less distrait and abstracted: no sooner did he see, than he approached
me, and extended his hand with great cordiality. His hand, thought I, and
I could not bring myself to accept it; I merely addressed him in the
common-place salutation. He looked hard and inquisitively at me, and
then turned abruptly away. Lady Roseville had risen from her chair--her
eyes followed him. He had thrown himself on a settee near the window. She
went up to him, and sate herself by his side. I turned--my face burnt--my
heart beat--I was now next to Ellen Glanville; she was looking down,
apparently employed with some engravings, but I thought her hand (that
small, delicate, Titania hand,) trembled.

There was a pause. Vincent was talking with the other occupiers of the
table; a woman, at such times, is always the first to speak. "We have not
seen you, Mr. Pelham," said Ellen, "since your return to town."

"I have been very ill," I answered, and I felt my voice falter. Ellen
looked up anxiously at my face; I could not brook those large, deep,
tender eyes, and it now became my turn to occupy myself with the prints.

"You do look pale," she said, in a low voice. I did not trust myself with
a further remark--dissimulator as I was to others, I was like a guilty
child before the woman I loved. There was another pause--at last Ellen
said, "How do you think my brother looks?"

I started; yes, he was her brother, and I was once more myself at that
thought. I answered so coldly and almost haughtily, that Ellen coloured,
and said, with some dignity, that she should join Lady Roseville. I bowed
slightly, and she withdrew to the countess. I seized my hat and departed-
-but not utterly alone--I had managed to secrete the book which Ellen's
hand had marked; through many a bitter day and sleepless night, that book