“Yes, if Heaven blessed us with children of opposite sex, we made a solemn compact, to betroth them, that in due time they might wed each other.” Flora became paler than marble, and a dizziness seemed to take possession of her so that she could scarcely preserve her equilibrium. Her father did not observe her, but went on, with the same thoughtful manner as before. “Heaven denied him family,” he continued. Flora breathed again. “But I was more blessed--” he proceeded, “you were born. Almost immediately afterwards the wife of Montague Vane breathed her last. Her death was sudden, and the shock to my friend appeared to be irrecoverable. Our compact would thus have fallen through, but that he urged and entreated me to permit him to nominate the son of his elder brother, Lord Colborne, instead of the child he had hoped would have handed down his name. I assented, and each solemnly vowed to visit with our lasting displeasure and irreconcilable hostility, either of the children attempting to frustrate our compact by wilful and obstinate disobedience.” “Cruel! cruel!” muttered Flora, overwhelmed with agony, at what had just been communicated to her. Still, her father had not turned his eyes upon her to observe the effect this startling intelligence would naturally have, but continued addressing her. “It is a singular coincidence,” he said, “that young Grahame--whose father, by the way, has written to propose for your hand for his son--ho! ho! I have declined that honour--I say it is singular that young Grahame should, by accident, introduce to me and to you the son of Lord Colborne, who, as you may surmise, is that young Vane to whom, in your infancy, I contracted you. Yet more singular, for these events generally turn out the reverse of what is intended or desired, Mr. Vane declares himself most strongly and passionately attached to you, and that it will be to him the proudest and happiest event that has happened or can happen in his life, when you bestow your hand upon him. We talked the matter over for some length of time last night, after you had retired. I have no reason to doubt the ardour of his affection for you, or that he will make it the study of his future life to render your happiness perfect and complete. He will be a lord some day, you know, and thus the humble daughter of the poor old gilder will be ‘a lady and ride her Barbary courser yet.’”