w.

"Era gia l' ora che volge 'l desio
A' naviganti, e intenerisce 'l cuore
Lo di ch' an detto a' dolci amici a Dio;

"E che lo nuovo peregrin d' amore
Punge, se ode squilla di lontano
Che paia 'l giorno pianger che si muore,"

murmured Mr. St. George, half lifting the book in which his bitter mood
had sought stinging solace, and where his finger yet kept the place.

"It is many hours too late for that sweet vesper-bell," said Eloise.

"Any slow bell at night is like it. The tones of a bell are always
homesick tones to me,--who have no home!"

"You, Sir!" said Eloise, forgetfully,--half losing sight of her own
burden.

Mr. St. George, for all response, gazed at her a moment. Was she
entirely plighted to Marlboro'? Could she care for him? How far did that
tacit promise go?

"Eloise!" he said.

But suddenly she turned away her head, outstretching a forbidding hand.
Abruptly he bowed and stepped aside, and followed her only at a
distance.

* * * * *

When Mr. Marlboro' appeared just at breakfast the next morning, with a
color fanned into his cheek by the half-score miles of gallop, Vane came
trotting along behind him.

"Vane," said Mr. Marlboro', after he had saluted Eloise as warmly as he
dared, "this is your mistress."

And Eloise felt her fetters close miserably upon her. This had been his
device to know if he had dreamed or not on the night before, to detect
whether his joy were solid truth or mounting laudanum-fumes. But as for
Vane, so soon as his bow was made and homage paid, he fled away round
the corner and lost himself in Hazel's happy arms.

At dinner that day the ladies rose early, as they were to dress for a
wedding-party that awaited them some miles away. Just as Eloise, who was
the last, passed out of the door which Mr. St. George held open, he
produced from somewhere and placed in her hand a braided trencher of
broad vine and fig-leaves that bore a mass of strange and beautiful
growth. Scarcely had she plunged taper fingers between the scented
layers, when a box with Mr. Marlboro's compliments was delivered, which,
on being laughingly opened, proved to hold rare wreaths of pinky buds
and bells.

"Four gray walls and four gray towers
Overlook a space of flowers,"

hummed Lottie; but Mr. St. George was consummately oblivious, and
returned to his friends. Why it fell out, that, when Miss Changarnier
came floating down the st