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CHAPTER VIII.

"What say'st thou, wise-one? that all powerful love
Can fortune's strong impediments remove;

Nor is it strange that worth should wed to worth,
The pride of genius with the pride of birth."

CRABBE.

"I knew thy state, my station, and I knew
A princess was no love mate for a bard."

BYRON.

THERE was a children's fête at the end of the season, to which Lady Adelaide conducted her beautiful flock.

All now had returned to London in preparation for the country move near at hand. Aline, of course, was not included in the juvenile party.

She was in the drawing room, where, from

the pretty mignonne Ada of thirteen to the prized and petted heir and only son of four, the children were all collected previous to departure.

Aline had been caressed and petted by the young ones for being left at home, and having received a kind kiss from her step-mother, who advised her to stay and amuse herself in the drawing room, she watched from the window the handsome equipage drive off with its lovely freight.

Then she turned away with the sigh which, when left alone, even the most happy and careless so often heave, they know not why. But was Aline careless and happy? not careless it seemed, for care renders a person thoughtful, and she-who a few weeks ago, if left thus alone, with liberty to amuse herself as she pleased, would have been gay as the bird that flits from bush to bush, with but her own innocent imaginings to beguile the moments, or would have flown to seek the nursery where was one like herself

deterred on score of age from the amusement of the day, had sunk upon a seat in reverie profound, now a crimson blush, now a sigh, now a smile holding influence over her countenance. It was a reverie, broken at length by a start which seemed to change the spirit of her mood, for she became now, restless, if not as gay as the flitting bird, nay rather as one scared, frightened, flying from it knows not what.

She was on the stairs, the corridor, the gallery, and finally had stolen in to the music room, when, by her conscious, hasty look, as she stood one moment at the door, and cast a furtive glance around, one would have thought she had come to some forbidden spot.

Then gliding in as a bird that has at length found its haven of rest, she seated herself before the instrument, struck a few, low chords, which, with hands idly resting on the notes, her eyes fixed, she allowed to die away into silence.

Aline knew not herself, how long she had sat,

when the door opened so softly, that absorbed in meditation, she heard it not, nor the hushed footstep which followed-nothing, till her name was spoken softly-tenderly in her ear-and then she started up, the bright blood rushing in torrents over face and brow, whilst from her lips escaped the involuntary exclamation— Signor Angelo !"

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But turning round, she beheld Lord Mervyn.

The young man fixed upon her for a moment a cold, astonished glance, then said, as Aline stood ashamed and confused before him

"You are disappointed in your visitor."

"I expected," she answered, turning away her head, but assuming a collected tone, "I certainly expected Signor Angelo to give me my lesson this afternoon, and

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"And your singing master is allowed the privilege of addressing you by your christian name?"

"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed Aline, with fright

ened eagerness, crimsoning to her temples, 66 never, never, I assure you, but

She could not say, that at the very moment her name was pronounced, her foolish thoughts had been picturing how sweet it would be to hear that name pronounced by those lips of music, and marvelling whether she should ever have that delight afforded to her ears, or rather, alas! to her heart. And for one short moment, she had been deluded into the idea that her desire was accomplished.

"And you are sitting here awaiting his arrival, and practising your eyes on his image, instead of your voice and fingers with his song;" and Lord Mervyn turned his glance scornfully on the music resting on the desk, upon the first page of which was the printed portrait of the composer, Signor Angelo, on which Aline's eyes had been riveted.

"Lord Mervyn !" was all the culprit could answer, taking refuge in a tone of offended dignity.

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