Then there was a dead silence again: the
Colonel had exhausted his first series of
subjects; for the Colonel was not a talkative
man: and Norah was always too thankful to
take refuge in the peace of silence to break
it of her own free will; even if she had not
been taught that such infraction was the
highest possible disrespect to paternal
majesty. At last the Colonel spoke again.

"When does Miss Thorold come, Norah?"

"To-morrow, sir," said Norah.

"I hear she has grown a handsome and a
pleasant person," remarked Colonel Lyndon,
condescendingly. "As a child she was too
forward and not sufficiently feminine, but I
hear she has improved. What say you,
Norah? it is not long since you left school?
You can remember her distinctly, I presume.
She is not disagreeable, I believe?"

"Not at all, sir," said Norah.

"And handsome?"

"Very handsome."

"Accomplished, too, and lady-like?"

"Both, sir."

"Handsome, agreeable, accomplished—yet
you are not afraid of her? You are not
jealous?" said Gregory with a forced
laugh.

"No, cousin, not in the least."

"Ah!" he cried, with a bitter sneer on
his face. "Only those who love are jealous!"

"You speak bitterly, Gregory," said Colonel
Lyndon, sharply, turning on his nephew
those cruel, cold grey eyes.

"I feel strongly, uncle."

"By what right, sir?"

"The right of suffering," said Gregory,
moodily.

"Strange words!" cried the Colonel.
"Are you not my daughter's affianced
husband? What 'suffering' is there in your
position, pray?"

"O! to be accepted is not enough! I
would be loved!"

"Miss Lyndon knows her duty too well, not
to do as she is bidden; Gregory, I have told
her she must love you, and she does love you:
for she has never yet presumed to disobey me.
Tell me, Norah—you love your cousin, do
you not?"

"Yes," said Norah, looking down.

"Don't be a fool, Gregory!" said the
Colonel, with a small laugh; "else you may
lose what I have made and gained. I give
up to you a model of submission and
obedience; be thankful for this result of a life
of discipline and training, and do not blame
the instrument if you are a bad musician. I
never found it fail under my touch: be wise,
and it will not fail under yours!"

He rose as he said this, cast a sharp glance
at the downcast eyes of his daughter, and
walked away, with the same measured tread
and military precision as when he came.
Norah looked after him almost regretfully.
Her two tyrants neutralised each other when
they were together: and, indeed, anything
was preferable to a tête-à-tête with Gregory,
when he was in one of his jealous and excited
moods.

"Cousin," she said, quite quietly, "I wish
that you, or my father, would kill me at once.
It would be better for me than to live as I
do now."

Gregory heard no more, but bounded
away, and Norah saw him no more for that
day. But her father scolded her for
three-quarters of an hour, and told her she was
ungrateful and insubordinate.

CHAPTER THE SECOND.

"WHY, Norah! you do not look much like
a bride!" cried Lucy Thorold, when, after
the necessary public greetings were over, she
and her friend were closeted, like schoolgirls
talking mysteries again. "How is this?
—is not your cousin kind to you?"

"Yes," said Norah. "I believe so."

"What a strange speech!" laughed Lucy,
handsome, positive, dauntless Lucy—
handsome, bold, worldly, Lucy—who thought
Norah the luckiest of women, to be engaged
to a handsome cousin, with five thousand
a-year. As for the savage blood in him, five
thousand a-year would purify that.

"But you are so pale, Norah!" said
Lucy, glancing in the glass at her own
velvety, rose-red cheeks, round which her
dark hair turned back in a gorgeous roll
was set like a shining frame: while Norah's
small, pallid face crowded up with a profusion
of colourless hair looked like that of a little
ghost.

"I am always pale," said Norah, "but
never mind me now. Tell me of yourself,
Lucy. Think how long it is since I have
seen you!—two long years! Tell me all that
has happened to you since we left Madame
Cosson's. Are you going to be married?—
are you engaged yet?"

"I? No, Norah! I have not had five
thousand a year laid at my feet, as you have
at your's."

"I should care more about the man than
the money," said Norah gently, "though,
indeed," she added below her breath, "they
are all alike!" And she sighed.

"Is that your experience, Norah?" laughed
Lucy. "Mine is just the reverse. They talk
of the dissimilarity of women, and of our
chameleon-like characters, but we are the very
representatives of monotony compared to men.
Why do you say that they are all alike?"

"They are all such tyrants," said Norah.

Lucy looked at her intently; then going
up to her she smoothed back her fair hair
gently, saying:—

"Is that your experience, my poor Norah?
Ah! I understand it all now!"

Norah's lip quivered, and her eyes filled;
but her hard life had taught the little
creature self-command, and, after a moment,
the spasm passed, and left her face as still
and calm as ever.