y
spirit in the ascendant within him. His eye was wide open and
observant, and his ringing laugh was so merry, that it brought an
involuntary smile upon any one who might chance to hear its rich
peals. His talk was rapid, gay, and brilliant, with but the slightest
dash of sentiment, and his manner frank and fearless.

But now his bearing had become quiet and dignified; his conversation
was more thoughtful and deep-flowing, less dashing and free; he spoke
in a lower key; his laugh was less loud but far sweeter and more
thrilling; his eyes had grown larger, darker, deeper, and sometimes
they were shadowed with a soft and tender mist, not wont to overspread
them before. The angel of Love had touched him, and opened a new and
living spring in his heart. Boiling and bubbling in its hidden recess,
an ethereal vapor mounted up and mantled those blazing orbs in a dim
and dreamy veil. A charmed wand had touched every sense, every power
of his being, and held him fast in a rapturous thrall, from which he
did not wish to be released. Under the spell of this enchantment, the
careless boy had passed into the reflective man.

Stories are told of knights errant, in the times of Merlin and the
good King Arthur, who, while ranging the world in quest of adventures,
were bewitched by lovely wood fairies or were lulled into delicious
slumber by some syren's song, or were shut up in pleasant durance in
enchanted castles. Accounts of similar character are found, even in
the pages of grave chroniclers of modern date, to say nothing of what
books of fiction tell, and what we observe with our own eyes, in the
actual world. The truth is, Love smites his victims, just when and
where he finds them. Mr. Lansdowne's case then, is not an
unprecedented one. The keen Damascus blade, used to pierce our hero
and bring him to the pitiful condition of the conquered, had been
placed in the hand of Adele. Whether Love intended to employ that
young lady in healing the cruel wound she had made, remains to be
seen.

At the beginning of their acquaintance, they had found a common ground
of interest in the love of music.

They both sang well. Adele played the piano and John discoursed on the
flute. From these employments, they passed to books. They rummaged Mr.
Dubois's library and read together, selected passages from favorite
authors. Occasionally, John gave her little episodes of his past life,
his childish, his school, and college days. In return, Adele