to-day! or that we had not so met: would that my fortitude had not quailed before her affectionate smile! Poor Constance! she is ignorant of my treachery. She dreams not that men are mercenary, are crafty, are ever distorting the ends of social being by a most crooked social diplomacy. It was unkind,

unmanly, to leave her still confiding in me. Poor girl! she suspects not how miserably I have wronged her."

Mr. Molyneux repassed the entrance-hall. His horse stood before the door. He felt a flutter of joy at having escaped an interview with Albert Grey. With him he could not have played as with the invalid. Difficult conciliation, or hostile breach, would have been inevitable. He descended the steps, under the trellised porch, and would have sprung into his saddle as he reached his steed but he suddenly paused. Albert Grey was standing by him.

They do me wrong, and I will not endure it.
Who are they that complain?"

SHAKESPEARE.

"MOLYNEUX," said Grey, declining the hand which had been instantly offered, "we do not yet understand each other. In your general proceedings I interfere not- I have neither right nor inclination to do so; but in matters on which the happiness of my own family are based, my interest is as strong as it is legitimate. You will spare me a few minutes before you leave the Retreat. You know that I have in vain sought an opportunity for obtaining a specific answer to a specific question."

"You may walk my horse a few more turns," said Henry Molyneux to the groom.

66

My dear fellow," continued he, addressing

Your

Albert Grey, "you are incautious. manner of speaking would naturally lead that man to imagine that some serious difference existed between us. I trust that will never be. For my own friendly feelings I can answer."

66

My inquiry concerns your conduct: it is not so impertinent as to seek any acquaintance with your feelings," replied Grey, somewhat sarcastically; and he invited Molyneux to reenter the house.

neux.

"By no means," answered Henry Moly"I would not again disturb Constance. Her spirits are now good. Every excitement. should be avoided."

"Pho! speak not of her!" cried Albert Grey, with a gesture of contempt.

"And why not?" replied the other: "why not speak of one whose near relationship, and long-uninterrupted friendship, permit me to regard with a vivid, an undying interest? Yes, Grey, whatever may chance to be our destinies in life, whatever connexions-perhaps closer ones-may hereafter be formed on either side, I shall not only regard it as my

privilege to enjoy the friendship and affection of Constance and yourself, but shall fondly cling to that privilege."

Albert Grey made no answer. Judging from the knit brow and the compressed lips, that seemed with difficulty to restrain an ungracious reply, his silence was more agreeable than his observations would have been.

My time is at this moment particularly precious," recommenced Henry Molyneux, in a gentle and conciliatory tone. "You speak of a specific question; name it, Grey, without scruple. Ask it. If within my power, you shall instantly receive a full, a fair, and honest answer. From you there is little that I conceal, nothing that I could wish to hide. But I cannot promise delay. From you I must hasten to Windersleigh Abbey. I promised to see Miss Windermere after my visit to Constance, to bring tidings of the health of the invalid. By the way, Albert," resumed Molyneux, after a short silence, "I have a favour to request. Miss Windermere, who, you know, is a botanist, last evening spoke of different methods of preserving flowers, and shewed me

a specimen, which she had in vain endeavoured to dry to her satisfaction. I think she said it had come from your stove, and expressed a wish that she had another, in order that she might endeavour to preserve it more worthily. I want to beg another specimen; and can assure you it cannot fall into more careful hands than those of Miss Windermere."

He looked stealthily at Albert Grey: the balm so judiciously poured upon his fretted spirit had instantly soothed it. The name of Alice Windermere, the interest she had taken in worthily preserving a flower of his own presenting, acted as a spell. It fell upon his turbid mood, as the drop of oil that stills and levels the riotous wave.

For some seconds Albert Grey spoke not; but silently, and, as it were, intuitively, led the way towards the green-house. His ingenious companion had found a second and a pleasanter subject for the exercise of his thoughts.

The choicest specimen was selected, and Grey delighted in his heart to imagine the possibility that, in presenting it to Alice Win