When I entered the drawing-room before dinner, there was no one in the apartment but the Lady Katharine. She looked pale, but on recognizing me, a deep blush suffused her cheek and brow, while her eye lit up for the instant, with an expression of dewy tenderness that made every vein in my body thrill. But these traces of emotion passed as rapidly as they came, leaving her manner as it usually was, only that there was an unnatural restraint about it, as if her feelings of gratitude were struggling with others of a different character. She rose, however, and extended her hand. There was nothing of its usual light tone in her voice, but an expression of deep seriousness, perhaps emotion, as she said, “How shall I ever thank you sufficiently, Mr. Stanhope, for saving my life?” and that same dewy tenderness again shone from her eyes. “By never alluding, my dear Lady Katharine, to this day’s occurrence. I have only done what every other gentleman would have done.” She sighed. Was she thinking of the tardiness of the duke? I thought so, and sighed too. She looked up suddenly, with her large full eyes fixed on me, as if she would read my very soul; while a deep roseate blush suffused her face and crimsoned even her shoulders and bosom. There was something in that look that changed the whole current of my convictions, and bid me hope. In the impulse of the moment, I took her hand. Again that conscious blush rushed over her cheek and bosom; but this time her eyes sought the ground. My brain reeled. At length I found words, and, in burning language poured forth my hopes and fears, and told the tale of my love. I ceased; her bosom heaved wildly, but she did not answer. I still knelt at her feet. At length she said, “Rise.” There was something in the tone, rather than in the word, which assured me I was beloved. If I needed further confirmation of this it was given in the look of confiding tenderness with which she gazed an instant on me, and then averted her eyes tremblingly. I stole my arm around her, and drew her gently toward me. In a moment she looked up again half reproachfully, and gently disengaged herself from my embrace. “We have been playing a part, dear Lady Katharine!” said I, still retaining her hand. A gay smile, for the instant, shot over her face, but was lost as quickly in the tenderness which was now its prevailing expression, as she said, “I’m afraid we have! But now, Henry, _dear_ Henry, let me steal away, for one moment, before they descend to dinner.” I restrained her only to press my first kiss on her odorous lips, and then she darted from the room, leaving me in a tumult of feelings I cannot attempt to describe.