bear her once fancied lover. True, she did not herself come much forward, and the Count was too much occupied in making himself generally agreeable, to render her in any special way the mark for his dreaded attention; but that Mr. Fielden treated him with consideration as a pleasant, reputable acquaintance, and even Gwendoline entered carelessly into his agreeable conversation, went a great way probably to disarm her instinctive aversion. ment; whereupon the Count shrugged his shoulders regretfully, smiled again his unpleasantly courteous smile, and on leaving the house with the clergyman, remarked to him that his elder young lady guest was a handsome lioness, but that his friend Fielden must really assist him with "la piccola," whom he should much like to take back to Malta with him. Then, as they walked together up the lonely valley, past that peace-hallowed little church, with which those two men, the stranger-foreigner and worldstained English clergyman, seemed to have equally little in common, the Count threw out a bait to his companion in the shape of a more lucrative as well as suitable ap which the foreigner's interest would be sufficient to obtain for him, holding out much higher inducement to his friend's refined tastes and capabilities than this little homely English village; and the clergyman, clever and worldly-wise as he deemed himself, swallowed it all greedily, and returning home, much excited by this suggestion, and freely imparting it to the ladies, was almost angry with Gwendoline, as well as his wife, for not being equally sanguine and elated. It might have seemed, indeed, that she was attracted rather than the contrary, as, safely sheltered between her two trusted friends, her eyes fixed themselves-it was difficult to say whether with pain or pleasure-upon the sallow, dark-pointment, in his own country-one haired visitor. He talked of Malta, touched upon its society and politics, on his own position and interests there, with an ease and assurance against which, even Gwendoline Lawson's former incredulity was scarcely proof. And yet, when on rising to take leave, glancing slightly, yet not unsignificantly, at Bona, who smiled, in a kind of nervous, tremulous manner, in response, he addressed Gwendoline, and with his courteous foreign bow, and in his broken accent, in which a half slightly ironical tone might have been detected, expressed the hope, that, whereas his present visit had been on his friend Fielden's invitation, and paid to his good lady, his next might be allowed to be to herself and amiable cugine, as he was pleased to call her, la Signorina Bona, Gwendoline, with haughty coldness replied, that she was sorry to decline his polite offer, but that her friend and herself received, on their own account, no visitors, their great object in coming to Seacombe-and here she glanced significantly at Mr. Fielden - having been unbroken retire Bona alone entered fully into the new-blown scheme, and was nearly as indignant as himself with the others, for throwing cold water on it, almost resenting Gwendoline's somewhat plainly implied disapproval of their host's encouragement of the foreign Count at all, more especially his inviting him to Seacombe; giving it, in short, as her opinion, that, for a clergyman, such an association was any thing but edifying or convenient. Yes, even in Gwendoline, it seemed to Bona well nigh presumption to question the wisdom or propriety of the judgment or actions bility of inheriting a large fortune, from which an uncle's second marriage had finally deprived him. of one whom she so blindly honored | learned from himself—to the proba and admired; and thus the first serious difference took place between the friends on retiring to their rooms that night. To Gwendoline it was a new experience, this swerving of her clinging, loving Bona, from entire trust in, and concord with her in every thought and feeling, and it brought a pang to her heart which such first experiences, to the least jealous and exacting spirits, often bring. She was scarcely alarmed for Bona, for she believed her admiration for and confidence in Mr. Fielden to be of the most ingenuous and almost childlike nature; yet there is always something dangerous in an influence of any sort, unless the person who exercises it is to be fully relied on, and Mr. Fielden was certainly not the model being whom Gwendoline could readily admit, to share her own safe power over her friend. When the first heat, therefore, of the little womanly difference had subsided, with calmness and moderation she revealed to Bona Mrs. Fielden's confidences respecting her husband's past career-confidences which she had magnanimously kept from her friend hitherto, both out of consideration for Mr. Fielden himself, and from having no wish to interfere with Bona's innocent pleasure in their host's fancied superiority. But even now, if her purpose was disenchantment, it scarcely seemed productive of that effect. Bona, it is true, was grieved, and wept over the misfortunes of her new friend, but expended more pity than blame upon his peccadilloes. In her eyes he had only mistaken his vocation. His tastes, his talents, his whole turn of mind, were unsuited to the profession of a parish clergyman; he had been brought up with different expectations-she had In short, there are some human beings who, once having set up a hero of their imagination to admire or worship, it is vain for others to seek by imputation, or proof even of unworthiness to disenthrone him from their affection or esteem; and Bona being of this sort, felt her interest perhaps only the more excited, by finding this superior intellectual being not quite infallible. That this world's temptations and troubles had clogged and darkened his career, reverses and crosses been his portion, only made her the more admire the cheerful, vigorous spirit, which had stood proof against all trials-with such a low, dispirited, depressing person, too, as poor Mrs. Fielden, ever by his side. If he had married one like Gwendoline, or even we fear some wicked spirit whispered-one like hersef, capable of more cheerful devotion than the much-tried wife ever could have possessed, it might have been different with him now. Thus, though she had learnt how, by a course most contrary to his sacred profession, the clergyman with whom they sojourned, had ruined his fortune and his credit, and destroyed the happiness of his wife, she could scarcely have turned a deafer ear to the story, had one come and told her that Gwendoline's secret history had been such as rendered her unworthy of her confiding love; she only lay awake half the night, calculating how far her present means could be made available in his service; especially the high-sounding overture of the foreigner, as something tangible, elaborating itself in promising shape before her mind's eye. Yes, they would all go-all go to Malta together, and by their united means establish Mr. Fielden in that lucrative chaplaincy held out to him. Gwendoline and herself, perhaps, would stay and live there too, far away from all the trouble and annoyance which, though she knew not its exact nature, she was aware often clouded the happiness of her still most dearly-loved friend. Bona, it is true, suspected not as yet the price at which Mr. Fielden's advancement had been proffered to him, or even her enthusiastic devotion might have been damped that night; yet, as in her sleep, the sound of waves in her ears identi | fied themselves with those breaking against the vessel's side, in her passage to the Eldorado, with which her waking thoughts had been filled, a vision of Count Paoli standing over her made her start up in sore affright; and again when slumber visited her at dawn, a real nightmare, under the semblance of Tina Ramus, curled up upon her bed, made her call out so loud for Gwendoline, who slept in the adjoining room, to "help her," that her everwatchful friend was quickly at her side, to soothe, reassure and laugh away her childish fears. CHAPTER XIII. GWENDOLINE'S SCHOOL-DAYS. cised by her, conscientiously for good. For influence is a fearful gift, none more calculated if unrightly used, to drag the possessor down, even to the nethermost hell; for this truth have we not Scripture for our authority to enforce ? THE Count Paoli and his brilliant | intentions can go, was ever exerovertures were not again, during the following week, brought openly forward. Mr. Fielden, after the rebuff he had received, if he thought on them at all, pondered them more silently. As for poor Mrs. Fielden things had gone on so smoothly and safely, comparatively speaking, since they came to Seacombe Glade, that any proposal of a change, even though it had come under much more sure and substantial auspices than from the dubious stranger, would have been distrusted by her. From the idea of any thing, too, that would deprive her of Gwendoline, she shrank with instinctive repugnance. It was wonderful the power Gwendoline possessed of rendering herself necessary to those with whom she was intimately thrown for any time. There was a sense of protection in her very atmosphere, and well was it for her that that influence, as far as human Even the apparently hard-hearted Mrs. Mallory, as we have seen, bowed to this subtle sway, for, to do her justice, they were not entirely mercenary motives, which made her cling, at any cost, to her lucrative parlor boarder's continuance under her roof. The whole school had been thunderstruck at seeing the superintendent's eyes swollen with weeping during the day of her departure; and she had been since heard to affirm that the loss of Gwendoline Lawson seemed the signal of a series of crosses and annoyances in her establishment, the greatest of which was the discovery of a pupil's misconduct, one Tina Ramus, which rather seriously endangered the reputation of her hitherto immaculate seminary. Mrs. Fielden was dismayed when Gwendoline confided to her one day, about two months from their first arrival at Seacombe, that she foresaw the speedy necessity of repairing to London on businessthat her coming of age in October rendered her presence there indispensable. She had not told Bona yet, not wishing to disturb her friend's happiness and quiet. But as there was an anxious cloud on Gwendoline's brow, a preoccupation of mind which could not escape Bona's. perception, desirous Gwendoline was to keep separate and unobtrusive her own individual cares and sorrows; and this perception on Bona's part came, seasonably perhaps, to divert her less safe and legitimate interest and enthusiasm in her other friend's behalf, excited in an especial manner just about this time. Letters written to and received from her lawyer uncle, seemed to be more than ever fraught with the pain and annoyance, which communication of any kind with Mr. Lawson ever appeared to bring to Gwendoline. Bona knew not the mystery of that power to distress and annoy her that these possessed. That there was a secret she was just aware; but with the confiding, child-like, almost reverential nature of her love for Gwendoline, she had never cared to seek or to exact full, unreserved confidence, but respected this one secret of her friend's life, if there were any which Gwendoline thought it good to hold back from her; though considering that from Gwendoline's sixteenth year, when their friendship had begun, so very rarely had the friends lost sight of one another, it was difficult to believe that any thing of great mag nitude could have intervened, and stranger still that— "All the counsel that they two had All school-day friendship," had not elicited any secret of importance that might exist. There had been, indeed, a crisis. Bona well remembered, at the close of her friend's same sixteenth year, when when Gwendoline, leaving the school at Brompton one early morning, a buoyant, high-spirited, careless-hearted girl, intent only on the prospect of spending a long day with her uncle Lawson and his son, her only drawback to the enjoyment being that she might not be accompanied by her then, comparatively speaking, newly-made little school friend, returned early in the same afternoon unexpectedly, pale, stern, silent for many days; and though her natural vivacity gradually rallied, the lofty, self-contained, influential woman, henceforth she ever remained, her force and dignity of character developing itself more and more, the unselfish cheerfulness of her temper making constant music for others, though beneath it an undertone of melancholy might occasionally be discerned. And it was from this crisis especially that her friendship for Bona assumed a deeper and stronger character, whilst Bona's reverential admiration increased tenfold. From this time, too, Gwendoline's familiar intercourse with the Law-. sons seemed suddenly to cease. Before that Bona had even once or twice accompanied her friend to her uncle's mansion in the neighborhood of Lincoln's Inn, a cheerless dingy enough habitation, but rendered more pleasurable to the young people than a more fashionable or modern abode would have been, by the court-like garden it possessed, and in which many joyous hours had been spent by the girls; their companion ever the pale dark-faced youth of Gwendoline's own age, with the tall slender figure, and somewhat stooping gait, his cousin's devoted slave, treated by Gwendoline in those days with girlish freedom, a mixture of alternating condescending kindness and command. There was a maiden sister too of Mr. Lawson's the first years, who kept house for her brother, but who had since rather suddenly died. Mr. Lawson himself seldom was at home till evening, but he always seemed pleased at his niece being here, treating her even then, with a kind of cringing, flattering deference, which vaguely impressed Bona at the time. But from the day we have particularized, Gwendoline seemed to hate even the mention of young Jaspar's name, or any allusion to their companionship, never referring to him herself but with chilling scorn, whilst any communication henceforth with the father seemed to be carried on, but in the most business-like manner; and in her occasional absences from the school, Bona knew she never again resided under his roof, but with friends, perfectly unconnected with her. Till her eighteenth birthday she continued, according to her desire, a pupil at Mrs. Mallory's, where the best masters were provided for her, and for the remaining two or three years, as we have seen, she had assumed the position of parlor boarder at the school. CHAPTER XIV. GWENDOLINE AND THE LAWYER. LATE one afternoon at last, Gwendoline who had been strolling into the village alone, to visit some poor people, was seen slowly returning towards the house, in the company of Mr. Lawson senior, who had come down apparently to hasten her movements, and escort her back to London. Bona saw them from the upper window, where she had been watching dreamily. The lawyer was talking earnestly, bending towards his companion in the subservient, almost cringing manner she remembered always to have seen him use towards her friend, whilst Gwendoline, though her head was raised loftily, looked pale and agitated. "I cannot leave her behind," she heard her say, angrily, "she must come with us." And the lawyer answered, submissively "Well, let the young lady herself decide, but I should advise, considering the arrival of her relations in town," etc. And then they entered the house. They came up at once together into the friends' sitting-room; not to seek Bona, it seemed, so much as for the despatch of private business; for after Mr. Lawson's first courteous greeting, he opened the black bag he carried in his hand, and took out papers, informing Bona, as he did so, that he had come to run away with her friend for a little time, and he hoped she would not |