strong and passionate feeling; but the general aspect of the lady's face showed that, with her, emotion had long been merged in a deep and sacred sense of duty. Lady Moore was the only child of an Irish gentleman, who having lived some years in Spain, and there married the daughter of a proud but penniless hidalgo, had returned to Ireland with his beautiful young wife, shortly after his marriage. The poor lady died in childbirth; and thus in finding a daughter he lost a wife. The last request of the Spanish lady on her death-bed had been that he should educate the child in the Catholic religion; and, though a Protestant himself, the gentleman, with a fidelity which, unfortunately, experience has shown to be very rare in such cases-moved too, no doubt, by a devotion to the memory of one so early "loved and lost"rigidly adhered to his promise. The potency of nature, assisted by religious influences, over the artificial training of society, was shown in the development of the girl's mind and frame. She had the

same dark, passionate features as her mother, whose face she had never seen, whose voice she had never heard; she had also the same quickness of temperament and deep sensibility. While yet a minor, and during the lifetime of his father, Sir Annesley Moore had met her at the house of a certain Catholic gentleman, who by avoiding all the political warfare of that turbulent period, had maintained a kind of intimacy with some of his Protestant neighbours. They were both about the same age, and young Moore being at that time fresh from college, and as yet free from that spirit of worldliness which in most cases grows with advancing years, fell in love with the fair Catholic maiden. The girl, naturally susceptible, and hitherto almost entirely estranged from the society of any member of the sterner sex, save her father, soon returned the affection which the young man openly avowed; and, despite some slight objections on the part of the parents on both sides, consent was eventually given, and they were married. To say that this union turned out a very happy one, would, perhaps, be a breach of literal truth; yet the strength of early affection never wholly lost its power; and notwithstanding the occasional bitterness with which Sir Annesley spoke of his wife's faith, he permitted her to bring up her daughter a Catholic, and never directly interfered with the practice of her religious duties. In reality, the baronet was not a very rigid votary of Protestantism; for, like many of his class in those days, he regarded religion merely as the sentimental colouring of a man's political opinions. He argued with himself that, as his wife's father had been a Protestant and her mother a Spaniard, her faith had very little reference to the political circumstances of the country, and need not, therefore, be any cause of alarm.

Meanwhile, let us take a glance at the occupant of a chair immediately opposite Lady Moore's. An old lady sitting with rigid erectness, dressed with a puritanic affectation of plainness, almost

amounting to shabbiness, and expressing by the solemn gravity of her face and manner a stern consciousness of her own profound piety. As if to show by more striking proof her zeal in the cause of religion, or (as she loved to term it) "evangelism," this lady held in her hand an open copy of the highly entertaining and authentic work known as Fox's "Book of Martyrs," and only looked up now and then-always thereby exhibiting a pair of large spectacles-when she heard some remark congenial to her own peculiar tastes. This old lady was Miss Deborah Moore, an elder sister of Sir Annesley, and of late the gloomy stimulator of his dormant conscience. Of late years, it seems, she had become possessed of the idea that her brother was losing whatever modicum of faith (or, as she phrased it, "the evangelical spirit ") he possessed before his marriage, and so she felt herself inspired to effect his "regeneration❞— for Aunt Deborah (as she was called by her niece) could never speak of religion in any terms but the most rigidly scriptural. Whether an early disappointment, which had blasted her matrimonial prospects, had anything to do with the vigorous character of her devotion, it would not be easy to determine; but certain it is that the odious tyranny, gross vices, and irreligious tendencies of men were subjects on which she loved to dilate. She also felt a special delight in talking about the unhappiness of her younger sister (fifteen years her own junior), who had married, as Aunt Deborah expressed it, "a God-forsaken sot." But this was a topic which she found rather dangerous to broach in Sir Annesley's presence. Somebody has said somewhere, with more sarcasm than gallantry, that much of the philanthropy and religious enthusiasm exhibited by certain ladies in the nineteenth century might be logically traced to a breach of promise of marriage; and some suspicious circumstances in the case of Aunt Deborah seem to show that this harsh hypothesis may sometimes be founded on fact. Those who remembered the days of her youth could tell how she had often shed tears over letters scrawled in a rough masculine hand, and had been known to speak of "love" as a thing that was not to be despised. But the ruthless hand that penned those exciting words, ere the lapse of many years, dared to pen a different kind of letter to the old baronet (now dead and gone), saying that he was unable to go through the marriage service with his interesting daughter, as he had just performed a similar feat for the benefit of another lady. And, indeed, Miss Deborah's disappointment did not pass without a storm; for Sir Valentine Moore replied to this epistle by a curt note briefly demanding from the "traitor" the satisfaction of a gentleman; and a duel had actually taken place in which a part of the traitor's body was pierced by a bullet, though, it might be added, the shot did not prove quite fatal, and the traitor who was a Captain Somebody or other in a crack dragoon regiment-afterwards fought in the Peninsular war and died. very gallantly on the fatal field of Corunna. This was the turning

point in Miss Deborah's career. Since the date of the duel she had devoted herself to a career of celibacy and puritanism. She ceased to look on life from a romantic point of view, devoted herself to a daily perusal of the Scriptures, having resolved to read no book which was not of the true evangelical type. She entered into a correspondence with a luminary known as the Reverend Ebenezer Clegg, who filled her scrupulous mind with grave doubts as to the orthodoxy of the Established Church, and ultimately brought her very far on the road to Methodism. At present, though she attended the Protestant service held at the local church, she practised many of the religious exercises recommended by Wesley, and was an earnest believer in personal inspiration. Poor Aunt Deborah ! who can fail to pity you, doomed to lose the golden pomegranates of life and to fly from the unrealized dreams of young romance to the sour fanaticism of a soulless creed?

Two other ladies, both young and interesting, sat very close to Aunt Deborah.

One of them was a girl of only seventeen summers-taller than most girls of her age, with dark features, like those of Lady Moore, but with little of her mother's plastic beauty. She wore a light summer dress, and her rich black hair was simply fastened from behind with a riband. There was little timidity about this girl's face and manner. She seemed like one who felt within her a sense of conscious power; one who loved dominion, and knew that she could rule; one who would not descend from the lofty summit of her station, or the loftier pedestal of her strong ambition, to mingle in the dull drudgery of common life. Whenever she spoke to the young lady beside her, her tone of patronizing respect seemed to insist on, and, as it were, to italicize, their difference of rank.

The young lady thus respectfully patronized was, apparently, about three years elder; a young lady rather below the middle height, with a finely-shaped head, and a face of mild, but eloquent, expression-a face and head, indeed, that were the living incrustations of mind. She was dressed in modest black, tastefully, but with the minute expressiveness of one who does not look on mourning as a mere fashion; and, indeed, her costume seemed to complete the settled aspect of quietude which was visible in her whole manner and demeanour.

It would not be difficult to guess, notwithstanding the air of patronage, that the two stood in the relation of teacher and pupil; for the quiet young lady in black seemed to direct the other by her very looks and modest gestures, though the girl with the rich black hair did not accept her tutelage very submissively. Miss Rose Moore, Sir Annesley's only daughter, had been brought up at home by the special wish of her mother, who felt a strange desire to keep the girl always near her, as if— remembering the sad history of the past-she feared that even

the slightest change of place might have a fatal result. A succession of governesses had been employed in directing the education of this haughty girl; but, though she had from her earliest youth evinced a daring and subtle grasp of intellect, she refused to submit to the control of her instructresses, declaring that it was their office to teach, and not to govern her. The present governess, Miss Quain-the lady with the intellectual face-had only been in Moore's Court two years when this story opens; and, to the intense delight of Rose's mother, the girl conceived such a strong attachment towards her new teacher, that she consulted her about everything, and confided to her some of her most secret thoughts and feelings. Yet was she exceedingly careful to point out by many of those little distinctions of manner, so clear to the feminine mind, that their stations were quite different, and equality between them impossible. Small need had Rose, however, to mark so forcibly the social barriers between herself and the new governess; for Miss Quain seemed to realize her position with an intense and even painful consciousness, while in her entire demeanour and appearance she looked the very soul of humility. Who knows whether it was not the "humility of pride?"

"Where has Frank gone?" asked Sir Annesley, looking at her ladyship with a sort of uneasy curiosity.

"It seems he has sauntered down to the road, expecting to meet his new friend," observed Lady Moore.

"I really think that was rather a needless sacrifice on his part,” said the baronet, with a certain stiffness of manner.

"He told me they were very dear friends at college," said her ladyship, as if she were trying to give an amiable colour to her son's impulsive warmth.

"Those dear friendships have seldom much grace about them," Miss Deborah Moore remarked, in a solemn voice, and slowly raising her spectacled eyes from the page of Fox, on which they had been resting.

"Grace!" repeated Sir Annesley, with a look of shrewd irony in the direction of his sister. "I was not aware, Deborah, that you cared very much for outward appearances."

"Oh! I did not mean 'grace' in that sense," retorted the old lady, rather angrily. "I think, Annesley, if your read your Bible more frequently and more fervently, you would know better what I intended to convey by the word."

"Oh! probably you mean regeneration," said the baronet, with a concealed irony in his tone.

"Yes, Annesley, I do mean regeneration, which means a renewal of the spirit by the light of grace," exclaimed his sister, with freezing emphasis; "and it is a thing some persons need very badly, I can tell you." After which outburst she cast down her eyes on the book once more; and, having adjusted her spec

tacles, which had got displaced during this exhibition of zeal, she seemed to grow more absorbed than ever in the history of the "Martyrs."

"I suppose Frank's friend is to be soon here, mamma ?" said Rose Moore, glancing inquiringly at her mother.

"I am inclined to think so," replied Lady Moore-" probably in good time for dinner."

"It would scarcely do to keep dinner waiting on his account, mamma," said Rose, with her usual air of hauteur.

Lady Moore looked at her daughter with some displeasure. Sir Annesley, who did not seem to observe anything abnormal in his daughter's words, looked at his watch. "It is very close to the time, then," said he, with judicial calmness.

Meanwhile Miss Quain, who had moved aside her chair noiselessly towards one of the drawing-room windows, was gazing out with some appearance of interest. Suddenly she cried

"Ah! I see a car coming up the lower road-that, I believe, is the road from Cork?"

Lady Moore rose hastily from her seat, and walked towards the window beside which the governess sat. With an instinctive movement, Rose Moore seemed also about to rise, but suddenly repressed herself, as if she did not wish Miss Quain to think that she could possibly have any curiosity to see the stranger.

"Yes," said Lady Moore, 'tis our visitor; and see! Frank has met him, and the car has stopped. They are shaking hands now." "A car!" cried Rose, with a slight sneer; "a gentleman would certainly have come in a carriage."

"Do you regard that as the test of a gentleman?" asked Miss Quain, with her quiet smile.

"I believe there are many things by which one may recognise a gentleman," replied the girl, energetically; “and I suppose I may use my own judgment on that matter, at least, Miss Quain ?" "Oh! as you please," said the governess, with composure, though there was the slightest possible tremor in her voice.

"I did not mean to offend you, Miss Quain, believe me," said Rose, rising, and, with a softened look, laying her hand on the shoulder of the governess. Even in this act of kindness one might trace a patronizing air.

"Really, Rose," said her mother, who still remained standing near the window, "you are a very strange girl. Why do you give expression to your judgments so hastily?"

"But I don't like hypocrisy, mamma," Rose returned.

"Oh! you confuse two distinct things, child," said Lady Moore; "discretion is not hypocrisy."

"As far as I can see," said the girl, boldly, "discretion seems to be a sort of moral cowardice."

"I think that is one of the usual mistakes of youth," the governess remarked, in a low tone.

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