he bell? Your aunt is very
melancholy. True religion is not gloomy; we will read a sermon on
Cheerfulness."

"So, so," said Mr. Ferrers to himself, as he undressed that night--"I
see that my uncle is a little displeased with my aunt's pensive face--a
little jealous of her thinking of anything but himself: _tant mieux_.
I must work upon this discovery; it will not do for them to live too
happily with each other. And what with that lever, and what with his
ambitious projects, I think I see a way to push the good things of this
world a few inches nearer to Lumley Ferrers."

CHAPTER III.

"The pride too of her step, as light
Along the unconscious earth she went,
Seemed that of one born with a right
To walk some heavenlier element."
_Loves of the Angels._

"Can it be
That these fine impulses, these lofty thoughts
Burning with their own beauty, are but given
To make me the low slave of vanity?"--_Erinna._

"Is she not too fair
Even to think of maiden's sweetest care?
The mouth and brow are contrasts."--_Ibid._

IT was two or three evenings after the date of the last chapter, and
there was what the newspapers call "a select party" in one of the
noblest mansions in London. A young lady, on whom all eyes were bent,
and whose beauty might have served the painter for a model of Semiramis
or Zenobia, more majestic than became her years, and so classically
faultless as to have something cold and statue-like in its haughty
lineaments, was moving through the crowd that murmured applauses as she
passed. This lady was Florence Lascelles, the daughter of Lumley's great
relation, the Earl of Saxingham, and supposed to be the richest heiress
in England. Lord Saxingham himself drew aside his daughter as she swept
along.

"Florence," said he in a whisper, "the Duke of ------ is greatly struck
with you--be civil to him--I am about to present him."

So saying, the earl turned to a small, dark, stiff-looking man, of about
twenty-eight years of age, at his left, and introduced the Duke of-----
introduction between the greatest match and the wealthiest heiress in
the peerage.

"Lady Florence," said Lord Saxingham, "is as fond of horses as yourself,
duke, though not quite so good a judge."

"I confess I _do_ like horses," said the duke, with an ingenuous air.

Lord Saxingham moved away.

Lady Florence stood mute--one glance of bright contempt shot from her
large eyes; her lip slightly cur