w before them." Then laying his arm
on the boy's shoulder, he led him away, to plan and plot out a future
course of study, and repair all past negligence and idleness.

Ere we leave this scene, let us follow Mrs. Morris, who, having quitted
the house, quickly went in search of Charles Heathcote. There was that
in the vexed and angry look of the young man, as he left the room,
that showed her how easy it would be in such a moment to become his
confidante. Through the traits of his resentment she could read an
impatience that could soon become indiscretion. "Let me only be the
repository of any secret of his mind," muttered she,--"I care not
what,--and I ask nothing more. If there be one door of a house open,--be
it the smallest,--it is enough to enter by."

She had not to go far in her search. There was a small raised terrace at
the end of the garden,--a favorite spot with him,--and thither she had
often herself repaired to enjoy the secret luxury of a cigar; for Mrs.
Morris smoked whenever opportunity permitted that indulgence without
the hazard of forfeiting the good opinion of such as might have held the
practice in disfavor. Now, Charles Heathcote was the only confidant of
this weakness, and the mystery, small as it was, had served to establish
a sort of bond between them.

"I knew I should find you here," said she, stealing noiselessly to his
side, as, leaning over the terrace, he stood deep in thought. "Give me a
cigar."

He took the case slowly from his pocket, and held it towards her in
silence.

"How vastly polite! Choose one for me, sir," said she, pettishly.

"They 're all alike," said he, carelessly, as he drew one from the
number and offered it.

"And now a light," said she, "for I see yours has gone out, without your
knowing it. Pray do mind what you 're doing; you've let the match fall
on my foot. Look there!"

And he did look, and saw the prettiest foot and roundest ankle that ever
Parisian coquetry had done its uttermost to grace; but he only smiled
half languidly, and said, "There's no mischief done--to either of us!"
the last words being muttered to himself. Her sharp ears, however, had
caught them; and had he looked at her then, he would have seen her face
a deep crimson. "Is the play over? Have they left the billiard-room?"
asked he.

"Of course it is over," said she, mockingly. "Sportsmen rarely linger in
the preserves where there is no game."

"What do you think of that same Mr. O'Shea