a farewell look. Her admiration made a desperate
effort to express itself appropriately in words. "You are not a man,"
she said, "you are an angel!"

Left by himself, Mirabel sat down to rest. He reviewed his own conduct
with perfect complacency. "Not one man in a hundred could have managed
that she-devil as I have done," he thought. "How shall I explain matters
to Emily?"

Considering this question, he looked by chance at the unfinished
crown of roses. "The very thing to help me!" he said--and took out his
pocketbook, and wrote these lines on a blank page: "I have had a scene
of jealousy with Miss de Sor, which is beyond all description. To spare
_you_ a similar infliction, I have done violence to my own feelings.
Instead of instantly obeying the message which you have so kindly sent
to me, I remain here for a little while--entirely for your sake."

Having torn out the page, and twisted it up among the roses, so that
only a corner of the paper appeared in view, Mirabel called to a lad who
was at work in the garden, and gave him his directions, accompanied by a
shilling. "Take those flowers to the servants' hall, and tell one of the
maids to put them in Miss Brown's room. Stop! Which is the way to the
fruit garden?"

The lad gave the necessary directions. Mirabel walked away slowly,
with his hands in his pockets. His nerves had been shaken; he thought a
little fruit might refresh him.

CHAPTER XLVII. DEBATING.

In the meanwhile Emily had been true to her promise to relieve Mirabel's
anxieties, on the subject of Miss Jethro. Entering the drawing-room in
search of Alban, she found him talking with Cecilia, and heard her own
name mentioned as she opened the door.

"Here she is at last!" Cecilia exclaimed. "What in the world has kept
you all this time in the rose garden?"

"Has Mr. Mirabel been more interesting than usual?" Alban asked gayly.
Whatever sense of annoyance he might have felt in Emily's absence, was
forgotten the moment she appeared; all traces of trouble in his face
vanished when they looked at each other.

"You shall judge for yourself," Emily replied with a smile. "Mr. Mirabel
has been speaking to me of a relative who is very dear to him--his
sister."

Cecilia was surprised. "Why has he never spoken to _us_ of his sister?"
she asked.

"It's a sad subject to speak of, my dear. His sister lives a life of
suffering--she has been for years a prisoner in her room. He writes to
her constantly