the usual mode with persons of quality addressing young authors,
complimented him highly on the books she had not read, but which her son
assured her were so remarkable. She was a little anxious to know where
Harley had first met with Mr. Oran, whom he called his friend; but she
was too highbred to inquire, or to express any wonder that rank should
be friends with genius. She took it for granted that they had formed
their acquaintance abroad.

Harley conversed with Helen.--"You are not sorry that Violante is coming
to us? She will be just such a companion for you as I could desire; of
your own years too."

HELEN (ingenuously).--"It is hard to think I am not younger than she
is."

HARLEY.--"Why, my dear Helen?"

HELEN.--"She is so brilliant. She talks so beautifully. And I--"

HARLEY.--"And you want but the habit of talking, to do justice to your
own beautiful thoughts."

Helen looked at him gratefully, but shook her head. It was a common
trick of hers, and always when she was praised.

At last the preparations were made, the farewell was said, Violante was
in the carriage by Lady Lansmere's side. Slowly moved on the stately
equipage with its four horses and trim postilions, heraldic badges on
their shoulders, in the style rarely seen in the neighbourhood of the
metropolis, and now fast vanishing even amidst distant counties.

Riccabocca, Jemima, and Jackeymo continued to gaze after it from the
gate.

"She is gone," said Jackeymo, brushing his eyes with his coat-sleeve.
"But it is a load off one's mind."

"And another load on one's heart," murmured Riccabocca. "Don't cry,
Jemima; it may be bad for you, and bad for him that is to come. It
is astonishing how the humours of the mother may affect the unborn. I
should not like to have a son who has a more than usual propensity to
tears."

The poor philosopher tried to smile; but it was a bad attempt. He went
slowly in, and shut himself with his books. But he could not read. His
whole mind was unsettled. And though, like all parents, he had been
anxious to rid himself of a beloved daughter for life, now that she was
gone but for a while, a string seemed broken in the Music of Home.

CHAPTER VII.

The evening of the same day, as Egerton, who was to entertain a large
party at dinner, was changing his dress, Harley walked into his room.

Egerton dismissed his valet by a sign, and continued his toilet.

"Excuse me, my dear Harley, I have only ten minutes t