"Who can this be?' asked Mrs. Mordaunt, taking up a sheet on which the same face was repeated in different points of view. 'Those heads seem to be drawn from memory, and yet the hair sits like yours, Leonard. Did you stay to have your likeness taken ?'

No indeed,' he replied, colouring.

'Let me look,' said Susan; 'I wonder whether it can be the peerless brother of whom she lets fall a word now and then; but always as if we were unworthy to hear of him. What a handsome face!'

'Yes, that is George Leigh,' said Mr. Cornwall. 'She has quite caught the likeness. The fellow's features are good enough, but it is a bad countenance. There is a sad want of force about the mouth.'

'No one can say the same of his sister,' said Susan. 'I never saw such a resolute face. Did it not strike you, Leonard ?'

'I did not study her face; the room was very dark,' replied Leonard, who was absorbed in the contemplation of a drawing which caused his cousin's light words to jar upon his mood. It was the profile of a woman's face in faint outline, and below were inscribed the words which Miriam had quoted to George :

"Her life was turning, turning,

In mazes of heat and sound;
But for peace her soul was yearning,
And now peace laps her round."

Leonard felt that it would have been profanation to call the attention of others to the drawing, and he withdrew it unobserved from the rest.

'They are clever sketches, are they not, Leo ?? said Mr. Mordaunt; and he roused himself to give a warm assent.

'I must see them by daylight,' he added, when Mr. Cornwall proposed to take the book away with him; the drawings were lent to me, and I shall return them in person, whatever Aunt Helen may say.'

Mrs. Mordaunt laughed at the defiance; Mr. Cornwall said good-night, and Leonard soon followed his example, observing with a yawn, that his journey had made him sleepy. But he came down again as soon as he heard Mr. Mordaunt enter his dressing-room, in order to carry off Miriam's sketchbook for his private edification.

69

CHAPTER VII.

I have wandered in the mountains, mist-bewildered,
And now a breeze comes, and the veil is lifted,
And priceless flowers, o'er which I trod unheeding,
Gleam ready for my grasp.

γου

THE SAINT'S TRAGEDY.

U are not busy, Helen ?' said Mr. Mordaunt, as he opened the door of his wife's morning room on the following day.

'Oh no, dear, come in,' said Mrs. Mordaunt. But her husband's entrance at this unusual hour awakened a secret feeling of uneasiness, as she anticipated the announcement of some event of family interest. She was gifted with a lively imagination, and the few seconds occupied by Mr. Mordaunt's advance from the door to the sofa, gave time for various probable and improbable conjectures to dart through her brain. Had Mr. Merton proposed for Susan? had Roger got into any scrape with his captain? or was Mr. Mordaunt offered any change of office?

'It is nothing particular,' said Mr. Mordaunt, answering the expression of his wife's eyes, for she had not spoken; 'or at least, it is only the same story over again,-that fellow Leo squandering his money, and coming to me for an advance as usual.

As I told him just now, he is much mistaken, if he expects me to support him as well as my own family, when he has run through his patrimony.'

'Poor Leo!' said Mrs. Mordaunt compassionately, and without even the semblance of surprise ; so that it was evident that this was not the first time she had been called upon to plead his cause. 'It is a pity that he cannot learn the value of money, but it is almost impossible to acquire the knowledge. Prudence is an instinct with some people, and I wish he would take example from our dear steady Roger, who never dreams of exceeding his allowance.'

'He take example from Roger!' repeated Mr. Mordaunt; he would scarcely condescend to walk through Pall Mall with any one who does not frequent a fashionable hair-cutter, nor wear strawcoloured gloves which he has not paid for. He is frittering away life as a mere empty coxcomb.' 'Now, John, you are unjust.'

'Very possibly; but it is enough to provoke a man, to see a fine young fellow throwing himself away, when he is fit for better things.'

'I am convinced that he will do very well at last,' said Mrs. Mordaunt confidently; 'this is a mere passing folly. I wish it would occur to him to fall in love, for I believe that une grande passion would bring him to his senses sooner than anything.'

'That is not a bad idea,' said Mr. Mordaunt in a tone of some satire; but what do you say to Susan for its object?'

'What do you mean,' John? said Mrs. Mordaunt, changing colour.

'I did not mean to frighten you, Helen. I am the whom either of the young peovery last person ple would take into their confidence, as they must be pretty well aware what my sentiments would be. It is a mere conjecture.'

'And a very absurd one,' said Mrs. Mordaunt, promptly recovering her self-possession. Why, Leonard was asking me this very morning whether Mr. Merton was serious in his attentions to Susan.'

‘That showed a very proper cousinly interest.'

'It was nothing more, I assure you. I told him that there could be no doubt of Mr. Merton's admiration, but that Susan's manner was not encouraging, and I did not know how it would end. He answered carelessly that he would be a very lucky fellow if he succeeded, and went on to speak of this Scotch journey.'

'Oh!' said Mr. Mordaunt, 'I did not for a moment imagine that Susan was his first object; only that he likes her next best to himself.'

call that you

'And do une grande passion"?' 'No, I do not; for plain English will express all I wish to imply. I think it is as strong an attachment as Leo is capable of feeling.'

'Now, John, you are unjust,' repeated his wife. 'I believe that Leo's selfishness and frivolity are quite superficial; and they will disappear before the earnest love which must one day possess his heart, though Susan will not be its object. And that reminds me to ask what reason you have for imagining that there is any sentiment on her side. For you seemed to assume that it was mutual.'