f an ugly
hag? or wouldst thou not ransack all thy remembrances and conceptions of
forms most beauteous to clothe the holy image? Do so: now bring it thus
robed with the richest graces before thy mind's eye. Well, seest thou
now the excuse for poets in the rank they give to BEAUTY? Seest thou now
how high from the realm of the senses soars the mysterious Archetype?
Without the idea of beauty, couldst thou conceive a form in which to
clothe a soul that has entered heaven?

CHAPTER XXIV.

AGREEABLE SURPRISES ARE THE PERQUISITES OF YOUTH.

If the beauty of Lady Montfort's countenance took Lionel by surprise,
still more might he wonder at the winning kindness of her address--a
kindness of look, manner, voice, which seemed to welcome him not as
a chance acquaintance but as a new-found relation. The first few
sentences, in giving them a subject of common interest, introduced into
their converse a sort of confiding household familiarity. For Lionel,
ascribing Lady Montfort's gracious reception to her early recollections
of his kinsman, began at once to speak of Guy Darrell; and in a little
time they were walking over the turf, or through the winding alleys
of the garden, linking talk to the same theme, she by question, he by
answer--he, charmed to expatiate--she, pleased to listen--and liking
each other more and more, as she recognised in all he said a bright
young heart, overflowing with grateful and proud affection, and as
he felt instinctively that he was with one who sympathised in his
enthusiasm--one who had known the great man in his busy day, ere the
rush of his career had paused, whose childhood had lent a smile to the
great man's home before childhood and smile had left it.

As they thus conversed, Lionel now and then, in the turns of their walk,
caught a glimpse of George Morley in the distance, walking also side
by side with some young companion, and ever as he caught that glimpse a
strange restless curiosity shot across his mind, and distracted it even
from praise of Guy Darrell. Who could that be with George? Was it a
relation of Lady Montfort's? The figure was not in mourning; its shape
seemed slight and youthful--now it passes by that acacia tree,--standing
for a moment apart and distinct from George's shadow, but its own
outline dim in the deepening twilight--now it has passed on, lost
amongst the laurels.

A turn in the walk brought Lionel and Lady Montfort before the windows
of the house, which