the fact that D'Auvergne once had the chief share in Madeleine's affection. D'Auvergne, on his side, did not allow it to be betrayed by his own demeanour in the other's presence that Miss Leyne had at any time been to him more than a friend, or, at least, more than one who might have been much more than an every-day friend, if matters had been permitted by both those concerned to proceed somewhat farther. Oranmore, when Harold was by, actually induced Noel to visit once more the Leynes, for he asked him —it was a clever ruse on his part, for he evidently had some object of his own in view-as if he entertained no idea of there being any obstacle which prevented Noel's visiting them; and D'Auvergne, Harold remaining silent, consented, and went out to St. Mary's that afternoon, and spent the evening there, as he used to do under very different circumstances; resuming thus his acquaintance with Madeleine and Mary and Mrs. Leyne; and the three women were delighted that he should do so-none more so than Madeleine herself, who was strong enough in her regained love for Oranmore to receive her former betrothed complaisantly, and to speak to him as to a kind and valuable friend, who once in his life had saved her life. All love, all possibility of love, between them they both felt confident was annihilated-they both understood that fact; and by their demeanour towards one another showed each other that they did understand it clearly; and that understanding it they could speak to each other, and laugh, and make merry, as might any other ordinary acquaintances who meet for pastime and hospitality, and part unconcernedly when it is over, not troubled in the least if they were never to meet again. But it would not be right to say that Mary entertained towards him sentiments so cold as these, when she, with incredulous astonishment, beheld him coming in the old, gentlemanly way into the room, where she sat plying industriously that flashing little needle of hers, which mended or made so many things. It would be hard to depict the tumult of emotion which thrilled her bosom and sent a whole host of tell-tale tears into her hazel eyes. There he was back again face to face, holding her hand for an instant in his own, and speaking to her as he used in the familiar gentle voice, only in a manner more reserved, less unrestrained, less like himself, for much had come to alter him since he was here before. He saw those tears in her eyes, and they so touched his heart, that a dimness spread over his own vision and passed away. He knew then that she was downright glad to see him, that she seemed to become enthusiastic in his presence, as if it was such joy to have his friendship uninterrupted again. He thought her unchanged and Madeleine greatly changed, almost unlike herself; not as he would desire her to become, so soon older in appearance, in conversation more worldly wise, in manner not quite the ideal she had been to him: all which, while he regarded her, somehow it displeased and pained him to see. At first it had occurred to him that Mary was unchanged; the contrast with her altered sister helped him to that belief; but the longer he was sitting there talking to her, the more he felt now that she too was greatly changed, and yet, though it may seem strange to say so, not changed, but the very Mary Leyne to whom he said once he was almost her brother. She was the same simple-mannered, single-hearted Mary; but in her face he noticed a more peaceful, more serious, more joyous, more earnest, more settled, more childlike look, as of one who had seen much, had felt much, had suffered much, and still, after her experience, had the belief in her most securely-established—that to be like a little child is the safest disposition of all— heart and soul, wholly for ever and ever a docile little child looking humbly up at the great Father, and not born of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God! "It is very good of you to come here again," she observed to Noel, when he was going, after tea. "I will never forget this act of yours: I will never forget it to you." "We are all friends still!" he said. "I know well we are,-friends more than ever," she replied. "You have many claims upon our regard; but your coming here to-day will never be forgotten by me. No, never, never!" She pressed his hand warmly, as if she was his sister, feeling admiration for a brother who was acting nobly and forgivingly. It was as such she regarded him, and as such alone; she saw that he had come to them once more for no other reason than to show how he bore no ill-will, and wished not to lose their society all his life, because of one unfortunate occurrence, which was past and gone, and the happening of which who can say was not for the best. As Mary ascended the stairs that night to bed, it was with her head thrown back, and flashing eyes, and elated bosom, and agile footstep; for she had become stronger than ever in the glorious dignity of her spotless womanhood from the sight again, and the restored society, of Noel d'Auvergne, who was her ideal of a true gentleman-and that word means a great deal. CHAPTER XII. A DEED OF DARKNESS. "I thank you that the heart I cast away On such as you, though broken, bruised, and crush'd, Now that its fiery throbbing is all hush'd, Upon a worthier altar I can lay. "I thank you for the lesson that such love "I thank you for a terrible awaking, And if reproach seem'd hidden in my pain, ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTOR. FAR and wide the tidings flew abroad of the approaching marriage of Miss Leyne; it was an understood thing amongst her numerous acquaintances that the interesting ceremony would take place some time during the next spring. She was not as happy as she would have been were her future husband Noel d'Auvergne instead of the Honourable O'Malley Oranmore. At the same time she was not |