have seemed to her pert. "I am told he is clever," resumed Harley.

"Oh, certainly."

"And he is rather handsome. But I like Leonard's face better."

"Better--that is not the word. Leonard's face is as that of one who has
gazed so often upon Heaven; and Mr. Leslie's--there is neither sunlight
nor starlight reflected there."

"My dear Violante?" exclaimed Harley, overjoyed; and he pressed her hand.

The blood rushed over the girl's cheek and brow; her hand trembled in
his. But Harley's familiar exclamation might have come from a father's
lips.

At this moment Helen softly approached them, and looking timidly into her
guardian's face, said, "Leonard's mother is with him: he asks me to call
and see her. May I?"

"May you! A pretty notion the signorina must form of your enslaved state
of pupilage, when she hears you ask that question. Of course you may."

"Will you come with us?"

Harley looked embarrassed. He thought of the widow's agitation at his
name; of that desire to shun him, which Leonard had confessed, and of
which he thought he divined the cause. And so divining, he too shrank
from such a meeting.