ingly placed one of his own, she arose abruptly as if desirous to proceed.

Lord Mervyn drew her arm within his, and the pair went on their way together.

Passing

the stranger amidst the trees, each turned on him a startled glance, Lord Mervyn's partaking of a haughty surprised stare.

The respectful, yet calm and unabashed demeanour of the intruder, seemed to plead however his apology successfully, for bowing slightly, Lord Mervyn passed on.

But the stranger had in truth scarcely looked on him. His glance had been riveted on the fair, young being by his side-a glance so almost stern in its earnestness, that it seemed to fascinate her gaze in return-and after they had proceeded on their way, the intruder observed her turn her head to look back upon him.

But they disappeared from his sight amidst the trees, and then he went and placed himself upon the seat which she had just vacated, and lifting

up a flower from the ground, which he had seen in her hand, pressed it to his lips with all the tender fervour of a lover.

But an anxious feeling had arisen in his heart -he did not like the position of his Aline-the cherished object of his affections. He felt impatient for her departure from the Castle, and to find that the imploring voice he had just heard had failed to retain her in that proud abode, from the company and protection of her husband. At the same time an unpleasing idea suggested itself to the stranger's mind, in reference to the two very contrasting lights, in which at such short intervals he had seen that fair, young being-the idea that she who had with such truthfulness mimicked in turn,love, joy, sorrow-the mysteries of sleep itself-might, as she knelt, conscious of her lover's gaze, as well have feigned the beautiful, saintlike devotee. This was a bitter, sickening thought, and the stranger uncle strove to repel it, whilst he still determined not to abandon his

guardian oversight, of the object of his anxious interest-convinced, from what he had just witnessed and before observed, that even did there exist no justifying cause for his painful suspicions, temptation and danger, at least, beset her path,-how far removed-who could tell?

CHAPTER XV.

"O, for my sake do you with fortune chide,

The guilty goddess of my harmless deeds,

That did not better for my life provide

Than public means, which public manners breeds."

SHAKSPEARE'S SONNETS.

ALINE and Lord Mervyn, during their lingering stroll from church, had planned well the arrangements for the morrow, which was to keep the former for one day more a guest at the Castle. Sir Michael had already arranged to follow the Angelos in his own carriage to Bath, and attach himself to their party at the concert-the object of their journey to that place.

Now the one carriage need only convey the

two gentlemen together, and Aline, with her nurse and child might proceed to the place of re-union in the other, on the day following. Nothing could be more convenient!

But Angelo-what did he say to the proposition? It was mentioned to him at first playfully by his young wife, when accompanied by Sir Michael, who had but just released him from the music room, he came forth to meet the returning pair.

Sir Michael eagerly seconded the plan—a four hours' drive with so intelligent and talented a professor was all that he could desire.

Angelo treated the matter in the same playful manner as did Aline, and concluded by saying— "No!—I think we must all journey together."

"What Signor Angelo !-do you set so little store on your fair lady's life, that you will prevent her, availing herself of this invaluable means of prolonging it, presented by Sir Henry Halford's opportune visit?" exclaimed Lord Mervyn, for the first time condescending to assume a tone