d for type, there has been much less lead to spare for
cannon-balls.'"

Here Leonard entered. Harley had sent Lady Lansmere's footman to him
with a note, that prepared him to meet Helen. As he came into the room,
Harley took him by the hand and led him to Lady Lansmere.

"The friend of whom I spoke. Welcome him now for my sake, ever after for
his own;" and then, scarcely allowing time for the countess's elegant
and gracious response, he drew Leonard towards Helen. "Children," said
he, with a touching voice, that thrilled through the hearts of both, "go
and seat yourselves yonder, and talk together of the past. Signorina, I
invite you to renewed discussion upon the abstruse metaphysical subject
you have started; let us see if we cannot find gentler sources for pity
and admiration than war and warriors." He took Violante aside to the
window. "You remember that Leonard, in telling you his history last
night, spoke, you thought, rather too briefly of the little girl who had
been his companion in the rudest time of his trials. When you would
have questioned more, I interrupted you, and said, 'You should see her
shortly, and question her yourself.' And now what think you of Helen
Digby? Hush, speak low. But her ears are not so sharp as mine."

VIOLANTE.--"Ah! that is the fair creature whom Leonard called his
child-angel? What a lovely innocent face!--the angel is there still."

HARLEY (pleased both at the praise and with her who gave it).--"You
think so; and you are right. Helen is not communicative. But fine
natures are like fine poems,--a glance at the first two lines suffices
for a guess into the beauty that waits you if you read on."

Violante gazed on Leonard and Helen as they sat apart. Leonard was the
speaker, Helen the listener; and though the former had, in his narrative
the night before, been indeed brief as to the episode in his life
connected with the orphan, enough had been said to interest Violante
in the pathos of their former position towards each other, and in the
happiness they must feel in their meeting again,--separated for years on
the wide sea of life, now both saved from the storm and shipwreck. The
tears came into her eyes. "True," she said, very softly, "there is more
here to move pity and admiration than in--" She paused.

HARLEY.--"Complete the sentence. Are you ashamed to retract? Fie on your
pride and obstinacy!"

VIOLANTE.--"No; but even here there have been war and heroism,--the war
of ge