eadership, (and we may add was brought to a
successful issue in consequence). "George is simply done to death in the
season. We saw next to nothing of him ourselves."

"You will soon _hear_ something of him or I'm mistaken, however,"
mentally commented Leo--and the whole conversation which ensued left but
one impression on her mind: How could she ever have chosen the long path
whereby to conduct Mr. George Butts across the park?

As for poor Tommy Andrews, her feelings about Tommy had undergone a
strange revulsion of late. Self-disgust had given way to such a sense of
pity and sorrow as made her long to do something, anything, to heal his
wound; and instead of wincing when she saw his figure in the distance,
she cried out in her heart, "Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry,"--and could
have wept for very tenderness of--fellow-feeling.

In the course of the evening Leo found Paul at her elbow; he had
returned from seeing some departing guests to their carriage, and paused
near the door where she was standing.

"It is a fine fresh night," he remarked, cheerfully.

"Has the moon come out?" said she. "It was raining a little while ago."

"The rain has stopped, and the moonlight is glorious. I saw you flitting
about in the dusk this afternoon," continued Paul, smiling. "I was
coming your way, but I turned off. I didn't feel sure that my company
would be welcome. One likes to be alone sometimes."

"Yes. I--I do. I do like it;" emphatically.

"That's flat." This time he laughed outright, seeming so much amused by
her brusquerie, that she perceived how it must have struck him.

No matter, it was as well he should be thus struck. He would know for
the future.

"Your grounds are so extensive that you have a pretty wide range for
your rambles," resumed Paul, in the same easy, friendly accents; "you
can walk all the way to Claymount without touching the road, young
Purcell tells me; and as for the paths, they seem to be legion; I should
get lost if I attempted to wander about by myself."

"Don't wander then; I advise you not. You really might get lost."

"And then if I fell in with you I should be obliged to throw myself on
your mercy, which would be a terrible catastrophe."

"Oh, I should soon get rid of you," she made an effort to retort in the
same light tone; "I should say--" she paused, "I should say, 'Maud is
there,' and you would fly."

"Is Maud then a woodland nymph also?"

Was it her own fancy or was there an almos