As for the engagement, he certainly showed
us, next day, a paper written by his beloved,
which the constant youth wore (in a small
velvet case, like a needle-book) next his
heart.

It was to the following effect, written upon
pencil lines, only half rubbed out, and was
evidently one of her very earliest efforts at
penmanship:—

This is to give notis that I have promessed to be
your true-love and when I groe up I will mary you
if you like and to be your Dutiful wife till death and
if not I would rather go to my mother—
                      You believe me,
                         Dear sir,
                            Yours truly,
                                      ELEANOR WILTON.

We thought the conclusion rather stiff,
considering the frankness of the foregoing
portion; but Madonna explained that it was
to be regarded rather in the light of a formal
instrument than as a warm expression of
feeling.

Certainly, if seed-cakes, mince and other
pies, and macaroons speak the language of
love, Madonna's account of his lady's
devotion was fully corroborated. Every week
parcels were arriving, containing such articles
as the aforesaid, and covered with the strictest
and most earnest invocations to the railway
authorities concerning their safe and
punctual delivery. How the little lady
provided these testimonials was a mystery to
Madonna—assuredly, it was not through her
guardians; and the most plausible theory
was, that she had won over the housekeeper
—as well she might, the little darling!—to
forward these proofs of attachment to her
chosen lord.

But a change was destined to come over
Madonna.

One fatal half-holiday, it so happened that,
in returning home from playing cricket on
the neighbouring downs, we met the
establishment of Pallas-House in full procession.
The usual file-fire of glances was exchanged,
as the two trains swept past each other on
opposite sides of the road, but only one
casualty occurred; and who should that be
but the love-wasted, used-up Madonna?

Tripping at the governess's side was a new
pupil, the most exquisite little fairy you can
conceive. Don't think I am romancing, when
I declare to you that, in all my life—and I've
seen something (said Master Balfour),
knocking about the world—two more beautiful
human creatures than Madonna Bright and
Augusta Grosvenor (for that, we soon learned,
was the new girl's name) I never beheld.
She had a perfect cataract of rich, brown,
silky hair, eyes that glittered like stars, and
she walked with the air of a little princess.

"Poppy," faltered Madonna, who was
walking with Purcell, catching his companion's
arm, "I've seen my fate."

"Hold up, my pippin!" replied the more
philosophic Poppy. "Have a brandy-ball?"

Madonna answered (in substance) that no
amount of lollipops could minister effectually
to a mind diseased; that it was, in fact, all
over with him; that he never loved before,
and, finally, that he could be content to
perish in the course of that afternoon, if his
doing so might afford even a momentary
gratification to the object of his unquenchable
passion.

On being reminded of his engagement to
Eleanor Wilton, Madonna replied, with some
warmth, that he was tired of her childish
homage, and should take an early opportunity
of pointing out to that young lady some
more eligible investment for her affections;
and finding, on arriving at home, a plum
cake of unusual dimensions, he divided it
among us, with a sort of disdainful pity, not
reserving a crumb for himself.

Perhaps, if he had known it would be the
last love-offering, save one, he was ever to
receive from that source, he might have been
less generous.

I won't bother you with all the extravagancies
committed by poor Madonna while
suffering from this severe attack. Positively,
the boy scarcely ate or slept. He seemed to
live upon the thought of this little fairy, and
nothing else. As it happened, he saw her
several times in a week—a series of lectures
upon scientific subjects were being delivered
at the public rooms; and these were attended
by detachments from both the schools, in
which the lovers were included.

I say lovers, because, either attracted by
his uncommon beauty or his speaking gaze,
or influenced by some odd instinct or other,
the little lady seemed fully to comprehend
the state of our friend's mind, and to accept
his worship with considerable satisfaction.
She had a thousand funny little coquettish
airs and graces, all directed at Madonna, yet
all tempered with a most becoming haughtiness,
which plunged him deeper than ever in
love. I should think Madonna must have
derived a good deal of information from those
lectures.

I never saw his attention awakened but to
one experiment, and that was when the
whole room took hands, and the same electric
shock that paralysed Madonna's elbow,
elicited a scream from Augusta Grosvenor.

A strange thing was now about to occur.

I think it was about three weeks after our
first meeting with Augusta, that the school
one day went out to walk. At the first turn
in the road we came pounce upon the
establishment of Pallas-House. The schools
met. As they did so, I felt my arm squeezed
hard by Madonna, with whom I walked,
and heard him draw in his breath as
one in terrified surprise. At that instant,
Augusta Grosvenor passed. By her side
there walked a little girl, with jet-black hair,
small pale face, and the largest eyes I ever
saw. Those eyes she fixed upon Madonna
with an expression that haunted me—I don't