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.

THE SAINT'S TRAGEDY.

"You 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 straw-coloured 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 very last person whom either of the young people 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 suceeded, 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."

"And do you call that '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.”

"My reasons may not appear very weighty, taken separately. But I was struck by Susan's impatience to return home to meet Leo; by her animation at dinner, and silence during the evening, when Leo was missing and she fell a victim to poor Merton's attentions, to whom, by the way, she was more than usually ungracious."

"Because his admiration was so very marked. I do not wonder that Susan was annoyed, and I wish that Mr. Merton would give me an opportunity of warning him that he is spoiling his own prospects by too much haste. I don't think anything of your other observations. We all know that Susan is very fond of Leo."

"Yes; and we all know what to expect when a young lady of eighteen is very fond of a young gentleman of two-and-twenty, with a handsome face and a plausible manner."

"But they are cousins, and have been brought up together," pleaded Mrs. Mordaunt, looking disturbed however, and speaking in a less confident tone. "I really

think, John, that you wish to believe this interesting romance."

"So far from it, Helen, that the mere conjecture has almost determined me to have Leonard less with us in future. Their marriage would be out of the question; and I will not have my bright-eyed Susan entangled in an indefinite engagement."

"Well," said Mrs. Mordaunt, trying to laugh off her uneasiness, "if there is the slightest risk, it would certainly be a good speculation to pay Leonard's expenses to Scotland, so as to get him safe out of the way. But it would be both rash and unjust to take any more decided step on such slight suspicion."

While this conference went on upstairs, Leonard was confiding his wrongs to his cousin in the drawing-room.

"My uncle gives me no encouragement to be open," he said; "he makes as much of my slight embarrassments as if they were of real importance. He seems to forget that he was ever young himself."

"I don't believe that he ever was young, in the sense of being extravagant," said Susan. "You know he married at three-and-twenty; and I have heard Uncle Ralph say that Roger is just what he was as a boy."

"Well," rejoined Leonard, "he ought to make allowance for the difference of dispositions; and I was not cast in the Mordaunt mould. However, if he will not help me, I must take my affairs into my own hands and apply to those who will."