easy?"

"It seemed so. I desired to instill habits of truth--she was already by
nature truthful as the day; a taste for Nature and all things natural--that
seemed inborn; perceptions of Art as the interpreter of Nature--those were
more difficult to teach. I think they may come. You have heard her play
and sing?"

"No."

"She will surprise you. She has less talent for drawing; still, all that
teaching could do has been done--in a word, she is accomplished.--Temper,
heart, mind--these all are excellent." Harley stopped, and suppressed a
sigh. "Certainly, I ought to be very happy," said he; and he began to wind
up his watch.

"Of course she must love you?" said the Countess, after a pause. "How
could she fail?"

"Love me! My dear mother, that is the very question I shall have to ask."

"Ask! Love is discovered by a glance; it has no need of asking."

"I have never discovered it, then, I assure you. The fact is, that before
her childhood was passed, I removed her, as you may suppose, from my roof.
She resided with an Italian family, near my usual abode. I visited her
often, directed her studies, watched her improvement--"

"And fell in love with her?"

"Fall is such a very violent word. No; I don't remember to have had a
fall. It was all a smooth inclined plane from the first step, until at
last I said to myself, 'Harley L'Estrange, thy time has come. The bud has
blossomed into flower. Take it to thy breast.' And myself replied to
myself meekly, 'So be it.' Then I found that Lady N----, with her daughters,
was coming to England. I asked her ladyship to take my ward to your house.
I wrote to you, and prayed your assent; and, that granted, I knew you
would obtain my father's. I am here--you give me the approval I sought for.
I will speak to Helen to-morrow. Perhaps, after all, she may reject me."

"Strange, strange--you speak thus coldly, thus lightly; you so capable of
ardent love!"

"Mother," said Harley, earnestly, "be satisfied! I am! Love, as of old, I
feel, alas! too well, can visit me never more. But gentle companionship,
tender friendship, the relief and the sunlight of woman's smile--hereafter
the voices of children--music, that, striking on the hearts of both
parents, wakens the most lasting and the purest of all sympathies: these
are my hope. Is the hope so mean, my fond mother?"

Again the Countess wept, and her tears were not dried when she left the
room.

Chapter VIII.

Oh! Helen, fair