ago had made him open his arms and call her
to come to them—call her by her name of
Magdalen and beloved! All this was buried.

Waiting for the return of the deeds (which
had to be re-engrossed in consequence of the
alterations suggested by Mr. Slade) Horace
added yet another disagreeable quality to the
many that Magdalen wanted to persuade
herself he possessed. During this visit to
Oakfield, he began to extol Paul. He praised
and even exaggerated his virtues, till
Magdalen was tired of the very name of Paul's
perfections. Once, when Horace was finding
out more and more good points in Paul,
Magdalen looked at him with such wonder,
sorrow, and disdain, that the words died
away on his lips, and he suddenly stopped;
in the middle of a sentence.

"I am glad I made you stop! " said
Magdalen naughtily, " You seem as if you
could spend your life in praising Paul."
And she walked away to her usual refuge
above-stairs.

Another time, Paul—who had had an
attack of woe, and had been playing at
dignity, keeping away from the house, but,
wearying at last, which hurt only himself,
coming oftener than ever—came in the evening,
and asked Magdalen to play at chess with
him. She said yes, for she was glad of the
opportunity of sitting silent, and of keeping
him silent too. They sat down, and Horace
stood near them. Magdalen was a much
better player in general than Paul. Her game
was more distinct, Paul's more scheming.
But to-day she played ill: she would have
disgraced a tyro by her mistakes. She
overlooked the most striking advantages; for
Paul, in his schemes after a pawn, often put
his queen in peril; and, while concentrating
his forces for an impossible checkmate, forgot
to secure the pieces lying in his way. But
Magdalen to-day let everything pass.

"You are not yourself this evening," said
Paul, who suddenly woke to the perception
that his queen had been standing for the last
half a dozen moves in the jaws of Magdalen's
knight.

"No; I am playing very badly," said
Magdalen.

"Very!" echoed Horace.

"Mr. Rutherford at least will never spare
nor conceal my failings," said Magdalen
bitterly.

"I thought you wanted friends, not
flatterers," observed Horace, in an indifferent
tone of voice.

"It seems I have neither here! " retorted
Magdalen.

"My Magdalen! " cried Paul, looking up
with his wondering face, " what do I hear?
No friends? And we would either of us die for
you! What has come to you? Are you
ill—or, why have you suddenly allowed
such bitter thoughts to sadden you? Will
you not tell me, Magdalen? " he added, very
caressingly.

"Never mind what I think," said Magda-
len impatiently. " Play—it is your move."

"You are somewhat imperious," Horace
said, in his stern manner—that manner
which awed Magdalen as if she were a child,
and that she loved above all things to obey.

"I know I am," she said frankly, looking
up into his face, " and I have been wrong to
you also. But you will forgive me, will you
not?"

When Magdalen looked penitent she
looked beyond measure beautiful. No
expression suited her so well as this, the
most womanly that she had; and none
threw Horace more off his guard. It was
such intense triumph to see that woman
so grand, cold, and stern to all others, relax
in her pride to him, and become the mere
gentle loving girl. This was almost the only
temptation Horace could not resist; but this
softened his heart too much.

"It is not for me to forgive you, wayward
child," he said, with extreme kindliness of
voice and look. " You have not offended me,
if you have not annoyed yourself."

Magdalen's face changed as much as if she
had taken off a mask. An expression of calm
and peace took the place of the feverish
irritation; her eyes became dark and loving; her
lips relaxed in that iron line they made when
she was unhappy, and a smile stole over them.
It was winter with all its harsh rigidity
changed to the most loving, lovely, laughing
spring. She was so happy that she even
associated Paul in her pleasure, and spoke to him
tenderly and gaily, as in olden times. Poor
Paul, unaccustomed to such demonstrations
in these latter days, looked up with a
bewildered smile, and then, for very happiness and
gratitude, tears came into his eyes.

Magdalen's joyous look faded away. Weariness
and contempt came in its stead. She
rose from the chess-table, and stood a little
apart; something of the old Pythoness
breathing again in her.

Horace came to her; but she left the room.

"Paul," said Horace, more strangely than
he had ever spoken to him before, and more
passionately, "you are a downright fool."
With which inspiriting speech he also walked
away; leaving Paul to his excitement and
nervous debility unchecked.

"And you do not think I am to be pitied?"
said Magdalen, as she met Horace in the hall.

"Yes: you are very much to be pitied, Miss
Trevelyan; so is Paul. He is more unhappy
than you are, because he has less strength of
resistance than you have. Paul is one of
those natures which feel suffering more acutely
than anything else; whose very strength of
feeling lies in their power of misery."

"Ah! you judge like all the world! " said
Magdalen. '' Because Paul's tears come easily
you think he feels more acutely than I feel.
It is not always that those with the least self-
command feel most; nor the reverse."

"I know that, Miss Trevelyan; but it is