ight, a flush comes over his panting features, half of modesty, half
of triumph. He listens to his own speech from the lips of the woman he
loves. She is reading to her father with melodious energy the passage
in which he describes the high qualities of his Catholic neighbours. The
intonations of the voice indicate the deep sympathy of the reader. She
ceases. He hears the admiring exclamation of his host. He rallies his
strength, he advances, he stands before them. She utters almost a shriek
of delightful surprise as she welcomes him.

How much there was to say! how much to ask! how much to answer! Even Mr.
Dacre poured forth questions like a boy. But May: she could not
speak, but leant forward in her chair with an eager ear, and a look of
congratulation, that rewarded him for all his exertion. Everything was
to be told. How he went; whether he slept in the mail; where he went;
what he did; whom he saw; what they said; what they thought; all must be
answered. Then fresh exclamations of wonder, delight, and triumph.
The Duke forgot everything but his love, and for three hours felt the
happiest of men.

At length Mr. Dacre rose and looked at his watch with a shaking head. 'I
have a most important appointment,' said he, 'and I must gallop to keep
it. God bless you, my dear St. James! I could stay talking with you for
ever; but you must be utterly wearied. Now, my dear boy, go to bed.'

'To bed!' exclaimed the Duke. 'Why, Tom Rawlins would laugh at you!'

'And who is Tom Rawlins?'

'Ah! I cannot tell you everything; but assuredly I am not going to bed.'

'Well, May, I leave him to your care; but do not let him talk any more.'

'Oh! sir,' said the Duke, 'I really had forgotten. I am the bearer to
you, sir, of a letter from Mr. Arundel Dacre.' He gave it him.

As Mr. Dacre read the communication, his countenance changed, and
the smile which before was on his face, vanished. But whether he were
displeased, or only serious, it was impossible to ascertain, although
the Duke watched him narrowly. At length he said, 'May! here is a letter
from Arundel, in which you are much interested.'

'Give it me, then, papa!'

'No, my love; we must speak of this together. But I am pressed for time.
When I come home. Remember.' He quitted the room.

They were alone: the Duke began again talking, and Miss Dacre put her
finger to her mouth, with a smile.

'I assure you,' said he, 'I am not wearied. I slept at----y, and the
only thing