He spoke first of Harley L’Estrange—spoke with tact and delicacy. Helen at first answered by monosyllables, and then, by degrees, with grateful and open affection. Audley’s brow grew shaded. He then spoke of Italy; and though no man had less of the poet in his nature, yet, with the dexterity of one long versed in the world, and who has been accustomed to extract evidences from characters most opposed to his own, he suggested such topics as might serve to arouse poetry in others. Helen’s replies betrayed a cultivated taste, and a charming womanly mind; but they betrayed also one accustomed to take its colorings from another’s—to appreciate, admire, revere the Lofty and the Beautiful, but humbly and meekly. There was no vivid enthusiasm, no remark of striking originality, no flash of the self-kindling, creative faculty. Lastly, Egerton turned to England—to the critical nature of the times—to the claims which the country possessed upon all who had the ability to serve and guide its troubled destinies. He enlarged warmly on Harley’s natural talents, and rejoiced that he had returned to England, perhaps to commence some great career. Helen looked surprised, but her face caught no correspondent glow from Audley’s eloquence. He rose, and an expression of disappointment passed over his grave, handsome features, and as quickly vanished. “Adieu! my dear Miss Digby; I fear I have wearied you, especially with my politics. Adieu, Lady Lansmere; no doubt I shall see Harley as soon as he returns.” Then he hastened from the room, gained his carriage, and ordered the coachman to drive to Downing-street. He drew down the blinds, and leaned back. A certain languor became visible in his face, and once or twice he mechanically put his hand to his heart. “She is good, amiable, docile—will make an excellent wife, no doubt,” said he murmuringly. “But does she love Harley as he has dreamed of love? No! Has she power and energy to arouse his faculties, and restore to the world the Harley of old? No! Meant by Heaven to be the shadow of another’s sun—not herself the sun—this child is not the one who can atone for the Past and illume the Future.” Chapter VII.