the way to foster any faint signs of matrimonial thoughts in his mind-signs she had vainly hoped for during years? "I must be doting!" she thought, in a rage with herself and her septuagenarian failings; then continued with suspicious suavity, "Not that I should think too much of that, my dear Richard-certainly not. No doubt if this little Langton girl were married to-hum-well, anyone handsome, and well off; and let me see-not too young; for, when men have little experience, they are not indulgent enough—" He laughed heartily. "That will do, grannie. Let us sincerely hope she may be so fortunate. And good-bye for the present-I must be off now." 248 CHAPTER XV. "The diamond,-why, 'twas beautiful and hard, With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan.” SHAKESPEARE. HE cool grey morning had grown THE chiller and damper, till now in the afternoon there was apparently in the prospect only wet below, heavy vapour overhead, and a moist atmosphere of fog between, through which came down a cold, continuous rain. Huntley stood by an open side-door; he had come there meaning to take a solitary walk, in order to think the better. The sight of the weather outside prevented that; but he still remained there, leaning against the doorway, and lost in thought. Poor, honest Wat Huntley! In every situation of life heretofore, that demanded serious reflection, he had always inwardly felt, with a certain sturdy self-reliance, that at last he should see the one right course to lead him to sucNow every man not in love was wiser than he even most men in love too, for this was the first time with him during his full thirty years, and that fact alone bears strong significance. cess. He felt as one in a maze; or in a strange atmosphere, where ordinary things had suddenly and softly become invested with different meanings; and most meant ways, means, or times of seeing Mabel. Since the night before last-how long ago it seemed!—his eyes were as opened. Her every former little tone or light laugh came back now with new, strange intensity. Surely, surely no other child, or fair girl, or woman born, had ever before been so fresh and sweet— so wrongly neglected, with a forlornness that went straight to his heart; so There was no use in arguing the matter he was wholly, utterly in love! But how best to approach his little wayward darling; that exactly he did not know. Yesterday he had simply enough hoped to re-establish their former relations; and so beginning afresh, by tender, patient devotion, make winning the more certain. Then her manner had showed, as he thought, that she understood his love; and was frightened, and even angered, child-like, by it. It never could have entered his mind that she fancied he had been trifling with her; for filled, as his whole being was, with love for her and the novelty of his great wish, he felt as if every passer-by must now know his secret, and read an offer of marriage in every line of his face. Since their meeting in the garden, she must know it too. And if she no opportunity of asking her yet awhile, it could only be because she would not. His honest, sweet-tempered self again got the upper hand as he leant there. "I'm not of much account, anyway; and if I become as morose as a bear, it will hardly add much to my charms," he said to himself, with a kindly humour which could play upon even his more troubled situations in life, lighting their one side, and which proved the possession of a truly sweet and healthy mind. He had taken the poor little thing by surprise (and himself too); but he must just hope, and give her time to get used to his ugly face. There was Cust, though. He, too, had eyes; he had seen and admired the child, as everyone must. What would be the end of that? What, indeed, would be the end of the whole matter? He only knew, with a positive, if vaguely-based inward knowledge, that he could make the little one happier than anyone else ever would. He would never try to startle the child into |