degree, admired her, it was like loving a marble
figure. There was more true feeling in what Kilcullen had now said to
her, than in all that had fallen from the whole family for the four
years she had lived at Grey Abbey, and she could not therefore but
close on the offer of his affection.

"Shall we be such friends, then?" said he; "or, after all, am I too
bad? Have I too much of the taint of the wicked world to be the friend
of so pure a creature as you?"

"Oh no, Adolphus; I'm sure I never thought so," said she. "I never
judged you, and indeed I am not disposed to do so now. I'm too much in
want of kindness to reject yours,--even were I disposed to do so, which
I am not."

"Then, Fanny, we are to be friends--true, loving, trusting friends?"

"Oh, yes!" said Fanny. "I am really, truly grateful for your affection
and kindness. I know how precious they are, and I will value them
accordingly."

Again Lord Kilcullen took her hand, and pressed it in his; and then he
kissed it, and told her she was his own dear cousin Fanny; and then
recommended her to go and dress, which she did. He sat himself down for
a quarter of an hour, ruminating, and then also went off to dress; but,
during that quarter of an hour, very different ideas passed through his
mind, than such as those who knew him best would have given him credit
for.

In the first place, he thought that he really began to feel an
affection for his cousin Fanny, and to speculate whether it were
absolutely within the verge of possibility that he should marry
her--retrieve his circumstances--treat her well, and live happily for
the rest of his life as a respectable nobleman.

For two or three minutes the illusion remained, till it was banished by
retrospection. It was certainly possible that he should marry her: it
was his full intention to do so: but as to retrieving his circumstances
and treating her well!--the first was absolutely impossible--the other
nearly so; and as to his living happily at Grey Abbey as a family man,
he yawned as he felt how impossible it would be that he should spend a
month in such a way, let alone a life. But then Fanny Wyndham was so
beautiful, so lively, so affectionate, so exactly what a cousin and a
wife ought to be: he could not bear to think that all his protestations
of friendship and love had been hypocritical; that he could only look
upon her as a gudgeon, and himself as a bigger fish, determined to
swallow her! Yet such must b