Mesmerism is a recognized fact; and if she had known anything of it Olivia might easily have explained the sensation she felt as that resulting from mesmerization. The dark eyes had seemed to penetrate to her inmost heart, the voice to have set up an echo within her ears which should never fade. A shadow seemed to have fallen over both her and Bertie, and for a time they actually walked toward the Grange in absolute silence. And for Bertie to be silent was a very remarkable state of things. It was in the midst of this silence that a voice was heard coming from a walk behind the shrubbery. It was the voice of Mr. Bartley Bradstone, and both Olivia and Bertie heard these words: “It’s a deuce of a mess, a regular tangle; but we’ll get out of it. Just trust to me----” Bertie looked up at Olivia, and saw her start and her dark brows come together. “Who is that?” he asked, in a slightly lowered voice. “That is Mr. Bradstone,” she said. The same moment that gentleman and the squire came out upon them. The squire started slightly, and Bartley Bradstone looked from one to the other with the suspicious, searching look peculiar to him. Then the squire’s face cleared, and he gave both hands to Lord Granville. “Why, Cherub!” he exclaimed, in altogether happier tones than we have hitherto heard him use. “Welcome back! How well you look, my boy!” “Doesn’t he, papa!” exclaimed Olivia, eagerly. “Why, you’ve--yes, you’ve actually grown,” said the squire. “Oh, come now!” remonstrated Bertie, laughing and blushing. “That’s rather too thin, even for me, squire.” “But you have. How glad I am to see you! And your father--is he well?” As he turned he caught sight of Mr. Bartley Bradstone, who was standing looking at them with a half-sullen, half-jealous air, and the smile vanished from the squire’s face. “I beg your pardon,” he said; “let me introduce you to our neighbor and friend, Mr. Bradstone. This is Lord Granville, our old friend Bertie, Bradstone.” The two men exchanged bows; Bertie with a pleasant frankness and cordiality, Bartley Bradstone with hardly suppressed sullenness. “I was going to call on you to-morrow, Mr. Bradstone,” said Bertie. “I am happy to make your acquaintance. My father tells me that you have gone in very heavily for preserving. By George! it was time some one did, for, begging the squire’s pardon, pheasants and partridges in Hawkwood were getting very rare birds, indeed!” and he nodded with much gravity at Mr. Vanley. “Oh, yes,” said Bartley Bradstone, with an affected drawl. “I’m going to preserve; it’s the duty of every country gentleman, I take it.” Bertie looked at him quickly, and a shade of disapproval swept over his handsome, girlish face. Bartley Bradstone’s voice was that of the cad, and of course Bertie detected it. “The squire hasn’t preserved as closely as he might have done,” he said, rather gravely for him, “because he is too tender-hearted to the village people.”