Lottie scarcely knew how she got through that afternoon. Rollo presented himself for but a moment at the Signor’s, in great concern that he could not stay, and begging a hundred pardons with his eyes, which he could not put into words. Lady Caroline and Augusta had made an engagement for him from which he could not get free. “At the elm-tree!” he whispered in the only moment when he could approach Lottie. Her heart, which was beating still with the mingled anger, and wonder, and fright of her late encounter, sank within her. She could only look at him with a glance which was half appeal and half despair. And when he went away the day seemed to close in, the clouds to gather over the very window by which she was standing, and heaven and earth to fail her. Rollo’s place was taken by a spectator whose sympathy was more disinterested than that of Rollo, and his pity more tender; but what was that to Lottie, who wanted only the one man whom she loved, not any other? What a saving of trouble and pain there would be in this world if the sympathy of one did as well as that of another! There was poor Purcell turning over the music, gazing at her with timid eyes full of devotion, and longing to have the courage and the opportunity to offer her again that ’ome which poor Lottie so much wanted, which seemed opened to her nowhere else in the whole world. And on the other side stood Mr. Ashford without any such definite intention as Purcell, without any perception as yet of anything in himself but extreme “interest in,” and compassion for, this solitary creature, but roused to the depths of his heart by the sight of her, anxious to do anything that could give her consolation, and ready to stand by her against all the world. The Minor Canon had been passing when that scene took place in the hall of Captain Despard’s house with its open door. He had heard Polly’s loud voice, and he had seen Law rush out, putting on his hat, and flushed with unusual feeling. “I don’t mind what she says to me as long as she keeps off Lottie!” the young man had said; and careless as Law was, the tears had come to his eyes, and he had burst forth, “My poor Lottie! what is she to do?” Mr. Ashford’s heart had been wrung by this outcry. What could he do?--he was helpless--an unmarried man; of what use could he ever be to a beautiful, friendless girl? He felt how impotent he was with an impatience and distress which did not lessen that certainty. He could do nothing for her, and yet he could not be content to do nothing. This was why he came to the Signor’s, sitting down behind backs beside Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, who distracted him by much pantomimic distress, shaking her head and lifting up her hands and eyes, and would fain have whispered to him all the time of Lottie’s singing had not the Signor sternly interfered. (“Sure these musical folks they’re as big tyrants as the Rooshians themselves,” Mrs. O’Shaughnessy said indignantly.) This was all the