r eyes met. She must have read my thoughts, for
her face grew crimson, nor did I catch another glimpse of those lovely
eyes during my visit.

It was with difficulty I could tear myself away. Sir John, who was a
great connoisseur in horses, went with me to see Bonnie Prince. While we
stood on the lawn he turned to me with a constrained smile.

"So mademoiselle is still at Crown Anstey?" he said. "I suppose she is
as beautiful as ever?"

"Tastes differ," I replied, oddly. "Her beauty is not according to my
idea."

His kindly face cleared.

"That is right; she is of the siren order; some people would find her
irresistible. Now, pardon me if I say one word. I have known the lady
for five years, and know nothing against her, still mistrust her without
knowing why. You are young, new to the world; new, perhaps, to the
influence of great womanly beauty; keep your heart safe. Do not let
Mademoiselle d'Aubergne take it from you."

"There is no fear," I replied, with a light laugh. "Some day, Sir John,
I will tell you where my heart has found its home."

"I am glad you know how to take a hint given in all kindness," he said,
cordially. "As my old friend's heir and representative, my heart warms
to you."

I left Harden Manor a changed man. The very earth around seemed changed
to me; the sky wore a deeper blue; the grass a fairer green; there was
new music in the birds' songs and in the whisper of the wind, new hope
in my own heart, new beauty all around me. That was the beginning of the
glamour posts call frenzy, men call love.

Mademoiselle was out on the lawn as I rode up to the door. She came to
meet me, her glittering eyes on my face.

"Have you enjoyed your visit?" was the first question she asked.

"More than I ever enjoyed anything in my life. You did not tell me what
a beautiful neighbor I had at Harden Manor."

"I never thought of it," she replied, carelessly. "Agatha Thesiger is
only a school-girl."

"Then school-girls are very different from what I thought them," was my
reply, and mademoiselle turned away with a strange smile.

CHAPTER VI.

No matter what I did, that face was always before me. If I read it
looked up at me with sweet, serene eyes from the pages of my book. It
rose between me and the blue heavens. I saw it in every flower. It
haunted me until I could have cried out for respite from the pleasure
that was yet half pain.

Poets sing of the joy and the rapture of love. Who knows i