"No; he is rather proud of them. And yet, I do not know why it is, but they certainly do not assimilate." "Ailie looks reproachfully at me," said Susan, "but very unjustly. And Miriam is more urbane to me than to the rest of the world." "Yes, I believe that she really likes you," said Patty; "she wove this wreath of ivy-leaves for your hair this evening." The offering reminded Susan that it was time to dress; and thus the party broke up. CHAPTER VI. Sie kommt in diese stillen Gründe, UHLAND. LEONARD WRAY had been Mr. Mordaunt's ward, and he was more at home at the Mains than in his mother's house, whose second marriage to Sir Joseph Lawley had been resented by the wayward and high-spirited boy with imprudent warmth. He was generally known and liked in the neighbourhood, and his entrance was warmly greeted by the guests who had assembled in the drawing-room when he appeared, very well looking, and perhaps rather too well dressed; though his air of high breeding seemed to disclaim the imputation of coxcombry. To one gentleman, however, who stood beside Susan's chair, he was evidently unknown; and in compliance with Leonard's whispered injunction, "Introduce me, Susan," she named Mr. Merton with a slight blush, expressive of annoyance rather than embarrassment. Mr. Merton had succeeded to the estate adjoining the Mains since Leonard's former visit, and he came as a stranger into the neighbourhood; but the eagerness with which he responded to Mr. Mordaunt's advances, had already ripened their acquaintance into intimacy. He appeared to be some years older than Leonard, sensible and gentlemanlike, but not brilliant, Leonard decided; and his manner wanted the undefinable ease and lightness which is only to be acquired in London society. Leonard redeemed his promise to exert his powers of entertainment, and much talk went on at the end of the table, where he had secured a place between Susan and her father, who smiled with that reluctant amusement which he always accorded to Leo's humour. "I have been hearing," Leonard said, leaning across to the table to attract Mr. Cornwall's attention, for he sat with folded arms, completely abstracted from the sounds around him, "I have been hearing so much of your niece's genius for drawing, that I am quite anxious to see her sketches." "She draws very nicely," said Mr. Cornwall. "Yes, indeed," added Mr. Mordaunt, with greater warmth. "I have seen some uncommonly clever things. And how did the gipsy camp turn out, Susan?" "I am ashamed to say that I never asked to see the sketch," said Mr. Cornwall; and he really did look ashamed of the admission. " said "I shall take Leonard to Duck Dub to-morrow," Susan, "that he may see the whole collection, although Miriam does not much approve of their exhibition." Mr. Cornwall assented mechanically, for he had re cousin. Susan. lapsed into his dream; and Leonard turned again to his "I am intensely curious to see the recluse, Suppose we go this evening. It will be a pleasant twilight walk, and she will be more at her ease in Uncle Ralph's absence." "It would be pleasant," said Susan, "and, like most pleasant things, wrong. Now that I belong to this terrible institution of young-ladyhood, I must fulfil its social duties." "True, the company might resent your defection. But as I am not so shackled, I shall make my escape after dinner, and introduce myself to the forlorn damsel." "Nonsense!" said Susan, laughing; but Leonard was quite in earnest. He was missing when the gentlemen appeared after dinner; and Mr. Mordaunt explained that he had turned into the hall when they left the diningroom, he supposed in order to smoke. It was true that Leonard had lighted his cigar as he left the house, but this was a secondary object. He walked briskly through the fields leading to Duck Dub, and the house, looking gaunt and desolate against the dusky sky, soon met his eyes. A single light twinkled in the window of Mr. Cornwall's room; the house-door was open, and Leonard entered at once, and threaded his way through the dark and intricate passage. Miriam had cleared a space for her blotting-book among the chaos of papers which encumbered her uncle's table: her solitary evening had been devoted to the task of writing to George, and the sheet was nearly filled. She raised her head in a listening attitude at the sound of Leonard's foot-steps; it was too early for her uncle's return, and, indeed, that vigorous tread bore no resemblance to his usually shuffling gait. And when, after a moment's hesitation, the door was pushed open, and the imperfect light only permitted her to distinguish the outline of the form standing there, her face lighted up with a glow of wild delight, and she sprang forward, exclaiming, "George!" In another moment she would have thrown herself into Leonard's arms; but he drew back, at once embarrassed and amused, saying, "I beg your pardon, Miss Leigh, I am not George." The strange voice which fell on Miriam's ear, seemed to stiffen her into stone. For a moment she stood motionless, then slowly sank down, and pillowed her head on her arms in an attitude of listless despair. Leonard approached a few paces nearer, and stood beside her in constrained silence, thoroughly ashamed of the idle curiosity which had prompted his intrusion. And after awhile Miriam raised her head, as if to satisfy herself that her first impression had indeed been false. "I beg your pardon," Leonard repeated, in reply to the inquiring glance. "I cannot forgive myself for my thoughtlessness in startling you in this way. I walked over from the Mains, where I am staying with my uncle, Mr. Mordaunt, for I am |