eenth. The Fates must
decide for me, only I wish they would clear up the mystery that hangs
over that girl, and give her Miss Nugent's thirty thousand pounds.'

Such were the thoughts that rushed through Colonel Vaughan's mind, as he
sat, apparently looking at Freda's drawing in the place that she had
vacated. We have unveiled a portion of his mind, because he is too good
a tactician to unveil it himself. It is needless to say that this
fascinating man, who has that nameless power which some men possess of
making all women love him, has himself no heart to bestow on any one.
Beyond the gratification of the moment, he is totally indifferent to all
the consequences of his powers. He is not a bad man, he would not do
anything that the world--his world, at least--would consider
dishonourable; but as to reflecting upon the cruelty of inflicting
wounds, never to be healed, upon the hearts of young ladies--why, he
would as soon reflect upon the wounds he gave an enemy in the
battle-field. He considers Cupid as fair game as Mars, and thinks that
if women will be weak, and if he is irresistible, it is no fault of his,
but rather their and his misfortune.

Young ladies! the vulgar saying that a woman should never give her heart
to a man until she is asked for it, is, like many vulgar sayings, a good
one. Colonel Vaughan is the type of a class amongst which all are liable
to be thrown; and although men of his talent, knowledge of the world,
and apparent sincerity are rare, you may each of you meet with one such.
If you do, beware of falling in love with him until he plainly tells you
that he is in love with you, and asks if you are willing to marry him.

Colonel Vaughan leaves the drawing-room in search of Mr Gwynne, humming
a little Scotch air, the _refrain_ of which is 'and troth I'll wed ye
a,' a thing he has often wished he could actually do.

He finds Mr Gwynne in his library, and reminds him of the promised ride.
The horses are ordered, and they are soon trotting down the drive. As if
by mutual consent, they take the turn that leads to Pentre, Lady Mary
Nugent's place. It is about a mile from Glanyravon, and beautifully
situated on a hill that commands a fine prospect of dale, wood, and
river.

The handsome mother and daughter are at home, and hail the arrivals
with great glee. As Lady Mary is not at all certain that Colonel
Vaughan's attentions are not exclusively meant for her, she divides her
civilities with a charmi