"Any friend of yours I shall be happy to tinued Lynedon, politely, and still turning to see," began Philip, in the usual conventional his silent host. But in numberless ways, too, form." "Nonsense!" interrupted the old man, "I thought I had cured you of that fashion of polite speaking. Besides, friends are about as plentiful as blackberries in London-I may say that with great truth, you know. This gentleman is only an acquaintance of mine, who wishes to become one of yours." "And a little more than that, I hope, in time," continued a voice behind. It was so sweetly modulated-so perfectly the tone and accent of that rare personage, a gentleman that Philip looked eagerly to the speaker, who added, "Shall I introduce myself, Mr. Wychnor, as my friend here seems rather to disown me ?" And that beautiful, irresistible smile broke over his face, making one forget that it was not strictly handsome. My name is Lynedon-Paul Lynedon." Philip had guessed it before, yet he could not suppress a start. Once again there came that torturing pain; the blood seemed ice-bound in his heart, and then flowed back again in fire. He must be calm; he was so. The next moment he forced himself to utter acknowledgment and welcome to the man whom Eleanor loved. I have heard so much of you-from Mr. Pennythorne, and in several other quarters." Philip changed color. He need not have done so, had he known how often truth is extended a little for the sake of compliment, and was so especially by Paul Lynedon. Wychnor began to talk hastily about the Pennythornes. แ I believe I was invited to meet you there, Mr. Lynedon, only for the trouble that intervened." "Ah yes!-a son died, or daughter. What a melancholy event! Doubtless the family were much afflicted,' said Paul. But though his face was composed to a decent gravity, the tone was not quite sincere. Philip might have noticed it, save that at the moment his thoughts reverted tenderly to Leigh. "I knew they would kill that lad-the youngest, was it not? Poor fellow! I dare say you miss him, Wychnor?" observed old David. "I do indeed. He was a dear friend to me, though he was quite a boy!" "What a good-for-nothing wretch and idiot the father has been! I wish I had told him so,' cried Drysdale, indignantly. "Hush! you would forgive him if you saw him now," Philip gently interposed; and then he spoke more about poor Leigh, to which Drysdale listened compassionately, while Paul Lynedon sat twirling his cane, trying to assume the same interest. He did not do it so well as usual, though; for Wychnor detected his abstraction, and apologized. He could not wonder that she did so, now. He looked on the finely-molded form, where, to natural grace, was added all that ease of movement and courtly elegance which polished society bestows; the intellectual head, which had, besides character, a winning sweetness, given by its only perfect feature, a mouth and chin most exquisite in shape and expression. And then the voice, that index of the heart, how musical it was! Philip's eye and ear took in all this; and even while a sense of self-abasement made his heart die within, he felt glad thankful. "Except so far as all humanity is interesting She had not cast away her love upon one mean-and where will you find a subject like it?" and unworthy; her choice was not such as to lower her in his eyes-he could bear any thing but that! "I have been wishing for this pleasure some time, Mr. Wychnor," said Paul, with that mixture of frankness and courtesy which formed the great charm of his manner; "you seem any thing but unknown to me-not merely from your writings, which I will not be so rude as to discourse upon here-" Right, Mr. Lynedon," put in David Drysdale; it is very annoying, when a stranger follows up his introduction by taking your soul to pieces and setting it up before your eyes, until in most instances you despise it yourself, after it has been handled, whether lovingly or not, by the dirty paws of a fool. Glad to see you have more sense and tact than that, Mr. Paul." "Thank you!" answered Lynedon, with a pleasant smile and bow, as he turned round again to Philip. "After, this, I suppose I must say no more about the knowledge I have gained of you from your writings-which is, nevertheless, the true way of becoming acquainted with a man. In the world, we have so many various outward selves." "Humph! we oughtn't to have, though!" muttered Drysdale, still taking the answer out of Philip's mouth. He did not know how thankful the young man was for the interposition. 'Perhaps you are right, Mr. Drysdale," con "You knew nothing, I believe, of this poor lost friend of mine; so the conversation can not be very interesting to you." answered the other. Lynedon would not have been considered unfeeling on any account. Besides, he had taken much pains to collect traditionary evidence concerning the character of the young author, who was likely to be useful to him; and he was now exerting in every way his own favorite talent of being all things to all men." Paul often thought this was the wisest thing his saintly namesake ever said, and congratulated himself rather irreverently on the presumed resemblance between them. He failed here, however; since Wychnor was not inclined for a discussion on moral philosophy, but came to the point in his own candid way, by saying at once "I conclude the reason assigned by Mr. Pennythorne for our meeting at his house will further explain this obliging visit of yours, Mr. Lynedon; and as the matter is no secret, I believe, let me tell you with what pleasure I would have aided your views had I been able." "Aided his views! So you had some views, Mr. Paul? Why, you never told me any thing about them!" said Drysdale, with a degree of simplicity that made Lynedon internally wish him at that "central fire," which formed the old philosopher's present hobby, and of which he was perpetually talking. I thought you came here only to see the young author of whom you said you had heard so much ?" Certainly, that was my chief inducement. You only do me justice, my worthy friend." Mr. Wychnor," said Paul, holding out his hand. For the moment Philip drew back his own; but the act was unseen in the half-darkened room. With a violent effort he repressed the shudder that came over him, and suffered, rather than returned, the grasp of Lynedon; but it was with the self-compulsion of the martyr who thrust his right hand into the flames. When the door closed on his visitor, Philip sighed as "He knows nothing of the past. She has not told him. That was kind of her at least. Thank Heaven ! he does not, can not, know what we were to one another!" thought Wychnor to himself, almost forgetting the presence of Drysdale, who sat in the shadow. Philip bent his head, and his fingers played convulsively with the papers on his desk. "So you are really going to join that excel-though a mountain had been lifted from his breast. lent band of law-makers-that Parliament-mirror which is supposed to reflect the soul of the nation. Whether it does so, despite its cracks and its cobwebs, must remain an open question," said Drysdale, trying in vain to get an opportunity for one of his lengthy harangues. "And you mean to stand for that little town which has been a close borough these two centuries? I know -shire pretty well. Of course you have been there ?" "Once or so; not very often." And Paul looked rather confused, being struck with the remembrance of his former mortifying visit, and earnestly hoping that its fair object had never compromised him by publishing the foolish affair. The very idea brought a dye of shame to his cheek. Philip saw it; it seemed to his eyes the consciousness of happy love, and his very soul writhed within him. At length the latter roused himself from a brown study of some minutes' duration with"It's of no use. I can't make out that young man at all. Can you ?" ،، "I? What young man ?" asked Philip, startled out of his own silent thoughts. "Paul Lynedon, of course. I should like to anatomize him-that is, his soul. What a splendid psychological study it would make !" "Would it ?" said Philip, absently. "Yes, certainly! I have been trying the experiment myself for some days. Having nearly come to the end of the abstract sciences, I intend to begin the grand science of man, and my first subject shall be Paul Lynedon. What do you think of him?" Philip conquered a rising spasm, and said, firmly "There's the thing! As he looks-as he These strangely diverse feelings inclined both the young men to the same course. Each instinctively glided from the subject, and the name of Lor of its inhabitants was not once mentioned by either. They sought refuge in safe generalities; and the conversation became of a “ He seems an intellectual man, and is doubtbroken, indifferent, skirmishing description, nat-less as noble-hearted as he looks." ural to two men, each of whom is bent upon concealing his own thoughts and discovering seems! I have never yet been able to say as those of his companion. In this Paul Lynedon he is. He puzzles me, just like the old fable of succeeded best; he was a far greater adept the chameleon. View him at different times, and than Philip Wychnor. He talked well-at times he appears of different colors; and yet you can't brilliantly-but still even to the most earnest say he changes his skin-'tis the same animal, subjects he seemed to render only lip-service, after all. The change is but the effect of the and always appeared to consider more the effect lights through which he passes. To-night he of his words than the words themselves. He seemed quite different from the individual whom and David Drysdale almost engrossed the con- I had the honor of meeting yesterday at Mrs. versation; but once or twice, in some of his Lancaster's. Yet I don't believe Paul Lynedon finest sentences, Paul stopped unconsciously, is either a liar or a hypocrite; it could not be and wondered why the eyes of Philip Wychnor so, with his head." And David, who was a were so earnestly fixed upon him. He did not phrenologist as well as a physiognomist, inlike their scrutiny. dulged his young friend with a long discourse, which had for its subject the skull and features of Lynedon. After a space, Mr. Lynedon, growing rather wearied, remembered that all this while his cab was waiting in the street, and that he had an engagement at the Regent's Park; which was the first place he happened to think of. As the chance word passed his careless lips, those of Philip Wychnor quivered and grew pale; but they uttered the parting salutation still. "The question lies here," continued Drysdale, energetically, "Is he a true man or is he not ? I can't say which, at present; only I think this, that he might have been made the first. Some people go swinging unsteadily through life with a sort of pendulum character, and yet they are Paul Lynedon's adieu was full of the most composed of tolerably sound metal after all, if friendly courtesy. He thanked his new ac- you can but get hold of them. Nobody, I think, quaintance warmly for all his kindness "the has ever taken this firm grasp of Paul Lynedon; kindness which he intended to show," as Drys- I mean, no one has ever had influence enough dale commented rather pointedly-and said, over him to cause him to be what he now only how glad and proud he should be to number tries to seem," added the philosopher, condeamong his friends Mr. Philip Wychnor. Per- scending to lucid explanation—a rare thing with haps he felt the greater part of what he express-old David. ed; for no one ever looked on the calm, thought- Philip listened with an eagerness so intense ful face of the young author without a feelling of interest and regard. "You will be sure to come and see me soon, that it became positive suffering. He did not believe all Drysdale said he would not believe it. The Paul Lvnedon of the world was nothing to him: the Paul Lynedon whom Eleanor had Ir will perhaps throw some light on the pecuchosen-whom Eleanor would marry-he com- liarities of Lynedon's character, when we relate pelled himself to think these very words-was that he did actually drive to the Regent's Park the most vital interest he had in life. To doubt to fulfill his long-standing and important enof this man's worthiness gave him an acute gagement with the trees. Whether this was pang. He would satisfy himself: steeling his heart to all lower feelings, he would not shrink from Lynedon, but seek to know him thoroughly. "You do not answer. Do you agree with me?" asked Drysdale, when, having talked himself fairly out of breath, he leaned back, intently contemplating the quaint, flickering shadows which the street-lamp produced on the wall of the yet unlighted room. "All you say is quite true, I doubt not," answered Philip; "still I can not speak positively upon any evidence but my own judgment and knowledge of the man." "Bravo, Wychnor! Caution very large, and conscientiousness likewise. I always said so,' cried the old man, gently tapping his own head with his forefinger in the two spots indicated by phrenologists as the seats of those qualities. "But the evidence you allude to is just what I want you to get, and that-I may as well say so at once, being no hand at hiding any thing that was the chief reason why I brought Lynedon to you, even more than his own wish of knowing you. Perhaps you might do him some good if you would.” "I would, indeed, God knows!" cried Philip, earnestly, so earnestly, that Drysdale first looked surprised, and then rose with a sudden impulse to pat his young favorite's shoulder, in a manner expressive of the most genuine approval, saying, affectionately "Well, I knew you were a kind-hearted, generous fellow as ever breathed. I never should have thought it worth while to study man at all if you had not attracted me to the science. Now, about Paul Lynedon—are you listening to me?" "Yes, my good friend, with all my heart." Well, do you see that lamp shining through your muslin curtain, what fantastic shadows it casts? I can trace a different shape on the wall every time I come here. But if there were no lamp, mind, there wouldn't be any shadow at all. Now the lamp may stand for Paul Lynedon's soul, the curtain, always assuming different folds, for his outward character, modified by temperament, circumstance, or education. And what I want you to do is just this-" Suiting the action to the word, he gently and slowly drew the curtain aside, and the broad, full light illumined the whole wall. "I will do so, with heaven's blessing!" cried Wychnor. "For her sake! for her sake!" he murmured in his heart, which knew not how needless was the vow. CHAPTER XXXIX. He was justly accounted a skillful poisoner who de- Take heed-we are passionate! Our milk of love MILMAN. done as a conscience-salve, or as a safeguard against any chance that might betray to Philip the insincerity of his excuse, is needless to explain. Probably the act was compounded of both motives. He was not quite satisfied with his visit. From it he had expected much, having some time previously listened with too credulous ears to Mr. Pennythorne's grandiloquent description of the immense connection "his excellent friend Wychnor" possessed among the county fami lies in shire. Added thereto, Paul had a faint recollection of seeing the name Wychnor on some monument or other during his walk through L Cathedral with Eleanor Ogilvie. Perhaps he would not have observed this, but that she passed it over undescribed. He wondered, now, whether there was any acquaintance between the Wychnors and the Ogilvies; and felt vexed that his own foolish sensitiveness about that ridiculous flame of his youth should have made him change the subject without trying to discover from Philip how the land lay. Though slightly annoyed at this, there was something in the young man that he liked; something which touched a chord in his better self. There never was a false character yet, that did not feel some of its cumbrous disguises drop from it on coming into contact with a true one. That night he was more like the Paul Lynedon of Summerwood-the Paul Lynedon whom Eleanor liked, whom Katharine so madly worshiped-than he had been for years. He had no evening engagement, so he turned into the Opera. Music was still his passionstill, as it had ever been, the spell which_unlocked all his purer and higher feelings. Perhaps this was the reason that, in his present frame of mind, he felt attracted within its influence, and half-congratulated himself that, being unlikely to meet any one he knew, he could sit and enjoy "Anna Bolena" to the fullest extent. It was rather a disagreeable surprise when, as he passed the entrance-hall, he heard himself addressed by name. Turning round, he saw a face which, although it had altered considerably from the fresh charm of youth to the coarseness of mere animal beauty-he recognized at once as Hugh Ogilvie's. "Quite glad to shake hands with you once more, Mr. Lynedon," was the greeting of the latter. "The pleasure is mutual," answered Paul, cordially; "but really, Mr. Ogilvie, how well you are looking! you are so much altered that I should not have known you." "Nor I you, if it had not been for Katharine here." "Miss Ogilvie-Mrs. Ogilvie, I mean," cried Lynedon, recollecting himself, and looking rather awkward. "Ha, ha, ha! So you heard of our marriage? Well, let me introduce you over again to my wife." Hugh looked toward a lady who was behind, leaning on the arm, not of her husband, but of some other gentleman. "Mrs. Ogilvie !" At the sound of her name, she turned slowly round, and Paul Lynedon and Katharine stood face to Jace. He was startled-almost confused-at least as much so as was possible for such a finished gentleman to be. Could that magnificent creature really be the little Katharine with whom he had flirted, years ago? "Good heavens !" thought he, "how beautiful she is!" Well might he think so, even though the featares were white and still as marble, and the dark eyes seemed cold, proud, passionless. Passionless!-as if such orbs could ever be thus, except in seeming-as if such lips, whose rounded curves were made to tremble with every breath of emotion, could be thus firmly compressed into apparent calmness, except by the strong will which is born with every strong passion. Katharine was beautiful, dazzlingly beautiful; and Lynedon not only saw it with his eyes but felt it in his heart. He looked at her as he had never yet looked at any woman-with a sensation less of admiration than of worship. He could have knelt down before her, as in his days of youthful enthusiasm before some pictured ideal in Greek sculpture or Italian art. When she gave him her hand, the touch of the ungloved fingers thrilled him—perhaps because they were cold and statue-like, even as the face. He quite forgot his graceful courtesies, and bowed without a single compliment. Only he lifted his eyes to hers, with one look-the look of old-and she saw it. Angel of mercy! how much a woman can bear, and live! There was the faintest quivering about the mouth, and then it was firmly set, and the proud head was lifted higher, haughtier than ever, as Katharine Ogilvie said "My husband and I have much pleasure in this unexpected meeting, Mr. Lynedon." ing to her. Nevertheless Hugh looked exceedingly gratified and proud. "What do you think of my wife? rather altered from the little girl at Summerwood, eh?" he said, in an audible pseudo-confidential whisper to Paul, who answered aloud "Indeed, pleasant as was my past recollection of Ka-I mean of Miss Ogilvie-it is almost obliterated by the sight of Mrs. Ogilvie. I should hardly have recognized her." Katharine bowed. There was a momentary curl of the lip and contraction of the brow, and then the face recovered its usual expression. Hugh patted her hand, but a few moments after she disengaged it on some trifling excuse, and stood alone. Just then the orchestra within began the overture, and Hugh made a restless movement. "We shall be late, and you know, Katharine, you always scold me then-that is I don't mean scolding, but only a little gentle reproach, which we married men understand well. It's rather nice than otherwise, though, Lynedon," said he with an air something between assumed importance and jocularity. Paul crushed his heel on the floor, as though he had a desire to massacre some unfortunate fly that chanced to be creeping there. "We will pass on, Hugh, if you wish," was the careless answer of Mrs. Ogilvie. "Have you a stall, Mr. Lynedon? Otherwise we shall be happy to find room for you in our box," she continued; giving the invitation with the dignified indifference of one who was accustomed to take upon herself that duty, and casting a passing glance at her acquiescent husband, who echoed "Oh, yes! we shall be very happy, as Katharine says. Pray come, Lynedon." Lynedon assented with a look of evident pleasure. Then first, over the proud, impassive beauty of Mrs. Ogilvie's face, there came a flashing smile that kindled it up like a lightning glare. In this smile were triumph, scorn, and revenge, with a delirious joy pervading all. It lasted a moment, and faded; but not before Lynedon had seen it, and had felt for the second time that strange sensation of being cowed and humbled before the very feet of this woman. Her husband! Paul had quite forgotten that, and the word stung him. That glorious woman the wife of such a fellow as Hugh! He did not like to think of it. If Katharine meant by this distant, proud salutation to show him the change that had come between them, assuredly she had her desire. Lynedon colored slightly, and bit his lips. Already the foot of the beautiful tyrant was approaching him; soon the proud man would stoop his neck beneath it, and become in turn the slave. He struggled a little, though, and said in his old manner-the Sir Charles Grandison manner, as they had called it at Summer-Lying on his arm, it looked the same childish wood "Allow me to congratulate two old friends on having thus added to their own happiness. That such is the case, no one who looks at them can doubt." "You really think so! Well, I am sure we do seem very happy; don't we, Katharine? And so we are, though it is long past the honeymoon." And Hugh, with an air half shy, half pleased, edged nearer to his wife, so as to cast into shadow the individual who formed her escort-a mere "walking gentleman," whom it is needless to describe, except by mentioning his name- -Mr. Whyte Browne. He politely fell back, and Katharine took her husband's offered arm. But she leaned on it with an air of indifference, just as she would have done on a chair, a table, or any other article of furniture belong G "Perhaps you will take Mrs. Ogilvie, while: I get an opera-book," said the husband; and once more Paul touched the hand which had before sent such a thrill through his frame.. hand which he had many a time toyed with and: admired. He thought of this now, and almost longed to do the same again; but on it sparkled the warning symbol-the wedding-ring. `It was too late! Paul Lynedon was a man of quick impulses. Of his numerous small affaires de cœur, twothirds had been what he would probably have called "love at first sight,"- -as if such passing enchainments of sense or fancy were not desecrations of that holy word. Had he seen Mrs. Ogilvie as a stranger at opera or ball, he would probably have conceived for her this idle passion of the moment. No wonder, then, that meeting her now, resplendent as she was in all-subduing beauty and charm of manner, and remembering the old times when his vanity had amused itself with her girlish admiration of him, the past and present mingled together and created a strange the half-jesting speech; and Paul felt the edge and new interest in Lynedon's breast. Before of his elegant compliment blunted. He was enan hour had passed, during which he sat beside gaging in an attack wherein such light weapons her in the opera-box, listening with her to the would not do. Slightly confused, he quitted the rich music, which contributed not a little to the subject, and spoke of the opera. bewildering pleasure of the moment, Paul began to drink in her every look and tone, and feel the deepest chords of his being echo to the fascinations of Katharine Ogilvie. For she was fascinating-she wished to be so! In a short space the frigid dignity of her demeanor melted away, and she became the beautiful, winning, dazzling creature who for some months had been the very cynosure of the circle wherein Mrs. Lancaster and her set convolved. She talked, now with the brilliancy of a vivid imagination, now with the deep feeling of an impassioned nature. Of all her conversation Lynedon had the complete monopoly, for Mr. Whyte Browne had mysteriously vanished, and Hugh Ogilvie was always half-asleep between the acts of an opera-he said the noise and light made him so. He was too much accustomed to see his wife receive constant attentions and engross all conversation, to mind it in the least. Besides, poor Hugh's simple, unexacting, contented love was never crossed by the shadow of jealousy. He composed himself to sleep in the corner, with an apology about the long ride he had taken that morning, and left his wife and Paul to amuse each other. There is no spell more overwhelming, than for two people to whom music is a feeling, a passion, to sit together listening as with one soul to the same delicious strain: the rapt attention-the heart-thrilling pause-and then the melting silence that comes afterward, when eyes meet as if saying mutely, "Thou feelest I feel-therefore we are one.' This strong sympathy existed between Katharine and Paul. When the act closed, he turned to her, and saw, not the bewitching creature of fashion, whose very art and coquetry seemed charming, but the deep-souled woman, in whose heaving bosom and tremulous lip a world of passionate feeling was revealed. It struck the one true chord in Paul Lynedon's mercurial nature, and his tone changed from light sparkling wit and fulsome compliment to earnestness and respect. "You love music as much as ever, I see. You have not changed in that, though in every thing else, Mrs. Ogilvie." "Have I changed ?-ah, I suppose so-we all do!" said Katharine; and a smile-first of scorn, then of well-assumed sweetness-wreathed itself round her mouth. But the hand which hung unseen among the folds of her dress was clenched so convulsively, that the rose it held fell crushed to pieces on the floor. "Even so," pursued Lynedon, with a curious mixture of affectation and real feeling; "but allow me to quote, or rather mis-quote, the words of our dear old Shakspeare, and say, 'Nothing in you that doth fade Katharine raised her graceful head. "You would imply the need there was for a change, and you are right, Mr. Lynedon; no one can be more conscious than myself of the deficiencies of my girlhood." There was a bitterness even in "I never heard Grisi sing better than tonight. She is a grand creature, but still she is not my ideal of Anne Boleyn. She makes a stormy tragedy-queen of the meek, brokenspirited woman, which is our notion of Anne's character as gathered from history." "History is a trusty chronicler and unfolder of that easy, well-explained subject-the workings of a woman's heart," answered Katharine, with an irony which sat on her so gracefully and delicately, that Paul was attracted more and more. "Your meaning is just, Mrs. Ogilvie. Perhaps Grisi's reading is the true one. Still, I wonder how far we may unite romance with history, especially as concerning Percy—Anne's first love before she married Henry. That fact argues against the poet's creed of female constancy, as much as this passionate Semiramislike heroine is opposed to the received doctrine of the results caused by a broken heart-meek patience and resignation and all that." Paul's mocking speech was silenced by the flash which he saw gleam in Katharine's eyes. "That is the way you men speak of women!" she cried. "You sting them into misery—you goad them on to evil and then you retort on them with a jeer. I beg your pardon, Mr. Lynedon," she added, with a sudden alteration of voice and countenance, and a laugh so light and musical that Paul started at the marvelous change. "It is too bad of me to amuse you with these common-place revilings of your noble sex-a subject on which, of course, no fair lady is expected to speak sincerely." Paul acknowledged the implied amende with a look of extreme gratification. "I am sure, judging by the laws of attraction, Mrs. Ogilvie's, acquaintance among my sex can only comprise the very best of mankind." "I receive the compliment, only returning you the half of it, which seems ingeniously meant for yourself," said Katharine, gayly. "And you must acknowledge that my harangue was an excellent imitation off the stage of that magnificent Diva who is now entering it. So, silence!" She laid her fair jeweled finger on her mouth, round which the most dimpling girlish smiles now danced. Could those lips be the same, the very same, which had looked so white and ghastly an hour before? Hugh roused himself at the sound of the or chestra, and came forward sleepily, stretching his long limbs and somewhat heavy frame. "Do you find this opera amusing, Katharine? because I can't say I do," he observed, yawning. "Very possibly not,' said the wife, with a glance between sarcasm and indifference. But when she saw Lynedon's eyes rest contemptuously on Hugh, and then on herself with a sort of insinuating pity, her pride rose. "You will acknowledge, Mr. Lynedon, that my husband is very kind in accompanying-I mean, taking me -to the opera whenever I like; the more so, as he does not derive from it the same pleasure as myself." "You're a good girl, Katharine," said Hugh, |