Nevertheless, there was something so hard in the lip, so bold, though
not open, in the brow, that the girlishness of complexion, and even of
outline, could not leave, on the whole, an impression of effeminacy. All
the hereditary keenness and intelligence were stamped upon his face at
that moment; but the expression had also a large share of the very irony
and malice which he had conveyed to his caricature. The drawing itself
was wonderfully vigorous and distinct; showing great artistic promise,
and done with the rapidity and ease which betrayed practice. Suddenly
his father turned, and with as sudden a quickness the boy concealed his
tablet in his vest; and the sinister expression of his face smoothed
into a timorous smile as his eye encountered Dalibard's. The father
beckoned to the boy, who approached with alacrity. "Gabriel," whispered
the Frenchman, in his own tongue, "where are they at this moment?"

The boy pointed silently towards one of the cedars. Dalibard mused an
instant, and then, slowly descending the steps, took his noiseless way
over the smooth turf towards the tree. Its boughs drooped low and spread
wide; and not till he was within a few paces of the spot could his eye
perceive two forms seated on a bench under the dark green canopy. He
then paused and contemplated them.

The one was a young man whose simple dress and subdued air strongly
contrasted the artificial graces and the modish languor of Mr. Vernon;
but though wholly without that nameless distinction which sometimes
characterizes those conscious of pure race and habituated to the
atmosphere of courts, he had at least Nature's stamp of aristocracy in
a form eminently noble, and features of manly, but surpassing beauty,
which were not rendered less engaging by an expression of modest
timidity. He seemed to be listening with thoughtful respect to his
companion, a young female by his side, who was speaking to him with an
earnestness visible in her gestures and her animated countenance. And
though there was much to notice in the various persons scattered
over the scene, not one, perhaps,--not the graceful Vernon, not the
thoughtful scholar, nor his fair-haired, hard-lipped son, not even
the handsome listener she addressed,--no, not one there would so have
arrested the eye, whether of a physiognomist or a casual observer, as
that young girl, Sir Miles St. John's favourite niece and presumptive
heiress.

But as at that moment the expression of her fa