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Cecil speedily picked a bunch of them and came running back. "Ah, the bluebells of Scotland!" exclaimed John Lawson. "I did not expect to find them here. Do you care for our bluebells ?" "The dear bluebell is one of my favourite flowers," replied Agnes, with a half sigh.

Their eyes met. Lawson's were full of intense feeling and deep sadAgnes's were calm, clear, and passionless.

"She cares for no one but him," said Lawson to himself; "and if he were to die to-morrow, she would never care for me!"

II.

THE COUNT DE MAURIAC.

THE cousin, from whom Alfred's "extreme delicacy of feeling," according to his wife, had tempted him again to fly, arrived in due time at Spa, and was delighted to meet his old friend, the companion of his boyhood, once more. Alfred did his best to receive Edgar cordially. But cordiality was no part of his nature. There was always something forced in his manner, even when he wished to appear exceedingly friendly; however, he was gentlemanly, well bred, and courteous in his bearing; and the surface being polished and polite, there was no need to make any inquiries on the score of sincerity. Agnes was really happy to make the acquaintance of one who had been so great a favourite of her kind old friend, Mr. Montague.

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"It seems to me," she said to Edgar, as if I had known you for years, I have heard so much of you from our dear Mr. Montague, from the good Winslows, and from our amiable neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Barwell. In fact," she added, "you are a universal favourite at Woodbury."

She was such a sweet, unaffected, warm-hearted young woman, that Edgar could not fail to be pleased with her. He was struck with her beauty, but he soon perceived that that was her least charm. She never could have plotted against him, as had been suggested to him; she was no intrigante that he soon discovered. In her open brow, in her clear, honest, blue eyes, in her angelico riso, there was nothing to indicate covetousness or guile.

"No," he said to himself, "she is just what my uncle described her to be; and glad I am that Alfred has got such a charming wife."

Edgar was much pleased with Alfred's two little girls; and there was another of his cousin's party who seemed to be very attractive to him. Madeleine, little coquette that she was, felt tolerably secure of Lord Eskdale's allegiance, as well as that of the "broad" Dutch baron, and the Italian marquis, and she was no way loth to acquire another admirer, so she took some pains to fascinate the naval officer. This was no difficult task, for Edgar, with all his good sense, was rather susceptible.

Is it a sin against good sense to be susceptible? If so, some really very clever men have been guilty of it. Experience proves that clever men, unless they are quite wrapped up in some one particular scientific pursuit, and have a sort of monomania for it alone, are more apt to fall

in love than numskulls, who think of nothing but how their coats and their boots fit.

Any one who had taken the trouble of watching Alfred Percival's countenance, might have observed a shade of displeasure on it whenever Lord Eskdale was showing any particular attention to Madeleine in his presence. He did not seem to be so much annoyed at the devoirs paid her by the Dutch baron, the Italian marquis, or the French count, for all these aristocrats were in her train, and she flirted with them all; indeed, she would have got up a flirtation with forty, instead of four, had she been the only damsel at Spa, skilled in that accomplishment which the learned Dr. Samuel Johnson, in his dictionary, explains as a "quick sprightly motion," an interpretation of the word which certainly, though given on such high authority, must be called OBSOLETE, and, moreover, flirtations, even according to the most modern acceptation of the term, are not always "sprightly," and it is to be doubted if a quiet flirtation is not more dangerous than a lively one, on the principle set forth in the well-known proverb, "Still water runs deep."

There was scarcely any one at Spa, amidst its gaieties and busy idleness, to occupy himself or herself in observing Mr. Percival's doings or looks. Octavie only sometimes shrugged her shoulders and called him "Un drôle ;" Lord Eskdale pronounced him to be "as gloomy as a Trappist monk, and as sour as a crab-apple ;" and most of the foreigners, when they alluded to him at all, were satisfied with designating him as "ce vilain Anglais." Assuredly Mr. Percival was not popular. But his wife, and his wife's sister, seemed to be on the very best terms with him, therefore sundry old English and Belgian gentlemen looked upon him as a very good family man.

Captain Howard was soon, among the gossips of the place-for gossips abound everywhere-enrolled on the list of Miss Stuart's admirers; and it seemed quite a race between him and Lord Eskdale which should win most of her smiles. The latter had the advantage of being an earl, the former of being more constantly with Madeleine, on account of his relationship to her brother-in-law.

But there was one of her admirers whom Madeleine preferred both to the Scotch earl and to the English naval officer, and he was le Comte de Mauriac. He also was very impressé in his assiduities. The Count de Mauriac was a remarkably handsome man, quite Parisian in his dress, air, and manners; of an ancient family, not without fortune, and moving in the highest circles in the French metropolis. Madeleine thought it would be much nicer to be Countess de Mauriac than Countess of Eskdale. As Lady Eskdale, her home would have to be among "Scotch savages," in that "triste" Edinburgh of which she had heard her mother speak with so much disgust. As the wife of De Mauriac, Paris glittered before her eyes-Paris, with all its gaiety, its brilliancy, its liberty for married

women!

"Je serai la Comtesse de Mauriac!" she said to herself, for Madeleine always thought in French; but there was the consent of another individual to be obtained before she could acquire that title and agreeable position.

The Count de Mauriac admired her youthful beauty, which was rather more than the so-called "beauté du Diable;" he was amused by her

lively nonsense, he found her a charming partner in the Valse à deux temps, in which she flew round almost like an aërial being, and he had more than once assured her that she only wanted wings to be a real angel. But he had never hinted to the wingless angel that he would be delighted to secure her for his partner during the term of his natural life, and this was rather a disappointment to the vain girl.

"I know Alfred does not want me to marry," she said to her cousin Octavie. "But I am not going to be his slave."

"Certainly not," replied Octavie. "He has one very humble slave already-your sister Agnes. What does he want with two?"

"I can tell you a secret, cousin Octavie," said Madeleine, “He has another slave at Woodbury, a girl called Rose. Mr. O'Flynn, a friend of his, told me about her, but he begged that I would not mention her to my sister, or let Alfred know that I had heard anything about her. Alfred supposes that it is all snug in that quarter, and that nobody has any idea of his liaison with her."

"And who is she?" asked Octavie.

"A village girl."

"Oh! only a village girl! Mais ce n'est rien, ma chère. She is merely a sort of grisette."

There was a pause in the conversation of the moral French cousins, then Octavie said:

"But tell me, ma petite, when are you going to accept that Scotch milord? He is really very good looking, not at all gauche; on the contrary, quite presentable, and his friend, Colonel Murray, says that he has estates in Scotland. Besides, he adores you. Let me convey to him, through the colonel, the assurance that he will be well received if he proposes."

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"Mais non, ma cousine, pas encore. No, not yet. He might do as a pis aller, if-if—”

"Do as a pis aller! Of what are you thinking, child? I am afraid your foolish little head has been turned here at Spa."

"I would rather be Madame de Mauriac."

Octavie coloured, half frowned, and started up to make some alteration in the arrangement of a vase of flowers near. Madeleine had no idea

that Octavie herself was very willing to become Madame de Mauriac, or she would not have expressed her wishes so openly to her rival. Wrapped up in her own egotism and vanity, she did not perceive her cousin's annoyance, and all traces of it had disappeared from Octavie's face when she sat down again.

"Am I, then, deputed by you to signify to the Count de Mauriac your preference for him, ma chère ?" she asked, quietly..

"Oh, not exactly that. But you could sound him, cousin, could you not?"

"Well, yes, I might." She seemed pondering on the matter in own mind for a few moments, then she said, "I accept the delicate mission, Madeleine, and shall let you know its result as soon as possible."

Madeleine sprang up, and kissing Octavie's cheek, poured out a torrent of thanks, and assured her that she was her best, her very best friend, and worth a hundred stupid sisters like Agnes. The silly girl then

skipped off towards a pier-glass, and making a profound curtsey to her own image in the mirror, she exclaimed:

"Bon jour, Madame la Comtesse de Mauriac!"

"Ah, mademoiselle! remember the Italian proverb, Non vender la pelle dell' orso prima di pigliarlo,'" cried Octavie; a proverb which bears a somewhat similar meaning to the English: "Don't reckon your chickens before they are hatched."

"Very true; but you know, cousin, if you are going to bring up these common sayings, 'Ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut,' and 'Chi nasce bella, nasce maritata.' What do you say to that?"

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"I do not know. Beauty goes a great way, but money goes further, and you are aware, Madeleine, that you have none of that commodity." Many a girl is married for her beauty," said Madeleine, as she put on her bonnet, in the full hope of meeting some one or other of her admirers on her way home.

III.

A MATRIMONIAL OFFER.

THERE was one individual who was a close observer of Alfred Percival's actions and words, and who seemed sometimes to scan his very thoughts. This individual was John Lawson. For Alfred himself he had no sympathy, no kind of regard, no liking whatsoever; he was a person whom Lawson would have passed by with the utmost indifference, and, on his own personal account, would never have wasted a moment's consideration upon him, or, had he noticed him at all, it would have been as one whose acquaintance he felt inclined to avoid rather than to cultivate. But the husband of his favourite Agnes could not be such a nonentity to him. How could she be so extremely attached to a man like Mr. Percival—a man evidently so apathetic, so cold towards her? He asked himself often that question. In her behaviour to Alfred she did not seem to be actuated merely by a sense of duty, but by sentiments of warm affection and sincere It was undeniable that whatever he did was right in her eyes. There could not be a more devoted wife, and, in return for her devotion, she received, apparently, only neglect or mere frigid civility.

esteem.

"He cares too little for her even to admit into his mind a sensation of jealousy in regard to her," thought John Lawson. "He turns her coolly over to me to be always her escort; he leaves us frequently têteà-tête; he never seems to remark my admiration—ah, that is a cold word, but let it pass-my admiration for her. But, as regards his sisterin-law, he is all on the qui vive. His whole thoughts seem centred in that silly little Madeleine, and what concerns her. He watches her as a jealous lover would the object of his affection. All smiles to herself, he is full of frowns when any one else pays her attention. It is strange, very strange! Were the girl his wife's cousin instead of being her sister, ill natured people might be surmising that all was not right. But I acquit him of such baseness."

Mr. Lawson wished to hear more of the earlier history of Agnes Stuart, and he wrote to a married sister of his in Edinburgh to ask her if she could tell him anything of the great-granddaughter of old Mrs. Stuart of Glen Alpine, whom he had met as Mrs. Percival, at Spa.

His sister wrote back that she had made inquiries of Lady Janet Dundas, and of the daughter of the Laird of Auchintochen, and had gathered from them that Agnes Stuart had eloped from school with a young man named Percival, and had been married at Gretna-green; that old Mrs. Stuart, and Miss Meenie, her grand-aunt, had never forgiven. her for this step, nor had Mr. Alfred Percival been forgiven by his father. That it was believed that Miss Stuart was probably influenced by her dread of returning to her dreary home in Edinburgh, and the tyranny of her Aunt Meenie, in acting so indiscreetly as to make a runaway match, but it had turned out unusually well. They had come into a fortune, and were a very happy couple.

Heartily did Johnnie Lawson wish that he had been in London instead of India, when Agnes Stuart was about to leave school, and had been able to run off with her instead of Alfred Percival. In such a case he would quite have forgiven her eloping; even as it was, he could not blame the poor girl much, when he remembered what a disagreeable duenna Miss Meenie had been.

In the mean time, Lord Eskdale had gladdened the heart of his sorrowing parent, the old Countess of Eskdale, by writing to one of his sisters that he believed he was at last caught; that he was most desperately in love; and hoped soon to throw all the Edinburgh belles into the shade with the beauty of the charming Madeleine. His mother was delighted at the prospect of the earl's marrying, and all his sisters were very well satisfied, with the exception of Lady Janet, who could not feel any good will towards the daughter of the man who had jilted her.

Madeleine had given Lord Eskdale so much encouragement, that, without a great amount of vanity, the young man had naturally thought she liked him.

"Lawson, don't you think I may venture to propose now?" he asked of his friend and fellow-traveller. "The season at Spa will soon be over, and if that disagreeable fellow Percival gets his wife and sister back to his country abode, somewhere in the south of England, Madeleine will be quite locked up, and I shall never have a chance of seeing her again. I don't know a soul in their neighbourhood to whom I could offer a visit: and as to their own house, I might as well expect to penetrate into some enchanted castle, guarded by dragons and gnomes."

"Well, I do not see any obstacle to your proposing, Eskdale; your title will be a bait to the girl, and

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"Confound my title!" exclaimed Lord Eskdale, angrily. "I want her to marry me for myself, to like me, not my title. You throw cold water on everything, Lawson. You can't get the married woman with whom you are in love to love you in return, therefore you choose to think that nobody else can-can make any impression on any one."

"By no means!" replied Lawson. "I am quite convinced that any young lady might fall in love with you on your own account. If the Edinburgh on dit be true, that has happened more than once. But I am speaking according to the views generally taken in society-and especially in French society. I am sure Mrs. Percival would look only to your character, your moral and mental qualities, and would be glad that you took a fancy to her sister, for I know that she thinks highly of you. But the cousin, the pretty French widow, would only take into

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