a
critic."

"I never suspected you of any critical acumen," said Lady Mabel; "and
so could not be disappointed."

"Do not overlook me," said Bradshawe. "Poetry is the expression of
natural feeling, in a state of exaltation. Now, I am always in an
exalted state of feeling in your company, and may be just now a very
capable judge."

"No; one failure is enough for me," said Lady Mabel. "I am not in the
humor to repeat it."

"Let me read it then," said Bradshawe, offering to take the paper from
her hand.

Lady Mabel declined, and L'Isle tried to divert his attention. But
Bradshawe's curiosity was strongly excited, and he made more than one
playful attempt to get possession of the verses. Upon this, Lady Mabel
went to the table near which L'Isle was standing, and pretended to
hide them between the pages of one of the books there. L'Isle, anxious
that they should be kept from every eye but hers, watched her
closely. Could he believe his eyes? As she stooped over the table, she
actually, unobserved, as she thought, slipped the verses into her
bosom. Bradshawe pertinaciously began to search the volumes; on which,
Lady Mabel took up the largest of them, and with a grave face carried
it out of the room, leaving L'Isle so well satisfied with her care for
his epistle, that, by the time she came back, he was ready to bear,
without flinching, any severity of criticism.

The rest of the company below being gone, Lord Strathern now entered
the room. "Ah, L'Isle, I am glad to find you here; I was just about to
send after you. I have this moment received a dispatch from Sir
Rowland. He needs you for a special service, and this letter contains
his instructions."

"Is it in verse, Papa?" asked Lady Mabel, coming close up beside her
father.

"In verse, child? What are you dreaming of? Sir Rowland is a sane man,
and never writes verses?"

"I thought it might be a growing custom to correspond in verse. The
last letter I received was in regular stanzas."

"Who from?" asked Lord Strathern.

"A Spaniard--a genuine Spaniard, of the purest water," said Lady
Mabel. "And, strange to tell, I never saw him but once in my life."

"The impudent rascal!" exclaimed his lordship. "I will have him
horsewhipped by way of answer, a stripe for every line."

"Nay," said Lady Mabel, "a stripe for every bad line will be cutting
criticism enough."

"Who is this fellow? Is it the Don Alonso Melendez you were telling me
of?"

"Never mind his