uder of winning her heart,
nor more triumphant in my possession of her.

CHAPTER XV

THE END

Time passed, and I was beginning to fear that some engagement prevented
Howe and his wife from coming over to us, when, hearing a noise of
wheels, I stepped to the window and saw my cousin assisting a lady out
of a smart little pony carriage.

"Here they are!" I exclaimed to Grace.

There was a pause; my darling looked about her with terrified eyes, and
I believe she would have rushed from the room but for the apprehension
of running into the arms of the visitors as they ascended the
staircase. A waiter opened the door, and in stepped Mr. and Mrs. Frank
Howe. My cousin and I eagerly shook hands, but nothing could be said
or done until the ladies were introduced. I had never before met Mrs.
Howe, and found her a fair-haired, pretty woman of some
eight-and-twenty years, dressed somewhat "dowdily," to use the ladies'
word; but her countenance so beamed with cheerfulness and good-nature
that it was only needful to look as her to like her. Frank, on the
other hand, was a tall, well-built man of some three-and-thirty, with
small side whiskers, deep-set eyes, and a large nose, and teeth so
white and regular that it was a pleasure to see him smile. One guessed
that whatever special form his Christianity took it would not be
wanting in muscularity. He held Grace's hand in both his and seemed to
dwell with enjoyment upon her beauty as he addressed her in some
warm-hearted sentences.

Mrs. Howe kissed her on both cheeks, drew her to the sofa, seated
herself by her side, and was instantly voluble and delightful.

I took Frank to the window, and with all the brevity possible in such a
narrative of adventures as ours, related what had befallen us. He
listened with a running commentary of "By Jove!"--"You don't say
so,"--"Is it possible?" and other such exclamations, constantly
directing glances at Grace, who was now deep in talk with Mrs. Howe,
and, as I might know by the expression in her face, excusing her
conduct by explaining the motives of it. In fact, even as I talked I
could catch such words as "Ma'mselle Championet,"--"the Roman Catholic
Priest,"--"Lady Amelia Roscoe's bigotry,"--with one or two other
expressions, all giving me to know in what direction their conversation
tended.

Mrs Howe's air was one of affection and sympathy, as though she had
come to my darling with the resolution to love her and to help