because all young men of his rank had tutors;
else he was quite wise enough, and steady
enough, to have done without one, and probably
knew a good deal more about what was best to be
observed in the countries they were going to visit,
than Mr. Roberts, his appointed bear-leader.
He was to come back full of historical and
political knowledge, speaking French and Italian
like a native, and having a smattering of
barbarous German, and he was to enter the House
as a county member, if possible—as a borough
member at the worst; and was to make a great
success; and then, as every one understood, he
was to marry his cousin Theresa.

He spoke to her father about it, before starting
on his travels. It was after dinner in Crowley
Castle. Sir Mark and Duke sat alone, each
pensive at the thought of the coming parting.

"Theresa is but young," said Duke, breaking
into speech after a long silence, " but if you
have no objection, uncle, I should like to speak
to her before I leave England, about my—my
hopes."

Sir Mark played with his glass, poured out
some more wine, drank it off at a draught, and
then replied:

"No, Duke, no. Leave her in peace with
me. I have looked forward to having her for
my companion through these three years; they'll
soon pass away" (to age, but not to youth),
"and I should like to have her undivided
heart till you come back. No, Duke! Three
years will soon pass away, and then we'll have
a royal wedding."

Duke sighed, but said no more. The next
day was the last. He wanted Theresa to go with
him to take leave of the Hawtreys at the
Parsonage, and of the villagers; but she was wilful,
and would not. He remembered, years afterwards,
how Bessy's gentle peaceful manner had
struck him as contrasted with Theresa's, on that
last day. Both girls regretted his departure.
He had been so uniformly gentle and thoughtful
in his behaviour to Bessy, that, without any idea
of love, she felt him to be her pattern of noble
chivalrous manhood; the only person, except her
father, who was steadily kind to her. She admired
his sentiments, she esteemed his principles, she
considered his long evolvement of his ideas as
the truest eloquence. He had lent her books,
he had directed her studies; all the advice and
information which Theresa had rejected had
fallen to Bessy's lot, and she had received it
thankfully.

Theresa burst into a passion of tears as soon
as Duke and his suite were out of sight. She
had refused the farewell kiss her father had
told her to give him, but had waved her white
handkerchief out of the great drawing-room
window (that very window in which the old
guide showed me the small piece of glass
still lingering). But Duke had ridden away
with slack rein and downcast head, without
looking back.

His absence was a great blank in Sir Mark's
life. He had never sought London much as a
place of residence; in former days he had been
suspected of favouring the Stuarts; but nothing
could be proved against him, and he had
subsided into a very tolerably faithful subject of
King George the Third. Still, a cold shoulder
having been turned to him by the court party
at one time, he had become prepossessed against
the English capital. On the contrary, his wife's
predilections and his own tendencies had always
made Paris a very agreeable place of residence
to him. To Paris he at length resorted again,
when the blank in his life oppressed him; and
from Paris, about two years after Duke's
departure, he returned after a short absence from
home, and suddenly announced to his daughter
and the household that he had taken an apartment
in the Rue Louis le Grand for the coming winter,
to which there was to be an immediate removal
of his daughter, Victorine, and certain other
personal attendants and servants.

Nothing could exceed Theresa's mad joy
at this unexpected news. She sprang upon
her father's neck, and kissed him till she was
tired—whatever he was. She ran to Victorine,
and told her to guess what " heavenly bliss"
was going to befal them, dancing round the
middle-aged woman until she, in her spoilt
impatience, was becoming angry, when, kissing
her, she told her, and ran off to the Parsonage,
and thence to the church, bursting in upon
morning prayers—for it was All Saints' Day,
although she had forgotten it—and filliping a
scrap of paper on which she had hastily written,
"We are going to Paris for the winter—all of
us," rolled into a ball, from the castle pew to
that of the parson. She saw Bessy redden as
she caught it, put it into her pocket unread,
and, after an apologetic glance at the curtained
seat in which Theresa was, go on with her meek
responses. Theresa went out by the private
door in a momentary fit of passion. " Stupid
cold-blooded creature!" she said to herself.
But that afternoon Bessy came to the castle, so
sorry and so losing her own sorrow in sympathy
with her friend's gladness, that Theresa took
her into favour again. The girls parted with
promises of correspondence, and with some
regret: the greatest on Bessy's side. Some
grand promises of Paris fashion, and presents
of dress, Theresa made in her patronising way;
but Bessy did not seem to care much for them
—which was fortunate, for they were never
fulfilled.

Sir Mark had an idea in his head of perfecting
Theresa's accomplishments and manners by
Parisian masters and Parisian society. English
residents in Venice, Florence, Rome, wrote to
their friends at home about Duke. They spoke
of him as of what we should, at the present day,
call a "rising young man." His praises ran so
high, that Sir Mark began to fear lest his
handsome nephew, feted by princes, courted by
ambassadors, made love to by lovely Italian ladies,
might find Theresa too country-bred for his
taste.

Thus had come about, the engaging of the
splendid apartment in the Rue Louis le Grand.
The street itself is narrow, and now-a-days we