gan to say her father was not at home.

'Yes,' he said, 'I met him.'

He means mischief! thought Theodora.

'He tells me that you are going away!'

'I believe so,' said Theodora. 'My mother is not well, and we cannot
both be spared from home.'

'Will you forgive me?' said the Earl, still standing, and with downcast
eyes, and heightened complexion. 'I know this is no fit time, but I
could not part without one allusion. I would not harass you for worlds.
A word from you, and I drop the subject.'

'Oh! pray, then, say no more!' was her breathless entreaty.

He turned in silence, with a mournful gesture of farewell, and laid
his hand on the door. She perceived her unkindness to one who had
every claim to honour and consideration--one who had remembered her in
well-nigh the hour of death.

'Stay,' she said; 'I did not speak as I ought.'

'I know I presumed too far,' said Lord St. Erme, pausing; 'I ask your
pardon for disturbing you. It was selfish; but I could not let you go
without once adverting to the subject--'

There was a tremor of voice, an eager look, that made her fear that
the crushed hope was reviving, and she hastened to say, 'The best thing
would be that you should think no more about me.'

'Impossible!' he vehemently cried; then, catching himself up, and
speaking in the same deferential tone as at first, 'I owe you far too
much to cease to think of you.'

'It is a great pity,' said Theodora; 'I never deserved such feelings,
and they make me wish more and more that all could be undone.'

'No! no!' exclaimed Lord St. Erme, his eyes lighting and his cheek
glowing, while his fair young features wore a look that was all poet and
knight. 'Would I see what is past undone? It was the turning-point of
my life--the call to arms. Hitherto, life had been to me a dream in an
enchanted garden, with the same secret weariness and dissatisfaction!
I dread the thought of the time and means I lavished away, fancying
because it was not vice it was not dissipation. It was then that I
became unworthy of you. It was you who taught me where lies modern
chivalry, and made my folly and conceit cease to despise the practical;
showed me--may I quote German to you once more?--that "Das Leben ist
keine Lustfahrt sondern theils eine kampfes, theils eine Pilger-weise."
I took up my staff, at first, I own, in hopes of winning you--'

'You did not persevere merely for that reason?'

'No; when my eyes were once opened to the fe