greedily. "Oh, Joanna! mamma won't be angry."

Oh, Conny! you traitor!

"There, it will be a treat to Conny, and there is nothing to prevent it. Conny has let the cat out of the bag, as Tom would say. Conny consents, Joanna may sulk as she pleases."

"I won't sulk, Mrs. Maxwell; I'll go off by myself, and leave you Constantia, since she wishes it."

"To hear of such a thing! You girls won't allow it. It is very shabby, Susan, Lilias, Miss Musgrave, that Joanna should not have a little amusement with the rest."

"I'm sure we won't prevent it, Mrs. Maxwell, we don't stand in the way," said Lilias stiffly; "Joanna is free to remain or return as she chooses. Joanna, you had better stay, or there will be a scene, and the whole house will hear of it."

"Keep her, Mrs. Maxwell, please," cried Miss Polly mischievously; "my cousin Joan is so scarce of her countenance, that I want to know how she can behave in company."

"Very well, I assure you," avouched Mrs. Maxwell zealously; then she began to remember, and start, and flounder—"only she is so modest. Joanna, my dear, you cannot be so stupid as to hesitate from a certain reason?"

"Oh, no. You can send back Sandy, Mrs. Maxwell, since you are so good. Mamma knows what we will require; or I will write a little note."

Joanna could have borne any encounter rather than a discussion of the obstacle with Mrs. Maxwell—a discussion which might be gone over again any day to anybody.

But Joanna was terribly vexed and provoked that she had exposed herself to this infliction, though she was fain to comfort herself with the argument that it would make no difference to papa's feelings; and she trusted that she and Conny would slip into the drawing-room when the guests were occupied, and subside into corners, and escape attention.

Joanna was established in her recess, nearly confident that she was not conspicuous, and considerably interested in watching Harry Jardine.

Mrs. Jardine's intentions had been in a great measure fulfilled. The young Laird of Whitethorn had grown up at his English school and German university without the cloud which rested on his father's end descending on his spirit. He was as strong and pleasant and blithe as his father, with the self-possession which a life amongst strangers, and the available wallet of a traveller's information, could graft upon his gentle birth and early manhood. At the same time, there was no deception about Harry Jardine. While he was gay and good-humoured, he had an air of vigour and action, and even a dash of temper lurking about his black curls and bright eyes, which prepared one for hearing that he had not only hobnobbed with the Göttingen students, but had also won their prizes, and thrashed them when they aspired to English sports; and had travelled four nights without sleep, under stress of weather, to reach Whitethorn on the day he had fixed to his mother. He had brought a steady character along with him, too; they said that he had been a good son, and had remembered that his mother was a widow, and had endured enough grief to last her all her days. Mrs. Jardine, who was not a flatterer, declared that Harry had not cost her a care which she needed to grudge. There is enough temptation, and to spare, for men like Harry Jardine, but it is not in such that early self-indulgence and lamentable weakness may be feared.

Harry Jardine was the style of man fitted to command the admiration of Joanna Crawfurd. Contemplative girls love men of experience. Staid girls love men with a dash—a dash of bravery, self-reliance, or even of recklessness. Harry Jardine's gladness to be at home; his interest in everything and everybody; the pleasant tone in which he referred to his mother; the genuine fun of which he gave a glimpse; the ring of his laugh, were all set store upon by Joanna with a sober satisfaction.

Harry had not been so agreeable, or felt the world so pleasant, two hours before. It was impossible to escape memories or to hide wincing; but he had said to himself that these associations ought to have been worn threadbare by familiarity, or to have been approached gradually, and he could not conquer his awkwardness or crush his susceptibility. But youth is pliable and versatile, and Harry Jardine was determined to evince no dislike, and make no marked distinction. Very soon the Miss Crawfurds and their cousin blended with the other young ladies in his view,—nay, he discovered that he had come across a cousin of theirs settled abroad, and was qualified to afford them information of his prospects and pursuits handsomely.

So far Joanna's penalty had been moderate, until, towards the close of the evening, when most of the young people had gone into the library to get some refreshments, she found herself left in her corner almost alone, with Mr. Jardine talking to Mrs. Maxwell within a few yards of her. This was the occurrence which Joanna had dreaded. "By the pricking of her thumbs" she was aware of a wicked destiny approaching her. Mr. Jardine in his conversation glanced towards her, then looked away, and beat his foot on the carpet, and a twitch passed over the muscles of his face, and his smile, though he still affected a smile, had lost all its glow. Joanna dared not look any longer. Mrs. Maxwell was certainly speaking of her. Perhaps in her rash inconsiderate way she had volunteered information.

Perhaps Harry Jardine had himself made inquiry—the pale girl who kept in the background, with the little scar—was it—on her temple? Joanna quivered under the process, and the witness beneath the light brown hair throbbed painfully. She was glad when Mr. Jardine walked away quickly; but the next moment he came back and turned directly towards her.

"I have been introduced to your sisters, Miss Crawfurd, and you must excuse further ceremony from me. Will you allow me to take you into the next room and get a glass of wine or a biscuit for you? You should not try fasting at an evening party. Mrs. Maxwell would call it a very bad example."

He spoke fast, with a laugh, and crimsoned all over. She knew perfectly well what he was about. He was determined to perform all that could possibly be required of him. He would put down invidious comments, disarm gossip, in short cut off the gorgon's head at the first struggle. They might term it unnatural, overdone, but at least it would not be to do again; and Harry Jardine's was the temper, that, if you presented an obstacle to it, it itched the more to grapple with the obstacle on the spot.

Precisely for the reason that she could not ride away from the party, after Mrs. Maxwell assailed her with a motive for her conduct, Joanna could not repel his overture. It was incredibly trying to her. He saw how differently she was affected from her sisters. He was aware of another influence. He felt very uncomfortable. Why, the very flesh of his arm, which she touched lightly enough, crept, when the superstition of the old ordeal of the bier flashed upon him, as he caught, with a furtive glance, the tiny brand prickling and burning to fiery incandescence above the waxen face. Was it a splash of his father's blood impressed there, till the "solid flesh" would verily "melt"? Was it his neighbourhood which brought out the ruddy spot, that, like the scarlet streaks down Lady Macbeth's little hands, would not wash off? Absurd folly! But he wished he had done with it. He wished old ladies would confine themselves to their own concerns. He hoped fainting was not heard of among the girls of the moors—that would be a talk! He supposed he must say something commonplace and civil; he must task his brains for that purpose. He coined a remark, and Joanna answered him quietly and with simplicity. She must have