gladiator's spirit of combat and resistance;
but of newly-aroused emotion, of life, of
passion. There was a rosier hue on her
cheek, as if the blood flowed more freely
through her veins, and she blushed easily,
as one whose heart beat fast. Her lips
were moister and redder, and the hard lines
round them melted into softer smiles; they
were not so compressed as of old, nor
were her eyes so steady. Her figure was
more undulating; her actions more graceful.
She had lost some of her former
almost visible directness; and, though just
as honest and straightforward, she was
shyer. An influence was at work in her
which had never been over her before; and
everyone said how much she was changing,
and many how much she was improving.
But, in the midst of all these other changes,
none was so great as that of her manners
to Paul. She tried to be kind and gentle
to him; but she could not succeed. It
was evidently so forced, and so painful,
that even feeble beautiful Paul pitied her.
Not that his pity ever took the shape of
breaking off the engagement, or of
imagining that she did not love him. He
only thought she was angry or irritable, and
that he was in the wrong somehow—he could
not understand how, exactly; but he still
believed in her love. Poor Paul! weakly yet
wildly, he sometimes kept away for whole
days, with a petted, sulky, injured manner.
Or, he would come to the house every day,
and all day long, following Magdalen about
wherever she went, pressing on her his love
and caresses with a tender gentleness that
was wonderfully irritating: till she loathed
his very name and hated him to madness.

When Horace was present; which was
often—for business brought him to
Oakfield—Magdalen scarcely ever looked up
without finding his eyes fixed on her. But
this only disturbed her; for he never looked
at her kindly. She thought she read
in his face only displeasure and dislike.
His manners were abrupt and indifferent;
and, whenever she looked peculiarly beautiful,
or was more gracious and more charming
than usual, they used to be something more
than indifferent. Magdalen, in her own
mind—when sitting alone in her room, her
face flushed and her eyes dark—used to call
them insolent, and declare aloud that she
would not endure them. He saw that she
believed he disliked her, and encouraged
the idea. Indeed, she almost said as much
when she accused him of it one day, big
drops of passion and pride swelling like
thunder-rain in her eyes. And when he
answered, turning away. " I will not flatter
you, Miss Trevelyan; there is much in you
that I cannot and do not approve of," they
swelled till they overflowed the lids and fell
heavily on her lap—two large heavy tears:—
worlds full of passion.

She did not see him start as they fell, nor bite
his under lip. She did not see him shiver with
emotion, nor notice the tender action of his
hand, beckoning her involuntarily to his
heart. She saw and knew nothing but that
he despised her, and all her strength was
spent in striving to conceal from him what
it cost her to know this.

"I have offended you, Miss Trevelyan?"
he said in a milder voice.

"I owe you too much to be offended at any
thing you may choose to say," said Magdalen,
speaking with difficulty.

"I did not mean to be rude," he then
exclaimed, after a short pause; and he came
and sat near her on the sofa.

"You often are rude to me," said Magdalen,
looking into his face timidly.

"I am sorry for it, I mean only to be
sincere."

"And do you think me so very bad? " said
Magdalen, bending towards him.

For a moment he looked at her; a look
that sent all the blood coursing through her
veins, it was so earnest, tender, loving—all
that seemed to her the very ideal of affection
in a man—all that she longed for from him;
and saw no disloyalty to Paul in accepting.
For was it not only simple friendship? But
it was a mere passing glance, and then the
leaden veil dropped over Horace's face again,
and there was only harshness and coldness—
no more love for Magdalen that day!

"Not bad exactly," he said, rising, " but
wayward, childish, fickle, weak; yes," he
added, seeing Magdalen's haughty gesture,
"yes, weak! Real strength, Miss Trevelyan,
can accept and support all conditions of
life. Yours is only a feverish excitement
that bears you up under some conditions; but
leaves you to flag under others." And then
Horace, thinking he had been hero enough for
one day, walked out of the room, and she
heard him humming through the hall. But
she did not see nor hear him when he threw
off the mask, and was not afraid to be himself.

There was no need now to delay the
marriage. It was nearly a year since Mr.
Trevelyan died, and it would be better for
Magdalen to have a protector. So the world
said, and so her best friends advised. The
matter was discussed between Horace and
Paul—Horace with his back to the light, and
both his elbows on the table, his forehead
against his hands. And it was agreed between
them that, Magdalen consenting, it should
take place soon, and here, while Horace was
with them; and that he should draw up the
settlements.

"Very well," said Horace, ostentatiously
yawning, " that will do very well indeed.
Call Miss Trevelyan, my dear boy."

Magdalen was sent for; and, in a short
time came in, looking paler to-day than usual.
For she had been fretting in the night,
and had slept ill. She knew what she was
sent to do and to say,—something in her