“And the dear, simple creature asked me, in one of her letters, if I ever wore wild-flowers in my hair now, as I used to do long ago,” said Kate, stealing another glance at the glass. “Flowers are pretty things in the head when rubies make the pinks, and the dewdrops are all diamonds.” Frank looked at her as she said this, and for the first time saw the proud elation her features assumed when excited by a theme of vanity. “You are greatly changed, dearest Kate,” said he, thoughtfully. “Is it for the worse, Frank?” said she, half coquettishly. “Oh! as to beauty, you are a thousand times handsomer,” cried the boy, with enthusiasm. “I know not how, but every expression seems heightened, every feature more elevated; your air and gesture, your very voice, that once I thought was music itself, is far sweeter and softer.” “What a flatterer!” said she, patting his cheek. “But then, Kate,” said he, more gravely, “have these fascinations cost nothing? Is your heart as simple? Are your affections as pure? Ah! you sigh--and what a heavy sigh, too! Poor, poor Kate!” And she laid her head upon his shoulder, while the heaving swell of her bosom told what sorrow the moment was costing her. “Nelly, then, told you of my betrothal?” whispered she, in a weak, faint voice. “No; I knew nothing of that. She told me all about the life you were leading; the great people with whom you were intimate; and bit by bit, a hint, some little allusion, would creep out as to the state of your heart. Perhaps she never meant it, or did not know it; but I remarked, in reading her letters over and over,--they were the solace of many a weary hour,--that one name recurred so often in connection with yours, you must have frequently referred to him yourself, for in each extract from your letters I saw the name.” “This was strange. It must have been through inadvertence,” said she, musingly. “I thought I had scarcely spoken of him.” “See how your hand told truth, even against your consciousness,” said he, smiling. Kate made no reply, but sat deep in thought. “And is he here? When shall I see him?” asked Frank, impatiently. “No, Frank. He is in Italy; he was detained there by business of importance. Besides, it is not etiquette that we should travel together. When the Emperor's permission has been obtained--” “What Emperor?” asked Frank, in astonishment. “Our Emperor----the Czar.” “What have you, an English girl born, to do with the Czar?” “The Prince, my future husband, is his subject.” “Why, there is no end to this mystification,” cried the boy, impatiently. “How can an English soldier be a Russian Prince?” “I don't understand you, Frank. Prince Midchekoff is a Russian by birth.” “So that you are married to a Russian,” said he, in a voice of deep emotion, “and all this time I have been fancying my brother-in-law an Englishman. I thought it was this same George----George Onslow.”