out and among them Captain Vernon, when, sad to relate, his name was
one of the first of our brave soldiers on the death-roll at
Petropaulovski; we met with a repulse and he fell. His sweet young
bride did not long survive him, dying of a bitter loneliness called
heartache, leaving a lovely infant, the child Vaura.


TABLEAUX VIVANTS.

No. 2.

Fourteen years later, bringing us by the hand of time into 1868. Same
scene--Haughton Hall, morning--and ah! What a dream of beauty, a
child, woman now. In the sweet, somewhat sad pleading of her
expression, one catches a glimpse of the tender, loving woman of later
years, and so her companion, to whose arm she clings, sees her,
judging from the half wondering, wholly loving sympathy in his eyes.
Her movements are rapid, graceful and lithe as a young gazelle; she
has evidently expected a loved guest who has disappointed her. For now
her eyes are suffused with tears; she looses his arm and clasps her
hands appealingly as she points to an open letter on a table. A vacant
chair, slippers, and a _petit_ dinner untasted. He consults his watch,
strokes caressingly the bright brown hair reaching to her knees, and
fluffy as the coat of a water spaniel. Now taking her hand in adieu,
bends his noble head, and with a smile sweet as a woman's, would kiss
her, but she is no child this morning and he draws back with a look
half wonder in his eyes. The sweet girl too, after turning her flower
face upwards, droops the large luminous brown eyes and with a pretty
blush takes instead his right hand between her own and presses her
rose-mouth to it in a farewell greeting.