so could not be disappointed."

"Do not overlook me," said Bradshawe. "Poetry is the expression of
natural feeling, in a state of exaltation. Now, I am always in an
exalted state of feeling in your company, and may be just now a very
capable judge."

"No; one failure is enough for me," said Lady Mabel. "I am not in the
humor to repeat it."

"Let me read it then," said Bradshawe, offering to take the paper from
her hand.

Lady Mabel declined, and L'Isle tried to divert his attention. But
Bradshawe's curiosity was strongly excited, and he made more than one
playful attempt to get possession of the verses. Upon this, Lady Mabel
went to the table near which L'Isle was standing, and pretended to
hide them between the pages of one of the books there. L'Isle, anxious
that they should be kept from every eye but hers, watched her
closely. Could he believe his eyes? As she stooped over the table, she
actually, unobserved, as she thought, slipped the verses into her
bosom. Bradshawe pertinaciously began to search the volumes; on which,
Lady Mabel took up the largest of them, and with a grave face carried
it out of the room, leaving L'Isle so well satisfied with her care for
his epistle, that, by the time she came back, he was ready to bear,
without flinching, any severity of criticism.

The rest of the company below being gone, Lord Strathern now entered
the room. "Ah, L'Isle, I am glad to find you here; I was just about to
send after you. I have this moment received a dispatch from Sir