untenance that had so charmed him at Millbank; but two years had
effected a wonderful change, and transformed the silent, embarrassed
girl into a woman of surpassing beauty. That night the image of Edith
Millbank was the last thought of Coningsby as he sank into an agitated
slumber. In the morning his first thought was of her of whom he had
dreamed. The light had dawned on his soul. Coningsby loved.

The course of true love was not to run smoothly with our hero. Within a
few days he heard rumours that Miss Millbank was to be married to
Sidonia, a wealthy and gifted man of the Jewish race, the friend of Lord
Monmouth. Often had Coningsby admired the wisdom and the abilities of
Sidonia; against such a rival he felt powerless, and, without mustering
courage to speak, left hastily for England.

But Coningsby had been deceived--the gossip was without foundation; and
once more he was to meet Edith Millbank. This time, however, it was Mr.
Millbank himself who vetoed the courtship.

Oswald had invited his friend to Millbank; and Coningsby, having learnt
the baselessness of the report that had driven him from Paris, gladly
accepted. Coningsby Castle was near to Hellingsley; and this estate Mr.
Millbank had purchased, outbidding Lord Monmouth. Bitter enmity existed
between the great marquess and the famous manufacturer--an old,
implacable hatred. Mr. Millbank now resided at Hellingsley; and
Coningsby left the castle rejoicing to meet his old Eton friend again,
and still more the beautiful sister of his old friend.

Mr. Millbank was from home when he arrived; and Coningsby and Miss
Millbank walked in the park, and rested by the margin of a stream.
Assuredly a maiden and a youth more beautiful and engaging had seldom
met in a scene more fresh and fair.

Coningsby gazed on the countenance of his companion. She turned her
head, and met his glance.

"Edith," he said, in a tone of tremulous passion, "let me call you
Edith! Yes," he continued, gently taking her hand; "let me call you my
Edith! I love you!"

She did not withdraw her hand; but turned away a face flushed as the
impending twilight.

The lovers returned late for dinner to find that Mr. Millbank was at
home.

Next morning, in Mr. Millbank's room, Coningsby learnt that the marriage
he looked forward to with all the ardour of youth was quite impossible.

"The sacrifices and the misery of such a marriage are certain and
inseparable," said Mr. Millbank gravely, but wi