also irradiating the eyes of that "strong proud-hearted man," as she so expressed herself--who was standing by her side. But she could not have heard--for it was not breathed for mortal ear, the deep and fervent cry: "My Mother!" which her innocent words, like thrilling music by the winds, struck from the secret chords of that manly tender heart. But this was a theme Eustace Trevor's melting soul could not trust itself to pursue; not indeed, without it were first allowed him to cast away all subterfuge and disguise, and at the feet of that good, kind, and gentle girl, open his whole bruised and desolate heart, to receive that Heavenly balsam of pity and consolation, she had ready stored within her breast for the faithful son of that wronged and sainted mother! And could this be done? Had he not for the sake of this same gentle being, in some sort pledged himself to such an extent, that yielding to the impulse would be baseness and dishonour. Alas! as in all divergement from the direct and natural paths of human action, in whatsoever spirit they may have been entered upon, the time must come--circumstances must arise--when the line of duty becomes bewilderingly shadowy and indistinct, even to the most conscientious and true-hearted. How few can steer their way unwavering through the straightened pathway of a false position. It is not there, that like a stately ship he can vigorously part the waves of circumstance or temptation, "And bear his course aright. Nor ought for tempest doth from it depart, Nor ought for fairer weather's false delight." Therefore, with an effort over his feelings which might have made him appear unaffected by the sentiments his companion had so touchingly expressed, he was forced merely to reply: "Yes, Louis de Burgh was his friend; and it would be very gratifying to Eustace Trevor to know that one friend at least in that world he has abandoned, retains him in such affectionate remembrance. And his brother"--he added, with more hesitating restraint in his tone, "did you never receive anything of the same impression from him?" "Eugene," Mary answered with some slight embarrassment, "rarely ever enlarged upon a theme which of course had become connected in his mind with painful feelings." "_Painful indeed!_" was the other's significant rejoinder. "Never but once," Mary continued, "did I venture to question him upon the subject with any minuteness, and then he manifested such strong and painful emotion that I never afterwards approached it willingly. But at that time," she added with a sigh, "I had certainly heard very little of his brother, but the dark and terrible malady with which he was afflicted. Mr. Temple," she continued anxiously, "is not his complete disappearance most mysterious and inexplicable? and does it not appear to you almost impossible, that all the means which have been taken for his recovery could have been so completely unattended by success, supposing he were still alive?"