you the news. There is a great deal to be
done yet. I must try to see Mr. Davis
without delay."

"One moment, if you please, Mr. Simpson.
Did you say that Mr. Lockwood was
—was——"

"Engaged," put in Mr. Lane. "Yes,
my lady; he is engaged to marry Miss
Desmond—so he said, at least. I believe
him to be a most respectable young man,"
added the agent, with a patronising air.

Considerably to Mr. Lane's surprise,
Veronica, after having given her hand to
Mr. Simpson as he took his leave, dismissed
him (Lane) with a haughty bow. And
Mr. Lane observed to the lawyer before
they parted company at the hotel door,
that "my lady" was beginning to give
herself great airs already.

Left alone in the gathering dusk, Veronica
began to pace up and down the room, in a
restless manner that had recently become
habitual with her. She had gained what
she had striven for. She was Lady Gale.
And although the whole of Sir John's vast
fortune would not be hers, she would still
be a rich woman—rich even in rich England.
She would be reinstated in the world, and
take a far higher rank than that of a mere
baronet's lady. All that she had longed
for and dreamt of since her childhood
seemed to be within her grasp.

Of ten persons who should have seen her,
knowing her story, nine would certainly
have concluded that it was on this
important revolution of Fortune's wheel she
was meditating, as she passed regularly
up and down the room, the heavy folds
of her long black dress making a
monotonous dull rustling sound on the carpet.
But it was not so. How often it happens that
the outer and the inner life are thus distinct
and different! That which we strive for, is
often not that which really most occupies
our hearts. There was as yet no flavour of
Dead-Sea fruit in Fortune's gifts to Veronica.
She believed still, as she had believed at
fifteen, that to be rich, fashionable, envied, and
flattered, would suffice to make her happy.
But in these very first moments of her
triumph, her thoughts and feelings were
busy with Maud and Hugh!

All at once she ceased her pacing to and
fro, and seating herself at a little table
covered with writing materials, she dashed
off a hurried note. She wrote without
pause, almost as though she feared she
might repent what she was doing, if she
stayed to reflect on it. Having written and
sealed the note, which consisted only of a
few lines, she gave orders that a messenger
should be despatched with it forthwith.

"Where is it to go, my lady?" asked the
waiter.

The tidings of Veronica's golden fortunes
must, one would have thought, have hovered
in the air, or emanated from herself in some
subtle manner, for the man, always civil,
was now obsequious.

"It must be taken to Mr. Lovegrove, the
solicitor in Bedford-square. He is easily to
be found. There is my card. Give my
compliments, and say that I shall be
exceedingly obliged if Mr. Lovegrove will
do me the favour to add the number of the
house to the address on this note. Then
let the messenger take the note to Gower-
street without delay. He had best drive.
Let him take a cab and go quickly."

The reader may as well see the contents
of the note:

I thank you for what you have done for
me to-day. But my thanks are, doubtless,
of small value in your eyes.

But I have a request an entreaty to
make to you. Let me see Maud. I shall
be quite alone all this evening and to-
morrow. Others may think me triumphant,
but tell Maud—oh pray tell Maud — that I
long and yearn to see her and to hear her
voice.

I only learned to-day that you are to be
her husband.

VERONICA GALE.

I trust to you to speak of this to no one
but Maud.

To Hugh Lockwood, Esq.

A ROYAL DEVOTEE.

LOUISA, daughter of Louis the Fifteenth,
of France, and of Mary, Princess of Poland,
was born at Versailles, 1737. While yet
in the cradle, she was carried to the Abbey
of Fontevrault, and entrusted to the care
of Madame de Soulanges, a nun,
afterwards Abbess of Royal Dieu. An
accident in childhood gave the princess an
early tendency to monastic life, which the
nuns who surrounded her took good care
to do their best to develop; for a princess
with her allowance was a prize. The accident
was this. The child one morning, fretting
at not being called, and clambering over
the balustrade of her bed, fell violently on
the floor. A drunken village doctor who
was summoned, bled the princess; but
taking no care to ascertain if the spine were