e wife of Harley L'Estrange," said Egerton, without
heed of this consolatory exclamation.

The Countess rose and left the room. In a few minutes she returned with
Helen Digby.

Helen was wondrously improved from the pale, delicate child, with the soft
smile and intelligent eyes, who had sate by the side of Leonard in his
garret. She was about the middle height, still slight, but beautifully
formed; that exquisite roundness of proportion, which conveys so well the
idea of woman, in its undulating, pliant grace--formed to embellish life,
and soften away its rude angles--formed to embellish, not to protect. Her
face might not have satisfied the critical eye of an artist--it was not
without defects in regularity; but its expression was eminently gentle and
prepossessing; and there were few who would not have exclaimed, "What a
lovely countenance!" The mildness of her brow was touched with
melancholy--her childhood had left its traces on her youth. Her step was
slow, and her manner shy, subdued, and timid.

Audley gazed on her with earnestness as she approached him; and then
coming forward, took her hand and kissed it.

"I am your guardian's constant friend," said he; and he drew her gently to
a seat beside him, in the recess of a window. With a quick glance of his
eye toward the Countess, he seemed to imply the wish to converse with
Helen somewhat apart. So the Countess interpreted the glance; and though
she remained in the room, she seated herself at a distance, and bent over
a book.

It was touching to see how the austere man of business lent himself to
draw forth the mind of this quiet, shrinking girl; and if you had
listened, you would have comprehended how he came to possess such social
influence, and how well, some time or other in the course of his life, he
had learned to adapt himself to women.

He spoke first of Harley L'Estrange--spoke with tact and delicacy. Helen at
first answered by monosyllables, and then, by degrees, with grateful and
open affection. Audley's brow grew shaded. He then spoke of Italy; and
though no man had less of the poet in his nature, yet, with the dexterity
of one long versed in the world, and who has been accustomed to extract
evidences from characters most opposed to his own, he suggested such
topics as might serve to arouse poetry in others. Helen's replies betrayed
a cultivated taste, and a charming womanly mind; but they betrayed also
one accustomed to take its colorings from an