rother; the only
likely escape--unless, indeed, the uncle in Peru, whom I begin to
regard as rather mythical, should send an unavoidable shower of gold on
them.'

'I hope not,' said Isabel, 'I could almost call their noble poverty a
sacred thing. I never saw anything so beautiful as the reverent
affection shown to Mrs. Dynevor on Walter's birthday, when she was the
Queen of the Night, and looked it, and her old pupils vied with each
other in doing her honour. I have remembered the scene so often in
looking at our faded dowagers here.'

'I would defy Midas to make my Aunt Catharine a faded dowager,' said
Louis.

'No; but he could have robbed their homage of half--nay, all its grace.'

They talked of Northwold, and Isabel mentioned various details of Mrs.
Ponsonby, which she had learnt from Miss King, and talked of Mary with
great feeling and affection. Never had Louis had anything so like a
conversation with Isabel, and he was more bewitched than ever by the
enthusiasm and depth of sensibilities which she no longer concealed by
coldness and reserve. In fact, she had come to regard him as an
accessory of Northwold, and was delighted to enjoy some exchange of
sympathy upon Terrace subjects--above all, when separated from the
school-room party. Time had brought her to perceive that the fantastic
Viscount did not always wear motley, and it was almost as refreshing as
meeting with Clara, to have some change from the two worlds in which
she lived. In her imaginary world, Adeline had just been rescued from
the Corsairs by a knight hospitalier, with his vizor down, and was
being conducted home by him, with equal probabilities of his dying at
her feet of a concealed mortal wound, or conducting her to her convent
gate, and going off to be killed by the Moors. The world of gaiety was
more hollow and wearisome than ever; and the summons was as unwelcome
to her as to Fitzjocelyn, when Lord Ormersfield reminded him that the
ladies were going to an evening party, and that it was time to take
leave.

'Come with us, Fitzjocelyn,' said his aunt. 'They would be charmed to
have you;' and she mentioned some lions, whose names made Louis look at
his father.

'I will send the carriage for you,' said the Earl; but Louis had learnt
to detect the tone of melancholy reluctance in that apparently
unalterable voice, and at once refused. Perhaps it was for that reason
that Isabel let him put on her opera-cloak and hand her down stair