intruder, Miss Mathewson," he said, as I
entered; "I bring my excuse in my pocket,"
and he tossed a note on to the table. "It is
to beg you and your brother to dine with me
to-morrow. I wrote it for the chance of
your being out. There seems but little prospect
of a dissolution, and time hangs heavily
on my hands; so, if you and Mr. Mathewson
will give me the pleasure of your society for
to-morrow evening at least, I shall be quite
delighted."

I felt that I ought to respond to this invitation
with some very civil thanks; but
the thought that came uppermost in my
mind was of surprise at Sir Edward's want
of occupation.

"All your tenants would be so glad to see
you," I said, hesitatingly; "if you have so
much spare time, I mean."

"Do you think they would?" replied Sir
Edward, looking surprised at my daring to
hint at his neglect of duty as a landlord. "I
have always transacted business with them
through my agent. Still, perhaps, they might
care to see me, though I can't say the anxiety
to meet is mutual. The farmers round Lichendale
must be a very dull set of people. Can
you tell me what character I bear here, Miss
Mathewson? You must know my tenants
well. Do those in the town, for instance,
hold me very low in their righteous estimation,
pray? Have reports unfavourable to
me travelled from Italy?" he said, with a
bitterness which a smile faintly concealed.

"I do not know if they love you at present;
for it is difficult to love those one never sees.
No! no! I don't mean that," I added quickly,
thinking of Lawrie; "but it would be difficult;
for them to love one who has left them,
and shown no interest in their welfare. I
know that they are a good and grateful set of
people, and that you might easily win their
affection I am sure."

"I was thinking of their good esteem
merely as regarded the probabilities of my
being elected, if there should be a dissolution,"
said Sir Edward, earnestly; "but you make
me feel ashamed of myself. I ought to
consider it more as a proof of my having been
a good landlord to them, and less as a means
of my own success in life. I shall take your
hint; meanwhile. I am confoundedly
disappointed at Parliament having settled down
again so quietly. I had quite worked myself
up into a fever of imagination, at the thoughts
of my contesting the election with Colonel
Peterson."

"You left Rome on purpose to stand for
Lichendale, did you not?"

"Yes," said Sir Edward, musingly, and his
face brightened with some unspoken, sunny
recollection of the Eternal City.

"Did you know my brother Lawrence
there?" I asked quickly, for I was afraid of
my courage failing me if I did not grasp at
the first opportunity of asking the question
which Paul had so strongly discountenanced.

"I met him many times," said Sir Edward,
in a low, indistinct voice, starting from his
reverie. His eyes were fastened on me—full of
pity, I fancied; but I dared hardly meet them,
He said little more, and soon went away.

Oh! he, too, thinks like Paul, that Lawrence
has sinned deeply, and would avoid the
subject, I thought to myself, as I pondered over
the visit; and I wondered if Sir Edward
disliked me for mentioning Lawrence so
shamelessly.

CHAPTER THE FOURTH.

SIR EDWARD was like a flash of lightning
striking across my quiet path. Everything
in my daily life lost its brightness. We saw a
deal of him, and soon I began to feel those
days which passed without meeting him,
long and dreary. Each day I liked his face
better; and the look of passion, that I had
first noticed in it, seemed, by degrees, to
give place to one of gentleness and kindness.
Gradually, too, tales of recent kind deeds
amongst his tenantry, took the place of the
reports which had been rife in Lichendale
before his return, of his dissipation at Rome,
I sometimes wondered if my few words were
the cause of his kindly intercourse with the
poor people; but I checked myself quickly
in this presumptuous supposition, and
attributed the change to his natural good feeling.
At any rate, it could hardly be to curry
favour with his constituents; for, all chance
of a speedy dissolution of Parliament seemed
past.

He seemed, to my astonishment, to care to
talk to me even more than to Paul, whose
prejudice against him never quite wore off. Paul
—if ever I ventured to express any of my
boundless admiration for Sir Edward's wit or
genius—checked me, and reminded me of all
we had heard against his character.

"I can believe him passionate, Paul; but
surely he is nothing worse."

"Passion is a fearful thing, Helena," Paul
would reply; "and I believe Sir Edward to
be selfish—more from habit than disposition
perhaps; but still inexcusably selfish."

"He has had no motive for self-denial,
most likely," I urged.

One beautiful evening—it was then the
month of June—I set out to walk by a short
cut through the park, to see a woman who
was ill, and to whom I was taking some
things. I hurried along; for I was late. Paul
had set out some time before to the church,
where there was service that evening, and I
knew he would be vexed if I were not in time
for it. I had got into a way of always looking
out for Sir Edward; and, that evening
although I had to walk quickly, I could
not refrain from stopping every now and
then to see if he was in sight. I met the
curate hastening to the church. I quickened
my steps, and determined not to stop again
till I reached the cottage. Nothing startles
one so much as the sudden fulfilment of some
present dream that hope has conjured up.