was glad that others iaw it. If a young lord admired her, Ehe nust be worth admiring. Her good humour iras quite restored. How came it that this girl, with the beauty )f a young princess, was at home in the farmlouse ? It'was a simple stery. The farmer, Robert Noel, had only one brother, who loved •omance Mid travel. Stephen Noel, after trying every profession,' ind every means of obtaining a livelihood, at ast decided upon becoming a civil engineer ; ie went to Spain to help with a railroad in ihe province of Andalusia, and there fell in ove with and married a beautiful Andalusian,. ?epita by name. Dark-eyed Pepita died on the name day hat Leone was born, and the young father, listracted by his loss, took the child homeio England. The old honsekeeper at the iashlelgh farm took the girl, and Koberfc Joel consented that she should be brought ip as a child of his own. ~ . The two brothers differed as light and lark differs. Stephen was all quickness, ana ntelligence, Robert stolid and slow. Leone lways said it took him ten minutes to turn crand. Hβ had never married, he hadnevecjund time; but he gave the whole love ■ Eihla heart to the beautiful, dark-eyed chil* 'ho was brought to his house sixteen'soars-

CHAPTER 11. « ynixt ! MARRY A FARMER J"' One can imagine the sensation that a brieht beautiful eaglej would produce,in a dove's nest; t fle presence of that beautiful, imperious child at the farm was very much the same. People looked at her in wonder ; her beauty dazzled them ; her pride frightened them; her defiance amused them. They asked each other where all her pride came from. Uncle Kobert often said in his slow fashion, ihat he retired from the business when Leone was seven. At that early age he gave the management of everything into her baby hands. From the chickens in the yard to the blue and white pigeons on the roof. She could manage him, big as he was, 'with one stamp of her little foot, one flash of her bright eyes ; he was powerless at .;>nee, like 3 great big giant bound hand and toot. She was a strange child, full of some wonderful power that she hardly understood herself—a child quite out of tho common groove of life, ooite above tho people who surrounded her ; they understood her beauty, her defiance, her pride, bat not the dramatic instinct and power that, innate in her, made every word and action seem strange. Honest, etolid Robert If oel was bewildered by her; he did his best in every way, but he had an uneasy consciousness that his best was but a poo? attempt. He sent her to school, the best in Rasbleigh, but she learned anything and everything except obsc'lience. She looked oat of place even then, this dark-eyed Spanish among the pretty pink and white children with fair hair and blue eyes. She bewildered even the children; they obeyed her, and she had the greatest influence over them. She taught them recifettions and plays. She fired their imagina- '. tions by her wonderful stories; she was a new, brilliant, wonderful element in their lives. Even the schoolmistress, meek through the long suffering of years, even she worshiped and feared her—the brilliant, tiresome girl, who was like a flash of light Mnong the others. She had a face so grand, and a voice so thrilling, it was no unusual thing, when she was reading aloud in the schoolroom, rior the others to suspend all work, thrilled to the heart by the sound of her voice. She soon learned all that the Rasbleigh governess could teach her—she taught herself even more. She had little taste for drawing, much for music, but her whole heart and soul were in books. Young as she was, it was grand to hear her trilling out the pretty love speeches of Juliet, declaring the wrongs of Constance or Katherine, moaning out the woes of Desdeniona She had Shakespeare almost by heart, and she loved the grand old dramatist. When she was sixteen, her uncle took her from school, and then the perplexities of hi 3 honest life began. Ho wanted her to take her place as mistress of the house, to superintend the farm and dairy, to take affectionate interest in the poultry and birds, to see that the butter was of deep, rich yellow, and the new-laid eggs sent to market, from the moment he intrasttd those matters in her hands, his life became a burden to him, for they were entirely neglected. Farmer Noel would go into his dairy and find everything wrong, the cream spilled, the butter sour j bat when he iooked at the dark-eyed young princess, with the Spanish iEace, he dared not say s, word to her. .He would suggest So her meekly tha.t thing 3 might be different. She would retaliate with some sarcasm that reduced him to utter silence for two days at least. Yet she loved him after a fashion of her own—thiu great, stolid man, who admired her with all his heart, and loved her with his whole soul. So time passed until she was seventeen, and the quiet farm life was unendurable to her. "Uncle," she would say, "let me go out into the world. I want to see it. L want something to do. I often think I havo two live 3 and souls, I long so intensly for more tian I have to fill them." He could not understand her. She had the farm and dairy. ~-r, "Be content," he would answer. "Be content, my lady lass, with the home Goi has = " I want something to do. If I did e'l the ■erork on this and twenty other farms it would not tonch my heart and soul. They are quite ■empty People say life is a battle-field. If it be one, I am sitting by with folded hands. Inactivity means death to rae." " My lady la3s, you can find plenty to do, he answered solemnly. " But not of the kind I want." She weed up and down the large kitchen, where 'everything was polished and bright, the fire-light glowed on the splendid face and fitrure—the face with its unutterable bea-nty, ita restless longing, its troubled desires. Some fear for the future of the baantifuL restless, passionate girl came over the man. who watched her with anxious eyes. It Degan to dawn across him that, if he were to shut a bright-eyed eagle up ia a cage, it would never be happy, and it was very much the same kind of thing.to shut this lovely, gifted girl in 3 quiet farm-honse. " You will be married soon, he said, with a clumsy attsmptat comfort, " and yon will bo more content. , She flashed one look of ecorn from those dark lustrous eyes that should have annihilated him. She stopped before him, and threw back her beautiful head with the aesture of an injured qneen. "May I ask," sho said, "wTiom you supfrightened, for he began to parceis-e he had made some mistake though h« could not tell what; he thought all y ounc girls liked to be teased about sweethearts and marriage ; etill he came valiantly t0 " /mean that you will surely bave a sweetheart some day or other," he said, consolingly, though the fire from those dark eyes startled bim.'and her scarlet lips trembled with anger. " I shall bs.ve a sweetheart, you think, like Jennie Birnes or Lily Coke. A sweetheart! Pray, whom will it be, do you think ?" * " I know several of the young farmers about here who would each his right hand to be a sweetheart of yours. She laughed a low contemptuous laugh that made him wince. " What! marry a farmer ? Do you think tho life of a farmer's wife would suit me? I shall go unmarried to my grave, unless I can marry s»s I ohooee." Then she seemed to repent OI the passionate words and flung her beautiful arms round his neck and kiesed his face. "I hate myself," she said, "when J speak in way to you, who have been sc . g °?r [ t do m nofc mind it," said Kobert Noel honestly. " Never hate yourself for me, mj She turned one glance from her beautifn. ey '< S^ien m ißeem to be ungrateful to you, dt remember that I am not, Uncle Noel ; 1 an always sorry. I cannot help myself; I can Lt explain myself; but I feel always a: though my mind and soul were cramped. " Cramp is a very bad thing, said thi stolid farmer. She looked at him, bnt did not speak ; hei irritation was to great; he never understooc her ; it waa not likely he ever would. " I will go down to the mill-stream, shi With an impatient gesture she hastened out of the house. The mill-stream was certainly the pretfiies feature of the farm—a broad, beautiful strean that ran between great rows of alder trees and turned the wheel by the force with whicl it leaped into the broad, deep baain ; it wai the loveliest and most picturesque spot thai could be imagined, and now, as the wateri rußhtsd and foamed in the moonlight, tney were gorgeous to behold. Leone loved the epofc—the restless, gleam ing waters suited her; it seemed to have some thing akin to herself —something restless ; fal of force and vitality. She eat there for hours it was her usnal refuge when the world wen wrong with her. Round and round went the wheel; 01 Bummer days the sunlight glinted on th Bullen waters until they resembled a sheet o: gold covered with white, shining foam. Green reeds and flowers, that love both lane and water, fringed the edges of the slear, dim pling pool; the alder trees dipped thei branches in it; the great grey stonns, covere with green moos, lay here and there. It wa a little poem in itself, and the beautiful gii <svho sat in the moonlight read it aright. CHAPTER lIL THE MEETING AT THE MILL. In the depths of the water she saw the r« flection of the shining stars; she watche them- intently—the pure, pale, golden eyes A voice aroused her—a voice with tone an accent quite unlike any other voice. _ "I beg your pardon," it said; "coul you show jae the w»y to JRashleigh ? I hav lost my way in the wood." Raising her eyes, she saw the gentlema •who had raised hie hat ae he passed her 11 the morning. She knew that he recogniseher by the light that Buddenly overspreai Ms face. •"Baehlesgh lie* over -there," «he replied

"You have but to 'croBS the field and psaa the church." "Even that," said the - stranger, with a careless laugh—" even tbat I am not inclined to do now. It is strange. I- am afraid you will think me half mad, but it seems to me that I_ have jußt stepped into fairy-land. Two minutes since I was on the bare highway—now 1 see the prettiest picture earth has to offer." ~ " It is pretty," she replied, her eyes looking at the clear dimpling pool; " prettier now, even, than when the sunshine falls on it and the wheel turns." She had told him the way to Eashliegb, and he should have passed on with a bow, but this was his excuse. The moon was shining bright as day, the wind murmured in the alder trees, the light lay on the clear, sweet, fresh water; the music of the water as it fell ms sweet to hear. Away in the woode some night-bird was singing; the odour of the sleeping flowers filled the air; and there on the green bink, at the water's edge, sat the moat beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. The moonlight fell on her exquisite southern face ; it seemed to find its home in the lustrous depths of her proud dark eyes ; it kissed the dark ripples of her hair, worn with the simplegraceof aGreekgoddess; it lay on the white bands thut played with the tufted grass. He was young, and loved all things beautiful, therefore he did not go away. His mind was filled with wonder. Who was she 1 — this girl so like a young Spanish princess. Why was she sitting hero by the mill-stream ? He must know, and to know ho must as k. "I am inclined," he said, "to lie down here by this pretty stream, and sleep all night imder the stars; lam so tired." She looked at him with a quick, warm glow of sympathy. " What has tired you?" she asked. He tat down on one of the great grey stonea that lay half in the water, half on the land. " I have lost myself in the Leigh woods," ho said ; "I h&ve been there many hours. I had no idea what Leigh wood 3 were like, or I should not have gone for the first time alone." "They are vory large aud intricate," she said; " I can never find the right paths." " Some one told me I should find the finest oak trees in England, there," he said, " and I have a passion for grand old oak 3 ; I would go anywhere to see them. I. went to the woods and had very soon involved myself in the greatest difficulties. I should never have found the way out, had I not met one of the keepers." She liked to listen to him—the clear, refined acctnt, the musical toue ; as she listened a longing came over her that this voice might go orfspeaking to her and of her. "Now," he continued, embarrassed by her silence, "I have forgottea your directions ; may I ask you to repeat them ?" She did so; and, looking at her face, ho saw there was no anger, nothing but proud, calm content. He said to himself, he need not go just yet, he could stay a few minutes longor. " Do you know that beautiful, old German ballad ?" he said. "' In sheltered vale a mill-wheel Still tanus its tuneful lay."" "No ; I have never heard or read it," she answered. " Saj it for me." " ' In sheltered vale a mill-wheel Still tunes its tuneful lay; My darling once did dwell there, But now she's far away. A rin-r, in pledge, I gave her, And vows of love we spoke. Those vows are all forgotten, The ring asunder broke. , " "Hush S" she said, holding up one white hand; "hush! it is too sad. Do you not see that the moonlight has grown dim, and the sound of the falling waters is the sound of falling tear 3 ?" He did not seem to nnderatand her words. "That song has haunted me," he eaid, "ever since I heard it. I must say the last verse ; it must have been o£ this very millwheel it was written. " ' But whlic I hear the mill-wheel. My pains will never cease. I would the grave could hide ma, For there alone is peace."" "Is it a love-story V she asked, pleased with the pathos and rhythm of the words. "Yes; it is the usual story—the whole love of a man's heart given to one not worthy of it, the vow 3 forgotten, the ring broken. Then he cries out for the grave to hide himself and his unhappy love." She looked up at him with dark, lustrous, gleaming eyes. " Does all love end in sorrow ? she asked, simply. Hβ lookod musingly at tbc moonlit waters mnsiogly at the starlit 3ky. " I cannot tell," he repHed " but it seems to me that it ends mure often in sorrow than in joy. I should say," he continued, " that when truth meets truth—where loyalty meets loyalty the ending is good ; but where a true heart finds a false" one—where loyalty and honour meet lightness and falsehood—theD the end must be bad." Leone seemed suddenly to remember that she was talking to a stranger, and, of all subjects, they bad fallen on love. " I must go," she said, hurriedly. You will remember the way." _ "Pray do not go—just this minute, he said "History may repeat itself; life never does' There can never be a night half so fair a3 this again—the water will never fall with so sweet a ripple—the stars will never shine with ae bright a light—life may pass, and we may uaver meet again. You have a face like a poem. Stay a few minutes face like a poem! Did he really think so?" The words pleased her. " Strange things happen ia real life, he Ba ;i <' things that, told in novels and stories, make people laugb, snd cry out that, they are exaggerated, too romantic to be real. How strange that I should have met you here this evening by the side of the millstream—a place always haunted by poetrj and romance. Yon will think it strange still when I tell you that your face has haunted roe all day." . She looked at him in surprise. The proud, beautiful face grieved at the words. "How is that ?" she asked. " I saw you this morning when I waE going to Rashleigh with my friend Sir JFranh Euston. Yon were etanding against a white K ate, and I thought—well, I must not tel you wbat I thonght." " Why I" she asked briefly. " Because it might offend yon," he replied. He began to perceive that there was n< coquetry in this beautiful girl. She wai proud, with a calm, serene, half-tragic pride There would be no flirtation by the side 0 the mill-stream. She looked as far abov coquetry as she was above affectation. H< liked the proud calm o£ her manner. Sh< might have been a duchess, holding a court rather than a country girl Bitting by a mill wheel The idea occurred to him—and tnei his wonder increased—who was she! am what was she doing here ? " Do you live here ?" he asked. "Yes," she replied; "behind the trees there, you can see the chimneys of a farm house; it is called Easbleigh Farm; m; uncle, Kobert Noel, livea there, and I am hi niece." "His niece!" repeated the young man, 11 an incredulone voice. She was a farmer' uiece, then, after all, and yet she looked Ilk a Spanish princess. "*ou do not look like an English girl, he said gravely. _~.'. ~ '•My father was English, and my mothe a Spanish lady, and I—well, I fear that have more of the hot fire of Spain than 0 the chill of England in my_ nature; my faci is Spanish, so is my heart." ..... *'A Spaniard is quiek to love, quick to bate forgives grandly, and revenges mercilessly, he said. . " That ii my character," she said ; "yoi have described it exactly." "I do not believe it; neither hate no revenge could exist with a face like yours Then your name is Noel J" " Yes, my name is Leone Noel," she re plied. " Leone !" he repeated, " that is abeautifa name ; I have never heard it before, but '. like it very much; it is musical and rare two great things in a name." " It is a German name," she said ; " m; Uncle Robert hates it; he says it remind: him of LioD, bnt you know it is pronounced ' Leon.' My mother read some German stor; that had the name in it, and gave to me." "It suite you," he said, eimply, "and should not think there is another name in al the world that would. I wonder," he added with a shy laugh, "if yon would like mi •name? It is Lancelot Chandos. My friend call me Lance." " Yee, I like that. I know all the bister of Sir Xauncelot.<- I admire him, but I thin! he was a weak man—do not you ?" "For loving Queen Guinever 1 I do no -know, Some love ia strength, not weakness, he replied. . Leone looked up at him again. "Are you the son of a great lord! sh asked ; " some one told me bo." " Yes; my father is Earl of LanewelL am people wonld call him a great earl. He i rich and powerful,"

" What haa brought yon, the son of a great ear], down to Kashleigh V. she asked. "My own idleness, to begin with," he said. " I have been at Oxford more years than I care to count, and I have idled my time." " Then yon are studying," she said. " Yes,_that is it. lam trying to make up for lo3t time. I have some examinations to pass, and my father eent me down to Doctor Hervey, because he is known everywhere as the cleverest coxch in England." A cloud came by just one half-mirute across the face of the moon j the soft, sweet darkness startled Leone. "I must go now," she aaid ; "it is not only getting late, but growing dark." "I shall see you agaia?" he cried; "do promise me !" "Nay, you have little faith in promises," ehe replied ; and he watched her as she vanished from among the alder trees. It was an unexpected meeting and strange and startling consequences soon followed. CHAPTER IV. AST tSTEItESTIXG TETE A-TETE. "Where have you been, Leone?" asked Farmer Noel. She had begun a new life. It seemed years since she had left him, while he sat in the same place, smoking the same pipe, probably thinking the same thoughts. She came in with the brightness of the light of the moon in her face, dawdrops lay on her dark hair, her beautiful face was flushed with the wind, so fair, so gracious, so royal, so brilliant. He looked at her in helpless surprise. " Where have you been?" he repeated. : She looked at him with a sweet, dreamy smile. "I have been to the mill-stream." And she added, in a lower voice, "I have been to heaven." It had been heaven to her, this one hour spent with one refined by nature and by habit—a gentleman, & man of taste and education. Her uncle wondered that evening at the light that came on her face, at the cheerful sound of her voice, the smile that came over her lips. She was usually so restless and discontented. It was a break in her life. She had wanted something to interrupt the monotony, and now it had come. She had seen and spoken to not only a very handsome and distinguished man, but a lord, the son of a great earL Ho had admired her, said her face was like a poem, and the words brought a sweet, musing smile to her face. When tho sun shone in her room the next morning, she awoke with a sense of something new and beautiful in her life ; it was a pleasure to hear tho birds sing, a pleasure to bathe in the clear, cold, fresh water, a pleasure to breathe the sweet, fragrant morning air. There was a half-wonder whether she should see him again. The poetical, dramatic instinct of the girl was all awake ; sho tried to make herself as pretty as she could. She put on a dress of pale pink—plain print, it is true—but the beautiful head and face rose from it like a il;wer from its leaves. She brushed back the rippling hair, and placed a crimson rose in its depths. Then she smiled at herself. Was it likely she should see him?—what should bring the s n of a great earl to the little farm at llashleigh ? But the blue and white pigeons, the little chickeas, all fared well that morning—Leone was so content. Iα the afternoon Farmer Noel, wanted her to go down to the hay-fields. The men were busy with the newly-mown hay, and he wished her to take some messages about the stacking of it. She looked the picture o£ summer as she walked through the green shady lane —a red rose, in her hair and one in her breast, a cluster of woodbine in her hand. She saw nothing of Lord Chandos, yet she thought of nothing else ; every tree, every field, every lane she passed, she expected to see him ; but of course he was not there, but—and her .heart beat fast as she saw him—he waa passing what people called th" Tiiuok Meadow, and she met him face to lace. They had met for the first time on a moon, light night; they met for the second time on sultry summer afternoon, when the whole world seemed full of love. Tho birds were singing of love in tho trees, the butterflies were making love to the flowers, the wind was whispering of love to the trees, the sun was kissing the earth that lay silent in it 3 embrace. "Leone!" he cried; then he flushed crimson. "I beg your pardon," he said; " I ought to say Miss Noel, but X have been thinking ol you all night as Leone. I did not think of it before I epoke." She laughed at the long apology. " Say it all over again," she answered. "Begin at 'Good afternoon, Miss Noel.'" He repeated it after her, then added : " I think my kind and good fortune sent me this way. I was longing for some one to speak to, and, of all happiness, to meet you; but perhaps you are busy." "No; I have done all that I had to do. I am never basy," she added, with regal calm. He smiled again. "No; I could not fancy yon bnsy, he said, ''any more than I could fancy the goddess Juno in a hurry. To some fair women there belongs, by birthright, a calm that is almost divine." "My calm covers a etorm, she replied. "My life has been brief and dull. Neither my heart nor my soul has really lived ; but I feel in myself a capability of power that sometimes frightens me." He did not doubt it as ho looked at the beautiful, passionate face; it was even more lovely in the gleam of the sunlight than in the soft, sweet light of the moon. " You cannot Etand in the sunshine, he said. "If you are not bnsy, will you go with me through Leigh. Woods ! I shall re member the way this time." She hesitated one half moment, and he saw it; he raised his hat and etood bareheaded awaiting her answer. "Yes, I will go," she said, at leDgth: " why should I not ?" They went together to Leigh Woods, where the great oak trees made a pleasant shade, and the ground was a mass of wild flowers; great streams of bluebells that stirred so gently in t'\e wina, violets that hid themselves under tho leaves, cowslips hko little tips of gold, wild strawberry blossoms that looked like snowflakes. How fair it was ! The snnbeams fell through the great green bon e hs, tbrow.nj long shadows on the grass. It was abeautb ful, silent world, all perfume and light; the poetry of it touched both of them. Lord Chandos was the first to epeak; he had been watching the proud, beautiful fact of Leone, and Buddenly he Eaid— "You look out of place here, Miss Noel I can hardly tell you why." _ "That i 3 what my uncle Bays; he n always asking me if I cannot make mysell more like the other girls in Rashleigb." "I hope you never will," lie cried warmly, "I do not know how," she said; "'. must alwaye be what God and Nature mads •"'They made you fair enough," he whis. And then he owned to himself that she wai not like other girls. She drew back proudly, swiftly; n< smile came to her lips, no laughing light m her eyes. " Speak to me as you would ic one in you own rank, my lord," she said, haughtily, " Though fate has made me a farmer's niece nature made me "A queeD," he interrupted. And she was satisfied with the acknow ledgment. They sat down under one of th< great oak trees, a great carpet of bluebell under their fect. Leono looked thoughtful; she gatherec some sprays of bluebell, and held them h her hands, her white fingers toying with.thi little bells; then she spoke : • "I know," she said, "that no lady—fo instance, in your own rank of life'— woul< walk through this wood with you on a sum mer's afternoon. A laugh came over hie handsome, flapp; voune face. ' " I do not know —I am inclined to tnml the opposite." "I do not understand what you wouli call etiquette, but I am quite sure that yoi would never ask one." . "I am not sure. If I had mot one m wha you are pleased to call my rank of life las night by the mill-stream, looking as yoi looked, I am quite sure that I should hav aeked her to walk with me, and talk to m at any time." "I should like to see your world, en said. "I know the world of the poor, an of the middle-class, but I do not knoi yours." . ~ "You will know some; day," he said quietly. "Do riot be. angry with me if tell yon that in all my world I have see no one like you. Do not be angry, I ai not flattering you. lam Baying ]ust whs "Why do you think that some day may see your world V she asked. " Because—with your face—you we sui to marry well/' lie replied,

".I stall marry where I love," said Leone. - "And you may love where you will," < he replied ; "no man will ever resist yon." " I would rather you did not speak to me in that fashion," she said, gravely, and Lord Chandos found that, seated by thie. fanner's niece, in the wood full of bluebelle, he was compelled to be more circumspect than if he were speaking to some countess-elect id a : May-fair drawing-room. Leone, when she had set him quite straight in his place, as she < called it—when she had taught him that he was to treat her with as much, if not more : courtesy than he bestowed on thoae of his own rank—Leone, when she had done all i this, felt quite at home with him. She had 1 never had an opportunity of exercising her natural talent for conversation ; her uncle was quite incapable of following or understanding her; the girls who were her companions lost themselves in trying to follow her flights of fancy. But now there was .some one who understood her; calk as she would he appreciated it; he knew her quotations ; no matter how original her ideas were he understood and foilowed them; it was the first time she had ever had the opportunity of talking to aa educated gentleman. How she enjoyed it; his wit seemed waiting on hers, and seemed to catch fire from it, his eyes caught fire from here. She described her simple life, and its homely surroundings, in words that burned. It was in her simple, sweet, pathetic description of stolid Uncla Bobert that she excelled herself ; she painted his character with the moat graphic touches. "Do you know, Miss Noel," said Lord Chaudos, at last, "that you are a genius, that you have a talent truly marvellous; that you can describe a character or a place better than I have heard any one else ?" "No; I did not know anything about it." she said. " I am so accustomed to being looked upon as something not to be understood, admired, or imitated, that I can hardly believe that I am clever. Uncle Bobert is really a character —nowadays men and women are very much alike, but he stands out in bold relief, quite by himself, the slowest, the most stolid cf men, yet with a gre*t heart full of love." It was ao pleasant to taik to him and see his handsome young face full of admiration ; to startle him by shewing her talent —so pleasant that the whole of the summer afternoon had passed before she thought of the time, and he was equally confused, for Dr. Hervey's dinner hour was over. And yet they both agreed it was the most pleasant hour they had ever spent. ITo bo continued ]