"O! that was very sad," replied madame Lauza;

"and did the unfeeling

guardian evince no contrition, after the death of the poor girl?"

"None," returned Mr. Clare, and he drew-forth a white, cambric handkerchief,

and passed it across his eyes.

"He must have been a very different person to our poor dear friend, earl Beckenham," observed madame Lauza. "I should have thought he would have been delighted to sanction their union, under such circumstances."

"Might I be permitted to ask one question?" said Mr. Clare, leaning forward, and in a soft, and slightly tremulous voice, "It will-not be deemed impertinent, when the motive is understood, in which it originates. I am anxious to learn if miss Leighton is engaged?"

The abruptness and singularity of this enquiry, so much agitated madame Lauza as to prevent her from making an immediate reply. That Mr. Clare should have conceived a passion for Matilda, considering the very small encouragement he received from her, on their first and only interview, was, to Julia, perfectly inexplicable.

"My sister is engaged," she said, observing the intense anxiety depicted in the speaker's countenance, " and has been so, for some time past."

"Positively?-irrevocably?" rejoined Mr. Clare, throwing-himself back in his chair, with his eyes fixed upon madame Lauza. There was a pause, during which Clare seemed absorbed in deep and painful meditation, upon the intelligence which had, at once, destroyed his fondest aspirations.

"Can you give me no hope?" he said, with a deep sigh.

"I am afraid, not-indeed, I am certain that it is impossible my sister can change her present intentions."

"But circumstances might arise," suggested Mr. Clare, with growing fervor. "We see such things, every day-not to speak of wilful dissimulation. We all know that our feelings, by their very intensity, are exposed to perpetual fluctuations; and even where parties are most strongly disposed to act with perfect good faith and sincerity, still, if they do-not intentionally mislead others, they are too often the victims of self-deception, from the ignorance under which they labour, as to the real state of their own hearts."

So saying, Mr. Clare, with deep dejection impressed on his brow, approached a miniature which hung above the mantel-piece, and by which his attention was arrested in a very decisive manner:-"What a charming likeness," he observed, examining the painting through his eye-glass: then turning to madame Lauza, he enquired if it had been taken recently?"

"Not very long since," replied Julia; "it was painted when my sister and I were last in town; but hers is generally considered a much better likeness than mine.” "Is it possible," exclaimed Mr. Clare, with undisguised astonishment, "that this is-not intended for miss Leighton?"

"O dear, no!" replied madame Lauza, smiling at the strange error into which Mr. Clare had fallen-himself, too, an amateur artist, possessing exquisite taste of discernment, "do you think it at all like her?"

Mr. Clare looked again attentively at the miniature; then, as if still unconvinced,

of his mistake, he lifted it from the little hook to which it was attached, and inspected it with an expression of critical acumen, which gradually softened into tenderness, and brightened into admiration.

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'Really, madame Lauza," he said, assuming a smile of unquestionable candour, without any ostentatious display of compassion, "I really must pity those who cannot discover, in this admirable little painting, the utmost fidelity to miss Leighton, of which the imitative art is capable."

"Your opinion is singular," replied madame Lauza, "none of our friends have ever remarked it; therefore, whatever merit there may be in the discovery, is entirely your own."

Mr. Clare laughed, and though contemplating the miniature in every point of view, could-not emancipate his judgment from the scepticism, by which it was so strangely enthralled.

"Might I be permitted to beg a trifling favor?" said Mr. Clare, still retaining the miniature in his hand.

Madame Lauza gave a gracious consent.

"It is to allow me to make a copy of this miniature," returned Mr. Clare; then, as if anticipating the objections that might be offered to his proposition, he continued. in a hurried and earnest tone :-"perhaps my request may appear somewhat eccentric, but as you tell me that I may-not hope to gaze again upon the living features which are here so vividly and faithfully portrayed, it would, at least, assuage the pangs of my regret, could I only possess this poor memento of one, whose loveliness has made too deep an impression, ever to be obliterated from my heart."

"I should be very sorry," replied madame Lauza, with obvious embarrassment, to refuse anything that would be at all conducive to your happiness, yet.. . .' “Under any other circumstances, I would-not press it for a moment," rejoined Mr. Clare, the impassioned earnestness of whose demeanour seemed quite disproportioned to the insignificance, if not absurdity, of his application, "and if you will but grant me this, my first and last request, be assured I will-not betray the confidence with which you honor me. The miniature shall be returned, either by hand or under seal, within one week from the present time. I will-not ask for any more explicit permission that smile assures me that my heart-felt solicitations have-not been made in vain.

As Clare uttered these words, there was something in his tone and manner which was-not quite compatible with that air of respectful deference, which he had hitherto maintained. Notwithstanding the almost effeminate delicacy of his lower features, his massive forehead wore an expression of decision and mental energy, which could-not escape the most superficial observer. His mind was constituted not easily to relinquish any project which it had, once, firmly embraced, as was proved by the pertinacity with which he prosecuted the present request. But, although madame Lauza perceived, almost instantly, the impropriety, not to say danger, of granting this most extraordinary favor, yet she had-not sufficient self-possession and nerve to adopt the language which common discretion would have dictated under existing circumstances. Then, the natural kindness and amenity of her disposition-the

fear of giving others pain, which had, more than once, involved her in perplexities, caused her to hesitate, and that hesitation was fatal!

While Clare was returning his acknowledgments for the acquiescence—of which he desired no more explicit token, than that which madame Lauza's silence conveyed-Mr. Middleton was announced, and Clare, begging madame Lauza not to mention his visit, retired into an inner apartment, taking with him the miniature, upon the temporary acquisition of which, he had expended so much anxiety and eloquence.

He had just time to close the folding-doors, which divided his place of concealment from the adjoining parlour, when Mr. Middleton presented his portly figure, accompanied by a juvenile party of some eight individuals, the youngest member of which, attired in full, white muslin raiment, and followed by a nurse-maid, he carried in his tender arms.

"Here's a gratifying sight for a parent," cried Mr. Middleton, striving to allay the querulous strains of his infantile charge, by a little undulatory exercise. "My friend, Juggins, and his lady, have come to stay a week or two in the island, and have brought all their little olive-branches with them. That's Theophilus-this is Caroline-that's my god-son, Peter;-that's Benjamin-that's Walter-that's Maria-and this is baby, as fat as a pig, and almost as noisy. "

The little people having been thus formally introduced to madame Lauza, were graciously received and entertained with fruits and sweetmeats, of various kinds, to which they administered that summary mode of punishment, for which youthful appetites have long been notorious.

"So friend Clare has gone at last," said Mr. Middleton, wiping-off a small patch of marmalade, which his godson, Peter, had fondly impressed on his black-silk stocking; “he left, this morning, by the ten o'clock boat. Did you see him pass your window? He did-not call, I suppose?"

"Did he promise to do so," enquired madame Lauza, who felt embarrassed at the secresy which Clare had imposed upon her.

"O, no," replied Mr. Middleton; "but I thought he might, perhaps, just to bidyou good-bye."

"And Matilda," added madame Lauza, with a significant emphasis.

"Matilda seemed to treat him rather coolly," said Mr. Middleton, “ though I'm sure I can't imagine for what reason.

"Mr. Clare, of course, could-not but notice it," returned madame Lauza. “Did he seem much hurt at my sister's behaviour?"

"Hurt?" rejoined Mr. Middleton, "why should he be hurt particularly? You don't suppose he was such a gaby as to go and fall over head and ears in love with a young lady, who would'nt honor him with a look, much less with a smile-at least as far as I could observe."

"It would certainly seem rather improbable," replied madame Lauza, with an air of hesitation which attained its intended object—that of stimulating Mr. Middleton to further enquiry.

"Clare, I fancy, is a sort of general lover," said Mr. Middleton-" moving in the

gayest circles-flattered-patted and caressed by all. His heart is like my old house-of-parliament snuff-box; if not very valuable, at least, too well known to run much risk of being either lost or stolen."

At

At any other time madame Lauza might have appreciated this curious simile. present, her attention was so much engrossed with the fact stated, as to allow the illustration to pass unnoticed. Fearing, however, that Clare might overhear the conversation, she lowered her tone, and asked Mr. Middleton if he had apprised his friend that Matilda was engaged.

"Dear me, no!” replied Mr. Middleton, arresting his snuff-laden thumb, in the act of transportation, "why should I trouble him with information which he neither asked for, expected, nor desired? Of what consequence can it possibly be

to him, whether your sister be engaged or not."

Madame Lauza turned aside her head, and coughed to hide her embarrassment, which, from so unsophisticated an examiner as Mr. Middleton, (despite his fancied powers of penetration,) was a task of no very difficult attainment.

"We had some conversation about your liege lord," pursued Mr. Middleton, as well as he was able-for one of his indefatigable tormentors having climbed-up behind him, was clasping him round the throat, with an affectionate tenacity that threatened immediate suffocation.

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'Indeed, replied Julia, "but your friend is-not acquainted with Mr. Lauza."

"I rather think he is," returned Mr. Middleton, adjusting his cravat and frill, which had suffered severely in the last, fond embrace of master Peter Juggins, "Clare has travelled a great deal, you know, and, if I recollect rightly, he mentioned having met senor Lauza in Paris, some two or three years ago.”

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Impossible," exclaimed Julia, Ferdinand never was in France-at least, so far as I am aware."

"Then, I must be mistaken," rejoined Mr. Middleton, "perhaps," he might have' said Dublin, instead of Paris-however, that's of no consequence, none whatever— he merely enquired how long senor Lauza had been absent-when he was expected home, and so on.".

"Why should he make those enquiries," said madame Lauza, while her countenance assumed an expression of painful surprise.

"O! merely out of curiosity-nothing more," replied Mr. Middleton, "people only live to learn-the thirst for knowledge is common to all mankind."

"But," interrupted madame Lauza tremulously, and she glanced towards the folding-doors, whence she fancied Clare was listening to this interesting conference.

"We shall have him over here, again, I expect, in a month or two," continued Mr. Middleton, smiling at the little, audacious Banditti, who were busily engaged in rifling his coat-pockets, "he hinted about spending the honeymoon in our neighbourhood-but this is a secret;" and the old gentleman affected one of those peculiar winks, which were calculated to torment the very heart of the inquisitive, so replete with mystery was that rapid, little convulsion of the upper eyelid.

"You are jesting, Mr. Middleton," said madame Lanza, turning pale, as an involuntary thrill stole over her, att he reflection of Clare's duplicity.

1

"No," cried Mr. Middleton, "he is going to marry a french lady, some very rich widow. I'll tell you how I came to know it-quite by accident."

And drawing his chair nearer to the table, the old gentleman, whose eyes sparkled with the consciousness of exclusive intelligence, was about to commence his revelations, when his godson-Peter (aged four years) came running-in, his mouth extended, and his straw-hat almost erect with terrors, to announce that there was a man in the back parlour.

Before the words were intelligibly uttered, Mr. Middleton had seized the poker, and assumed the attitude of the defensive.

'A man in the back parlour," he cried, sternly addressing the little, petrified herald, "Peter, you must be dreaming."

Peter shook-his-head, while his teeth chantered, audibly, but his tongue moved-not-being tied in more senses than one.

Mr. Middleton strode forward, and violently pushing open the folding-doors, in a loud voice, demanded who was there?

There was no reply. He looked around him, but (saving the open bay-window) he could discover nothing to corroborate Peter's unsupported testimony. The posse commitatus now poured-in, and a rigid investigation took-place; but neither from cupboards, chairs nor sofa, could they extract a robber, and, notwithstanding Peter's renewed and energetic asseverations, he was pronounced by all the Juggins' family, (baby alone excepted) to be a deceiver; and by Mr. Middleton to be laboring under an hallucination, which, in so young a child, was very remarkable, and afforded matter of deep interest to the student of psychological enquiry.

The sensation, which this transaction, excited, was-not, however, of long continuance. A splendid rainbow, whose variegated arch, spanning the glittering meadows, awoke the nascent enthusiasm of its gazing admirers, presented Mr. Middleton with an opportunity of imparting to the rising generation around him, some scraps of useful knowledge; he, therefore, straightway commenced a philosophical disquisition, by which he soon divested the celestial phenomenon of all the fantastic mystery with which Poets, in their native innocence, have arrayed it, and shewed that, notwithstanding the superstitious admiration of uncultivated minds, it is, to the philosophic eye, a very simple and common-place affair indeed.

CHAPTER VI.

Though madame Lauza concealed her agitation from Mr. Middleton, during his short visit, yet her apprehensions were powerfully excited, on finding that Clare had departed with the miniature, of which he had so unwarrantably taken-possession. The more she reflected on Clare's behaviour, the more her alarm and perplexity increased. How could she reconcile the statements of Mr. Middleton, with the representations which Clare had made to her. If Mr. Middleton could be credited-and she had never experienced any reason to question his veracity, Clare had made no allusion whatever, to Matilda, in his presence, yet Clare had distinctly told her, that he had conversed with Mr. Middleton upon the subject of his attachment to miss Leighton; and that Mr. Middleton had advised him to com