intended, " I will not allow these absurdities
before him."

All this passed in a low voice; but Horace
heard every word of it. He was agitated,
unconsciously; and, while thinking
Magdalen harsh, yet blessed her in his heart.
Magdalen, also, was confused and rather
angry. She turned away without saying
what she had come to say to Horace, and
left the room; Paul standing like the statue
of despair.

"There! See how she treats me! " he cried
pettishly, pacing about the room. " You see it
now for yourself, Horace; you see her
contempt and her coldness. She rules me with
a rod of iron; she makes me her slave, and
then spurns me because I am her slave.
She might be gentler to me. What did I do
to deserve this?— I, who love her so much."

He flung himself on the sofa, burying his
face in his hands, and quivering convulsively.

"Is this your way of bearing a little
displeasure ? " cried Horace, in his cheery
voice, patting his shoulder. " Come, have
a little more pluck for this once. You,
who talk of Milton and Cromwell, and
all those iron heroes, as if their lives were as
easy as painting— do you think they would
approve of this?"

"Yes," said Paul, almost fiercely, looking
up with a strange mixture of feverish
passion and grief; "yes, they would. The
strongest men love the best, and sensitiveness
is not weakness."

"Sensitiveness—no. But this is not mere
sensitiveness; it is naked folly," said
Horace, in his clear, calm voice.

"Folly, Horace ? Such a word from you ?"

"Yes, from me, Paul; and don't give way
again, there's a dear fellow, and I will tell you
why I call it folly. You tease Miss Trevelyan
with your love, a little inopportunely
offered— you often tease her so. You never
have the good sense to see it in that
light; but complain of her coldness, when
you ought to be ashamed of your own
want of discretion. You are so penetrated
by your own feelings, that you cannot see
hers. She is bothered by you; annoyed,
and tells you so roundly; and you go off
into a fit of childish despair. The thing
lies in a nutshell, and that nutshell you must
crack, to get common sense out of it. Now,
don't bombard me with blighted feelings," he
added, seeing that Paul was about to argue.
"Accept my view as both just and real. You
will find your account in being guided by a
little more worldly wisdom than you have
hitherto allowed. Believe me when I tell you
so." And Horace strode out of the room
before Paul could answer. He went to find
Magdalen, intending to lecture her as well,
and to make her feel that she was unkind,
and persuade her into better behaviour. For
it was very sad to see these young people
teasing each other so much, all for want of
common sense and mutual understanding.

She was in the dining-room when he went
to her; standing very mournfully by the window,
looking out on the drizzling rain that
fell like the fringe of a mourning garment
from the dark clouds above. Her own face
was as sad as the heavens, and her heart was
as heavy as her eyes. When Horace came
near her, she turned with a little impatient
movement, for she thought it was Paul come
to have a scene and then make up. When
she saw it was Horace, a flush like crimson
flashed suddenly across her face. She smiled,
and half held out her hand, sighing as if
suddenly relieved from some heavy burden.
Then, as if she remembered something, she
drew herself away, checked the impulse and
the smile both, and looked at him almost as
coldly as she would have looked at Paul.

"I have come to take a liberty," said
Horace, smiling, but with a certain
embarrassment of manner, too. For he did not
like this business, now that he was close
upon it.

"What is it? " asked Magdalen. Not a
very great one, I am sure."

"I want to have a long quiet talk with
you, if you will allow me," he answered,
and leading her to a chair. His manner was
slightly authoritative; but it pleased Magdalen,
surfeited as she was with loving slavery.

"Has anything gone wrong, Mr. Rutherford?"

"In your cause?-- no, nothing; but much
in your life will go wrong, if you are not
careful. Forgive my frankness; I am an old
friend, now, and feel as if I have the right to
advise. May I speak openly, without the fear
of offending you, Miss Trevelyan ?"

"Yes," said Magdalen, timidly.

"I will, then. I want to speak to you
about my old friend, Paul."

"What of him ? " asked Magdalen, with
one of her sudden looks of pride.

"Do not be offended, Miss Trevelyan; I will
say nothing that ought to shock the most
sensitive pride. But I must be frank. Do
you think you are wise-- I do not say right,
but simply wise-- in your conduct to Paul?
It is a delicate subject, and one that I have
no earthly right to approach; but you are
young and inexperienced, and seem to me to
want a judicious adviser. Let us pass all
ceremony. Think of me as of an old grey-
headed priest come to confess you, and let no
false modesty mar my usefulness to you. Are
you not somewhat harsh and hard to Paul?
He loves you very dearly more than you
perhaps know; his whole life seems to
hang on you— his whole happiness on your
kindness."

"Too much so," said Magdalen, suddenly.
"If he did not love me so much; if he could
live without following me, like a child after
its nurse; if he could bear a little
impatience, and perhaps injustice, without weeping
as he does-- which only makes me more
impatient and more cold, Mr. Rutherford;