Jack handed me a volume, turned down at the two-hundredth page, and I read what he told me to call the first chapter of "Love and Glory." THE WILDERNESS. "A tangled thicket is a holy place For contemplation lifting to the stars Its passionate eyes, and breathing paradise Within a sanctified solemnity." _Old Play_ ["That's my own," said Jack. "When people see that I don't even quote a motto, they'll think me a real original. Go on."] The sun's western rays were gilding the windows of the blue velvet drawing-room of Lorrington Castle, and the three ladies sat in silence, as if admiring the glorious light which now sank gradually behind the forest at the extremity of the park. The lady Alice leant her cheek upon her hand, and before her rose a vision the agitating occurrences of yesterday. The first declaration a girl receives alters her whole character for life. No longer a solitary being, she feels that with her fate the happiness of another is indissolubly united; for, even if she rejects the offer, the fact of its having been made, is a bond of union from which neither party gets free--Sir Stratford Manvers had proposed: had she accepted him? did she love him? ay, did she love him?--a question apparently easy to answer, but to an ingenuous spirit which knows not how to analyze its feelings, impossible. Sir Stratford was young, handsome, clever--but there was a certain something, a _je ne sçais quoi_ about him, which marred the effect of all these qualities. A look, a tome that jarred with the rest of his behaviour, and suggested a thought to the very persons who were enchanted with his wit, and openness, and generosity--Is this real? is he not an actor? a consummate actor, if you will--but merely a great performer assuming a part. By the side of the bright and dashing Manvers, rose to the visionary eyes of the beautiful girl the pale and thoughtful features of Mr Lawleigh. She heard the music of his voice, and saw the deep eyes fixed on her with the same tender expression of interest and admiration as she had noticed during his visit at the Castle. She almost heard the sigh with which he turned away, when she had appeared to listen with pleasure to the sparkling conversation of Sir Stratford. She had _not_ accepted Sir Stratford, and she did _not_ love him. When a girl hesitates between two men, or when the memory of one is mixed up with the recollection of another, it is certain that she loves neither. And strange to say, now that her thoughts reverted to Mr Lawleigh, she forgot Sir Stratford altogether. She wondered that she had said so little to Mr Lawleigh, and was sorry she had not been kinder--she recalled every word and every glance--and could not explain why she was pleased when she recollected how sad he had looked when