No wild rose blooming in solitude, or bluebell peering from an old wall, ever equalled in loveliness this flower of the forest. The hue of her cheek would excel the most delicate tint of the former, even when its bud is just opening to the breath of summer, and the clear azure of her eyes would cause the latter to appear dull as a dusky hyacinth. Also, the silken tresses of her hazel hair straying in light ringlets down a neck and forehead of snow seemed more elegant than the young tendrils of a vine. Her dress was almost Quaker-like in its simplicity. Pure white or vernal green were the colours she constantly wore, without any jewels save one row of pearls round her neck. She never stirred beyond the precincts of the wooded and pleasant green lane which skirted a long cornfield near the house. There on warm summer evenings she would ramble and linger listening to the woodlark’s song, and occasionally join her own more harmonious voice to its delightful warblings. When the gloomy days and nights of autumn and winter did not permit these walks she amused herself with drawing (for which she had an exact taste), playing on the harp, reading the best English, French, and Italian works (all which languages she understood) in her father’s extensive library, and sometimes a little light needlework. Thus in a state of almost perfect seclusion (for seldom had she even Sir Alured’s company, as he generally resided in London) she was quite happy, and reflected with innocent wonder on those who could find pleasure in the noisy delights of what is called ‘fashionable society.’ One day, as Lady Strathelleraye was walking in the wood she met Marina, and on learning who she was, being charmed with her beauty and sweet manners, invited her to go on the morrow to the castle. She did so, and there met the Marquis of Tagus. _He_ was even more surprised and pleased with her than the duchess, and when she was gone he asked his mother many questions about her, all of which she answered to his satisfaction. For some time afterwards he appeared listless and abstracted. The reader will readily perceive that he had, to use a cant phrase, ‘fallen in love.’ Lord Cornelius, his brother, warned him of the folly of doing so; but instead of listening to his sage admonitions he first strove to laugh, and then frowning at him commanded silence. In a few days he paid a visit to Oakwood House (Sir Alured’s mansion), and after that became more gloomy than before. His father observed this, and one day as they were sitting alone remarked it to Albion, adding that he was fully acquainted with the reason. Albion reddened but made no answer. ‘I am not, my son,’ continued the duke, ‘opposed to your wishes, though certainly there is a considerable difference of rank between yourself and Marina Angus, but that difference is compensated by the many admirable qualities she possesses.’