of ennui, and course again with renewed vigour.

And to-night the Duke of St. James was, as he had been for some weeks,
all life, and fire, and excitement; and his eye was even now wandering
round the room in quest of some consummate spirit whom he might summon
to his Saracenic Paradise.

A consummate spirit his eye lighted on. There stood May Dacre. He gasped
for breath. He turned pale. It was only for a moment, and his emotion
was unperceived. There she stood, beautiful as when she first glanced
before him; there she stood, with all her imperial graces; and all
surrounding splendour seemed to fade away before her dazzling presence,
like mournful spirits of a lower world before a radiant creature of the
sky.

She was speaking with her sunlight smile to a young man whose appearance
attracted his notice. He was dressed entirely in black, rather short,
but slenderly made; sallow, but clear, with long black curls and a
Murillo face, and looked altogether like a young Jesuit or a Venetian
official by Giorgone or Titian. His countenance was reserved and his
manner not easy: yet, on the whole, his face indicated intellect and his
figure blood. The features haunted the Duke's memory. He had met this
person before. There are some countenances which when once seen can
never be forgotten, and the young man owned one of these. The Duke
recalled him to his memory with a pang.

Our hero--let him still be ours, for he is rather desolate, and he
requires the backing of his friends--our hero behaved pretty well. He
seized the first favourable opportunity to catch Miss Dacre's eye, and
was grateful for her bow. Emboldened, he accosted her, and asked after
Mr. Dacre. She was courteous, but unembarrassed. Her calmness, however,
piqued him sufficiently to allow him to rally. He was tolerably easy,
and talked of calling. Their conversation lasted only for a few minutes,
and was fortunately terminated without his withdrawal, which would have
been awkward. The young man whom we have noticed came up to claim her
hand.

'Arundel Dacre, or my eyes deceive me?' said the young Duke. 'I always
consider an old Etonian a friend, and therefore I address you without
ceremony.'

The young man accepted, but not with readiness, the offered hand. He
blushed and spoke, but in a hesitating and husky voice. Then he cleared
his throat, and spoke again, but not much more to the purpose. Then he
looked to his partner, whose eyes were on the ground, and ro