n't like it, you
can leave it alone, and nobody will be a penny the worse."

"As you like; but I tell you that I can never consent;" and Philip
took his leave.

"Your cousin entirely refuses his consent, and Angela is by this time
probably engaged to your ex-ward, Arthur Heigham," was Lady Bellamy's
not very promising report to the interesting invalid in the dining-
room.

After relieving his feelings at this intelligence in language more
forcible than polite, George remarked that, under these circumstances,
matters looked very bad.

"Not at all; they look very well. I shall see your cousin again in a
week's time, when I shall have a different tale to tell."

"Why wait a week with that young blackguard making the running on the
spot?"

"Because I have put poison into Philip's mind, and the surest poison
always works slow. Besides, the mischief has been done. Good-by. I
will come and see you in a day or two, when I have made my plans. You
see I mean to earn my letters."

CHAPTER XXVIII

With what degree of soundness our pair of lovers slumbered on that
memorable Saturday night, let those who have been so fortunate or
unfortunate as to have been placed in analogous circumstances, form
their own opinion.

It is, however, certain that Arthur gazed upon the moon and sundry of
the larger planets for some hours, until they unkindly set, and left
him, for his candle had burnt out, to find his way to bed in the dark.
With his reflections we will not trouble ourselves; or, rather, we
will not intrude upon their privacy. But there was another person in
the house who sat at an open window and looked upon the heavens--
Angela to wit. Let us avail ourselves of our rightful privilege, and
look into her thoughts.

Arthur's love had come upon her as a surprise, but it had found a
perfect home. All the days and hours that she had spent in his
company, had, unknown to herself, been mysteriously employed in
preparing a habitation to receive it. We all know the beautiful Bible
story of the Creation, how first there was an empty void, and the
Spirit brooding on the waters, then light, and then life, and last,
man coming to turn all things to his uses. Surely that story, which is
the type and symbol of many things, is of none more so than of the
growth and birth of a perfected love in the human heart.

The soil is made ready in the dead winter, and receives the seed into
its bosom. Then comes th