Timid and irresolute, fearing to know the best or the worst from the lips of a mere girl, I asked myself was it I—I, who, at the bombardment of Rangoon, at the storm of the Dagon Pagoda, and in the night attack on Frome, had feared neither the bullets nor poisoned arrows of the two-sworded barbarians whom it was our ill-luck to encounter in those tropical regions; I, who, without fear or flinching, was now ready to meet the Russians in Turkey, or anywhere else; was it I that could not muster hardihood to reveal the emotions, the honourable love, of an honest heart? It was; and, at times, I felt inclined to utter a malison on that which General Napier so truly and happily termed, "the cold shade of aristocracy;" for that it was which chilled and baffled me. In the drawing-room the first who met me was my Cousin Cora, looking pale, but bright-eyed, with her pure complexion, and in all her morning prettiness. "Lady Loftus, I presume, has not appeared yet?" said I. "It is always Lady Loftus with you, Cousin Newton," said she, pettishly, "though you came here to see papa and me. What have you done with that celebrated lock of hair? Put it in the fire, eh?" "In the fire, Cora! It is here, in my pocket-book." "Doubtless you are very proud of it?" "I cannot but be, Cora," said I, taking her hands in mine, and drawing her into the recess of an oriel window; "and she is herself so proud and reserved. I am sure that she knows what you have seen, Cora; at least, what my uncle says you have detected,—that—that——" "What, Newton? How rambling and mysterious you are!" "That I love her." "You are sure she knows this?" asked Cora. "Yes, my dear cousin; it is impossible that the regard with which she has inspired me could fail to be known, seen, or felt by her—I mean that it must have been apparent to her, by a thousand mute indications, since we first met in England. It is so to you, is it not?" "Ye—yes," replied Cora, with her face averted, for no doubt she was smiling at my earnest simplicity. "Do you think she would tolerate attentions that were valueless, or would trifle with me?" "I cannot say." "But you are her particular friend. Oh, Cora, be mine too!" "What on earth do you mean?" asked Cora, showing me still only her pretty profile; "you cannot wish _me_ to propose to her for you?" "No; but you hide your sweet face, Cora. You are laughing at me!" "Oh, no, I am not laughing," replied Cora, in a rich, low tremulous voice. "Heaven knows, Newton, how far my thoughts are removed from laughter." "And—what is this, Cora dear? Your eyes are full of tears!" "Are they?" she exclaimed angrily, as she withdrew her hands from mine. "Yes—ah, I see it all," said I, bitterly; "you know Lady Louisa’s heart better than I do, and deem my love for her a hopeless one."