atiently. 'Do
not think of me, nor delude yourself with imagining you can win me by
any probation.'

'I may earn your approval--'

'You will earn every one's,' she interrupted. 'Put mine out of your
head. Think of life and duty, and their reward, as they really are, and
they will inspirit you better than any empty dream of me.'

'It is vain to tell me so!' said the Earl, looking at her glancing eye
and earnest countenance. 'You will ever seem to beckon me forwards.'

'Something better will beckon you by and by, if you will only begin.
Life is horrid work--only endurable by looking after other people, and
so you will find it. Now, let us have done with this. Wish your sister
good-bye for me, and tell her that I beg her to forgive me for the pain
I have given you. I am glad you have her. She will make you happy--I
have only tormented those I loved best; so you are better off with her.
Good-bye. Shake hands, to show that you forgive me.'

'I will not harass you by pertinacity,' said poor Lord St. Erme,
submissively. 'It has been a happy dream while I was bold enough to
indulge in it. Farewell to it, though not, I trust, to its effects.'

Lingering as he held her hand, he let it go; then, returning to the
grasp, bent and kissed it, turned away, as if alarmed at his own
presumption, and hastened from the room.

She flung herself into her father's chair to consider of seeing Lady
Lucy, of writing to Violet, of breaking the tidings to her aunt, of
speaking to her Cousin Hugh; but no connected reflection could be
summoned up--nothing but visions of an Athenian owl, and green cotton
umbrella. At length the sound of the opening door made her start up.

'Have I interrupted you?' asked her cousin. 'I thought I should find
your father here.'

'I do not know where he is,' said Theodora. 'Can I do anything for you?
Oh! I beg your pardon; I had forgotten it was time to read to you.'

'You know I always hoped that you would not make it a burden.'

'If you knew the relief it is to be of any sort of use,' returned she,
hastily setting his chair, and fetching the books.

Perhaps her attention wandered while she read, for they had hardly
finished before she looked up and said, 'That always puts me in mind of
Arthur's wife. The ornament of a meek and quiet spirit is so entirely
her adorning--her beauty only an accessory.'

'Yes; I wish I knew her,' said Mr. Martindale.

'Oh! how I wish she was here!' sighed Theodora.

'For