omething about propriety, but was stopped with
another pound's worth of oaths by the squire, who, however, had
tolerably recovered his good humour, and hurried Mrs. Lavington and
Honoria, laughingly, into the dog-cart, saying--

'Argemone's safe enough with Smith; the servants will lead the
horses behind them. It's only three miles home, and I should like
to see any one speak to her twice while Smith's fists are in the
way.'

Lancelot thought so too.

'You can trust yourself to me, Miss Lavington?'

'By all means. I shall enjoy the walk after--:' and she stopped.
In a moment the dog-cart had rattled off, with a parting curse from
the squire to the servants, who were unharnessing the horses.

Argemone took Lancelot's arm; the soft touch thrilled through and
through him; and Argemone felt, she knew not why, a new sensation
run through her frame. She shuddered--not with pain.

'You are cold, Miss Lavington?'

'Oh, not in the least.' Cold! when every vein was boiling so
strangely! A soft luscious melancholy crept over her. She had
always had a terror of darkness; but now she felt quite safe in his
strength. The thought of her own unprotected girlhood drew her
heart closer to him. She remembered with pleasure the stories of
his personal prowess, which had once made her think him coarse and
brutal. For the first time in her life she knew the delight of
dependence--the holy charm of weakness. And as they paced on
silently together, through the black awful night, while the servants
lingered, far out of sight, about the horses, she found out how
utterly she trusted to him.

'Listen!' she said. A nightingale was close to them, pouring out
his whole soul in song.

'Is it not very late in the year for a nightingale?'

'He is waiting for his mate. She is rearing a late brood, I
suppose.'

'What do you think it is which can stir him up to such an ecstasy of
joy, and transfigure his whole heart into melody?'

'What but love, the fulness of all joy, the evoker of all song?'

'All song?--The angels sing in heaven.'

'So they say: but the angels must love if they sing.'

'They love God!'

'And no one else?'

'Oh yes: but that is universal, spiritual love; not earthly love--a
narrow passion for an individual.'

'How do we know that they do not learn to love all by first loving
one?'

'Oh, the angelic life is single!'

'Who told you so, Miss Lavington?'

She quoted the s