Paul's, and by the courtesy of a personage
whom he calls the " Abbot of Westminster,"
how he was scandalised by the Italian Opera,
and delighted by the Hunter Museum, it
would take up too much space to narrate.
The young Nawab obtained compensation
for the loss of his father-in-law's pensions and
dignities, and the party returned to India,
where Lutfullah, being now a widower,
married a second time. He lives with his family
at Surat, in a green old age, respected by
Europeans and natives, but not, unfortunately,
as rich in worldly goods as his many
excellent qualities and services would seem
to have deserved. His opinions about India,
and its condition, are certainly entitled to
respect. He was one of the first to point out
the cowardice, sloth, and pampered
arrogance of the high caste sepoy of Bengal.
The cruelty that lay hidden under that sleek
exterior he does not seem to have
suspected.

LYNDON HALL.

IN SEVEN CHAPTERS. CHAPTER THE FIFTH.

What had passed into Lyndon Hall? or
rather, what had passed from it? The very
birds seemed to sing more cheerily in that
hoary beech-row, and the Colonel himself forgot
his drill manners. Lucy's fascination
over him was more potent than ever, and
smoothed him to such pleasant serenity that
even Norah was included in the general
amnesty, and her chain lengthened by a couple
of links at the very least. The young men,
of course, proposed to leave; but the Colonel,
prompted by Lucy, would not accept their
dismissal, and insisted on their remaining
some weeks longer.

The walks and drives about Lyndon were
very lovely. Norah had always taken great
delight in them, in her little, quiet, silent
way; but she thought them more beautiful
than ever now. But the hedgerows looked
greener, the dew lay more brightly on the
glittering grass, the flowers were more numerous,
the birds sang more sweetly this year,
than on any preceding years: there was a
life, a freshness, a luxuriance she had never
noticed before: it was nature without her
mask of clouds. She did not know that the
change was in herself, not in outward things,
and that the light which lay so bright and
loving on the world, was the light of freedom,
not of heaven. Every one noticed the change
in Norah. The very servants discussed it in
their hall.

Norah and Edmund were frequent
companions. This was by Miss Lucy's
manœuvering. Having made up her mind that
that they were the two Halves of which the
Germans speak, she did her best to fit them
together. She hoped to accomplish her moral
masonry before Gregory's return: when it
would be too late to " hark back."

"This is pleasant, Lucy," said Norah,
suddenly. She and her friend were sitting on
the lawn; Edmund, half-lying at their feet,
reading aloud. Launce was away with the
Colonel, inspecting some improvements.

Lucy looked down at Edmund. She saw
his face flush, and his eyes grow large and
dark.

"Yes, very enjoyable," she answered.
"What do you say, Edmund?"

"I think enjoyable too cold a word," said
Edmund, raising his eyes to Norah.

"Take my advice," said Norah hastily.
"Do not despise coldness. Do not strain
after excess of expression or unbridled feeling.
There is nothing like self-command.
Mr. Thorold, believe me."

Lucy and Edmund exchanged looks; but
Edmund's was full of pain; in Lucy's was a
slight sneer, as she thought what a shameful
trick Fate had played them all, to throw Him
at the feet of one who had not strength or
power enough to love him: to waste all that
fire and energy in watering desert sand. Ah!
if that same fate had but given Gregory to
her—his love would have met a far different
return.

"My view of life, and of love, is sympathy,"
said Edmund, gently. "Sympathy certainly
cannot change our natures; it cannot make
the passionate cold, or the cold passionate;
it cannot bend the strong, or nerve the weak;
but it can modify. If our uncontrolled
impulses wound the one we love, it seems to me
the manifest duty of the man, who is the
stronger, to fashion himself, so far as he can,
into such form as his friend would have him
wear; and to check for her sake, all outward
expression of what he may not be able to
destroy within him. I understand no self-
assertion in the man who loves."

Norah did not answer. While Edmund
spoke, she looked at him earnestly and
sorrowfully, with something very like tears in
her eyes. But Norah's tears seldom passed
the boundary of her lids.

"Not many men are like you," at last she
said, with a gentle sigh.

"O! he is such a gentle, loving creature!"
said Lucy to her, when they were alone.
"Edmund always reminds me of that statue
of the youthful genius you are so fond of; and,
by the bye, he is not unlike, in feature; so
gentle, so kind, so considerate to others, so
full of rare right feeling." She bent her
eyes on the little creature earnestly.

"Yes, he is a very interesting boy," Norah
answered cordially. "I never knew one I
liked to be with so much, or who put me so
entirely at my ease, And that is no slight
praise from such a nervous person as I am!"
she added, half laughing.

Lucy reported her words to Edmund, and
cost him a night's rest thereby. It was not
only the fulfilment of his own love—for he
knew he loved her—that he sought, but her
deliverance from a man who held her by
force, and made her very life a burden to