 soldier's face, and an angry glance shot from his eye, as if he suspected something approaching—but at great distance—to the truth.

"He surely did not dare to be impertinent? Helen, you have not told me all: you came here in a state of dreadful agitation; tell me, I conjure you, all that has happened to you.—You will not, Helen? What am I to think of this?—that you have been insulted in a manner that you will not repeat to your affianced husband? For Heaven's sake, put an end to this torture; I must know all."

"Your mother does know all, Colonel Harrington; make me not repeat the hateful history again."

"Will you refer me to my mother? Will you permit me to tell her that you have done so?"

"Why, Colonel Harrington," replied Helen, "should you wish to know more than I have told you? But of course I cannot object to your knowing all that has passed between us,—only I think he does not deserve the trouble you take in speaking of him."

Much to the surprise of Sir Gilbert and his lady, who were very amiably undergoing a real penance, by absenting themselves from the sight of happiness which touched them so nearly, Colonel Harrington was seen hurrying towards them, where they were beguiling the time as they could, by inhaling the cool breath of evening under the cedar-tree.

"Take a turn with me, mother, will you?" said he in a voice not quite so gay as they expected to hear from him.

Lady Harrington immediately rose, and passing her arm under his they walked off together at a rapid pace to a distant walk.

"Mother!" he said stopping short and looking earnestly in her face, "tell me, I beseech you, every thing that you have learnt from Helen respecting that wretch Corbold. For some reason or other which I cannot understand, she is averse to entering upon the subject with me; but she assures me that you know every thing that has passed, and she has authorized my asking you for the particulars."

"Has she, William? Then she is a silly girl for her pains. But it is your fault, I dare say. You have been tormenting her with cross-questions about a vulgar villain that neither of you ought ever again to call to remembrance. Say no more about him or his precious cousin either. Surely we can find more agreeable subjects to talk about than the vicar and his cousin."
