That evening Mildred happened to be sitting near the window--it must have been by merest hazard, for she very rarely occupied that part of the room--as the Bath coach passed their gates. A gentleman seated on the roof appeared to recognise her--at least, he took his hat off as he passed. Was it the same?--and what if it were? Evidently he was a mere passer-by, who had been detained in the town a few hours, waiting for this coach. Would he ever even think again of the town of Wimborne--of its old minster--or its tower--and the girl he surprised sitting there, in its little antique library? CHAPTER II. Between two or three years have elapsed, and our scene changes from the country town of Wimborne to the gay and pleasant capital of Belgium. Mr and Miss Bloomfield had made a bold, and, for them, quite a tremendous resolution, to take a trip upon the Continent, which should extend--as far as their courage held out. The pleasure and profit this would afford their niece, was no mean inducement to the enterprise. Mr Bloomfield judged that his ward, after the course of studies she had pursued, and the proficiency she had attained in most feminine accomplishments, was ripe to take advantage of foreign travel. Mr Bloomfield judged wisely; but Mr Bloomfield neither judged, nor was, perhaps, capable of judging how far, in fact, the mind of his niece _had_ advanced, or what singular good use she had made of his own neglected library. She had been grappling with all sorts of books--of philosophy and of science, as well as of history and poetry. But that cheerful quietude which distinguished her manner, concealed these more strenuous efforts of her mind. She never talked for display--she had, indeed, no arena for display--and the wish for it was never excited in her mind. What she read and thought, she revolved in herself, and was perfectly content. How it might have been had she lived amongst those who would have called her forth, and overwhelmed her with praise, it would be difficult to tell. As it was, Mildred Willoughby presented to the imagination the most fascinating combination of qualities it would be possible to put together. A young girl of most exquisite beauty, (she had grown paler than when we last saw her, but this had only given increased lustre to her blue eye)--of manners the most unaffected--of a temper always cheerful, always tranquil--was familiar with trains of deep reflection--possessed a practised intellect and really cultivated mind. In this last respect, there was not a single person in all Wimborne or its neighbourhood who had divined her character. That she was a charming girl, though a little too pale--very amiable, though a little too reserved--of a temper provokingly calm, for she was not ruffled even where she ought to be--and that she sang well, and played well; such would have been the summary of her good qualities from her best and most intimate friends. She was now