rms on her bosom,
and her bright eyes, deepened into tenderness, seemed to ask, "He
melancholy--and why?"

On leaving Violante's room, Lady Lansmere paused before the door of
Helen's; and, after musing a little while, entered softly.

Helen had dismissed her maid; and, at the moment Lady Lansmere entered,
she was kneeling at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped before her
face.

Her form, thus seen, looked so youthful and child-like, the attitude
itself was so holy and so touching, that the proud and cold expression
on Lady Lansmere's face changed. She shaded the light involuntarily, and
seated herself in silence that she might not disturb the act of prayer.

When Helen rose, she was startled to see the countess seated by the
fire, and hastily drew her hand across her eyes. She had been weeping.

Lady Lansmere did not, however, turn to observe those traces of tears,
which Helen feared were too visible. The countess was too absorbed in
her own thoughts; and as Helen timidly approached, she said--still with
her eyes on the clear low fire--"I beg your pardon, Miss Digby, for
my intrusion; but my son has left it to me to prepare Lord Lansmere to
learn the offer you have done Harley the honour to accept. I have not
yet spoken to my Lord; it may be days before I find a fitting occasion
to do so; meanwhile I feel assured that your sense of propriety will
make you agree, with me that it is due to Lord L'Estrange's father, that
strangers should not learn arrangements of such moment in his family
before his own consent be obtained."

Here the countess came to a full pause; and poor Helen, finding herself
called upon for some reply to this chilling speech, stammered out,
scarce audibly,

"Certainly, madam, I never dreamed of--"

"That is right, my dear," interrupted Lady Lansmere, rising suddenly,
and as if greatly relieved. "I could not doubt your superiority to
ordinary girls of your age, with whom these matters are never secret for
a moment. Therefore, of course, you will not mention, at present, what
has passed between you and Harley, to any of the friends with whom you
may correspond."

"I have no correspondents, no friends, Lady Lansmere," said Helen,
deprecatingly, and trying hard not to cry.

"I am very glad to hear it, my dear; young ladies never should have.
Friends, especially friends who correspond, are the worst enemies they
can have. Good-night, Miss Digby. I need not add, by the way, that
though we ar