MRS. DE BURGH soon after led Mary to the drawing-room when all that was kind and affectionate and calculated to reassure her young guest's mind, with regard to her previously conceived misgivings, was expressed by the former lady.

They were, however, owing probably to the lateness of the hour, soon joined by the gentlemen.

Mr. de Burgh immediately sat down by his cousin's side, and, as if with the intention of making himself more thoroughly agreeable than circumstances had previously permitted, he entered into animated discourse, in which, finding Mary perfectly able to sustain a competent and intelligent part, he had speedily passed from the merits and beauty of his children, and such like natural easy points of discussion, to some improvements in the grounds, in which his interest seemed to be at present much engrossed, showing more scientific and general information on the whole than she had previously conceived him to possess ;he appearing, on his part, pleased to find so willing and intelligent a listener in his young lady cousin.

Mrs. de Burgh in the meantime had, soon after the conversation commenced between them, called Eugene Trevor away to the open window, and conversed with him, at intervals, in a low, confidential voice, whilst turning over a pile of new music lying on the ottoman by her side.

At last she called out to Mary, and asked her if she sung. Mary replied in the negative; but, remembering well the beautiful voice possessed by Mrs. de Burgh before her marriage, she rose with glad alacrity to solicit a song from her.

Mrs. de Burgh, whose question probably had been but a note of preparation for her own projected performance, smiled compliance with the request, and proceeded to the piano; whilst Mary, esconcing herself in a quiet nook between the piano and window, yielded her senses to the soothing enjoyment which poetry and melody conjoined, always afforded them; and Mrs. de Burgh sung that evening only English songs, with a beauty and pathos perfectly enchanting.

"My spirit like a charmed bark doth swim
Upon the liquid waves of thy sweet singing,
Far away into the regions dim of rapture,
As a boat with swift sail winging

Its way down some many-winding river."

Many an evening Mary sat in that same place, and listened with never-tiring pleasure to the same delightful songs; but never, perhaps, with such pure, unmingled pleasure as had on the present occasion inspired her.

"Softest grave of a thousand fears,

Where their mother care, like a drowsy child,

Is laid asleep in flowers."

Once, at the close of a peculiarly beautiful ballad, she lifted up her eyes-those " downfalling eyes, full of dreams and slumber," now gemmed with a delicious tear-to encounter the dark orbs of Eugene Trevor, as he stood shaded from the light, in the deep embrasure of the window.

"You are very fond of music," he said, coming forward with a smile, on finding his earnest gaze thus discovered.

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Oh, very fond indeed!" Mary replied, with a low sigh, which marked, perhaps, the spell of musical enchantment to have been broken by the question, or, it may be, the moment when some other power first fell upon her spirit.

'Very fond indeed," she continued; "but who is there that is not fond of music?

"That man, for one," answered Mrs. de Burgh, turning quickly round, and denoting, by her glance, " that man" to be Eugene Trevor. "He is not, I can assure you; he cannot dis

tinguish one note from another-a nightingale's from a jackdaw's. I believe my singing is the greatest infliction I could put upon him. Can you deny this?"

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I

Oh, if you choose to give me such a character to Miss Seaham, I can have nothing to say against it, of course. only hope she will not judge me accordingly."

And Eugene Trevor laughed, and looked again at Mary.

"It is to be hoped not, indeed," chimed in Mr. de Burgh, who, as it seemed, had become by this time tire of remaining hors de combat in the background, and now came forward to join the trio; "for does not Shakespeare say,—

"The man that hath no music in himself,

Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,

Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;

The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus.

Let no such man be trusted.'"

He just glanced at Eugene Trevor, who, however, did not seem to have paid any particular attention to this severe commentary on his want of taste; then, with a smile at Mary, who also smiled most unconsciously upon his declamation, proceeded to exonerate himself from any share in such dark imputations, by joining his wife in a duet she placed carelessly before him on the desk, and in which, for the first time that evening, Mary had the satisfaction of hearing the voices of the married pair blended in notes and tones of harmony and love.

At its conclusion, Mrs. de Burgh quickly arose, declaring that they had been very cruel in keeping Mary up so long, and that she must go to bed immediately. Candles accordingly were lighted, and Mrs. de Burgh, before wishing Eugene Trevor good night, impressed upon him again her orders that he should not desert them on the morrow.

Mr. Trevor shook his head, saying his father would expect him; but that, at any rate, he need not go early, so they could talk about it in the morning, and he shook hands with both ladies in adieu. Mrs de Burgh accompanied Mary to her room, where, after lingering a little to see that she had everything that she could want to minister to her comfort, she left the pale and now really wearied traveller to her needful repose. But, though somewhat subdued by bodily fatigue, Mary, having humbly knelt and lifted up her heart in prayers of devout gratitude for the mercy which had not only preserved her in safety through her journey, but "brought her to see her habitation in

peace, and find all things according to her heart's desire," lay down with a mind divested of much of those gloomy misgivings which had troubled her spirit on her first arrival.

Was it alone the kindness her cousins had shown her that produced this magic change? Perhaps so, for Mary was just at that age, and, more still, of that disposition, when a worda look-the most imperceptible influence suffices to change the whole aspect of existence.

But she did not long remain awake to analyze her own sensations on the subject. The echo of Olivia's "sweet" singing seemed to lull her senses to repose, and she sank asleep to fancy herself again standing with Mr. Temple on the hillside heath.

At first Mr. Temple it seemed to be, till turning, she thought her companion's form and face had changed into those of Mr. Trevor. And pain, trouble, and perplexity were the impressions produced by the circumstance upon her dreamy senses.

The same hand that had so lately pressed hers so gently on bidding her "good night," was now in her dream wringing it with the fervid emotion which had marked her rejected lover's sorrowful farewell, till finally she was awakened from her first slight slumber by finding herself repeating aloud in soliloquy these strangely suggested words: "The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the hands of Esan!"

CHAPTER VIIL

MARY SEAHAM'S PORTRAIT.

"Oh! she is guileless as the birds

That sing beside the summer brooks;
With music in her gentle words,

With magic in her winsome looks;

With kindness like a noiseless spring
That faileth ne'er in heat or cold;
With fancy like the wild dove's wing,
As innocent as it is bold."

WORDSWORTth,

FORTUNATELY for Mary Seaham's health and spirits the following day, she was troubled with no more such bewildering dreams throughout the remainder of that night, and when the bright sun streamed in upon her through the window, thrown open by her maid, she woke up cheerful and refreshed. Accustomed at home to early rising, she found herself, on going down stairs— though it was later than her usual hour-the only one of the party who seemed to have made their appearance. Hearing, however, children's voices on the lawn, looking from the window of the breakfast-room which she had entered, she stepped forth, and seeing the little boy and girl sporting amongst the flowers, she made a more successful attempt upon their notice than she had done on a previous occasion. Attracted by her sweet looks, her gentle, youthful manner and appearance, the little people soon accorded to her their full confidence and favour, and gambolled in her path, or led her by the hand to point out some gay butterfly or beautiful flower, with the same reliance and satisfaction as they would have bestowed upon a new playfellow or long-established friend; whilst

"In virgin fearlessness-with step which seemed
Caught from the pressure of elastic turf-
Upon the mountains gemmed with morning dew,
In the full prime of sweetest scents and flowers—”