enjoy my rapture. "I take more pleasure," he said,
"watching your vivid emotions, than in witnessing this wonderfully
graceful exhibition. What a perfect child of nature you are, Gabriella.
You should thank me for keeping you somewhat aloof from the fascinations
of the world. It is only in the shade, that the dew remains on the
flower."

I do not think one glance of mine had wandered from the stage, save to
meet the eye of Ernest. We sat in the second row of boxes, about
half-way distant from the stage and the centre. I knew that every seat
was crowded, but I did not observe the occupants. Meg, who cared as much
about the audience as the performers, kept her opera-glass busy in
gazing on those who were remote, and her own bold, magnificent eyes in
examining those in her vicinity.

"Gabriella!" she whispered, "do look at that gentleman in the next box,
one seat in advance of us. He has been gazing at you for an hour
steadily. Do you know him?"

I shook my head, and made a motion, enjoining silence. I did not think
Ernest had heard her, and I did not wish his attention directed towards
an impertinence of this kind. It would make him angry, and he seemed to
have enjoyed the evening.

"Why don't you look?" again whispered Meg. "He may leave the box. He is
certainly trying to magnetize you."

Impelled by growing curiosity, I glanced in the direction she indicated,
and met the unreceding gaze of a pair of dark, intense eyes, that seemed
to burn in their sockets. Their owner was a gentleman, who appeared
about forty years of age, of a very striking figure, and features
originally handsome, but wearing the unmistakable stamp of dissipation.
I blushed at his bold and steadfast scrutiny, and drew involuntarily
nearer to Ernest. Ernest observed his undaunted stare, and his brows
contracted over his flashing eyes. The gentleman, perceiving this,
turned towards the stage, and seemed absorbed in admiration of the
graceful and inimitable Ravels.

"Scoundrel!" muttered Ernest, leaning forward so as to interpose a
barrier to his insolence.

"Did you speak to me, cousin Ernest?" asked Meg, with affected
simplicity.

He made no reply; and as the stranger did not turn again, I became so
interested in the performance as to forget his bold ness. During the
interlude between the plays, I begged Ernest to get me a glass of water.
Meg made the same request of Mr. Harland, and for a short time we were
left alone.

The moment the gen