nstone; 'that will make it easy. She is
the only one who will care about the ball.'

Philip was obliged to conceal his vexation, and to answer the many eager
questions about the arrangements. He stayed to dinner, and as the others
went in-doors to dress, he lingered near Charlotte, assuming, with some
difficulty, an air of indifference, and said--'Well, Charlotte, did you
tease Guy into showing you those verses?'

'Oh yes,' said Charlotte, with what the French call "un air capable".'

'Well, what were they?'

'That I mustn't tell. They were very pretty; but I've promised.'

'Promised what?'

'Never to say anything about them. He made it a condition with me, and I
assure you, I am to be trusted.'

'Right,' said Philip; 'I'll ask no more.'

'It would be of no use,' said Charlotte, shaking her head, as if she
wished he would prove her further.

Philip was in hopes of being able to speak to Laura after dinner,
but his uncle wanted him to come and look over the plans of an estate
adjoining Redclyffe, which there was some idea of purchasing. Such an
employment would in general have been congenial; but on this occasion,
it was only by a strong force that he could chain his attention, for
Guy was pacing the terrace with Laura and Amabel, and as they passed and
repassed the window, he now and then caught sounds of repeating poetry.

In this Guy excelled. He did not read aloud well; he was too rapid, and
eyes and thoughts were apt to travel still faster than the lips, thus
producing a confusion; but no one could recite better when a passage had
taken strong hold of his imagination, and he gave it the full effect
of the modulations of his fine voice, conveying in its inflections the
impressions which stirred him profoundly. He was just now enchanted
with his first reading of 'Thalaba,' where he found all manner of deep
meanings, to which the sisters listened with wonder and delight. He
repeated, in a low, awful, thrilling tone, that made Amy shudder, the
lines in the seventh book, ending with--

"Who comes from the bridal chamber!
It is Azrael, angel of death."'

'You have not been so taken up with any book since Sintram.' said Laura.

'It is like Sintram,' he replied.

'Like it?'

'So it seems to me. A strife with the powers of darkness; the victory,
forgiveness, resignation, death.

"Thou know'st the secret wishes of my heart,
Do with me as thou wilt, thy will is best