have told, commenced his acquaintance with her by an act of personal service, performed with gallantry, skill, and decision, at the risk of his own life.  In the third place, in all his conversation, as far as she had ever known or remarked, there were those small casual traits of good feelings, fine tastes, and strong principles, expressed sometimes by a single word, sometimes by a look or gesture, which are a thousand-fold more convincing, in regard to the real character of the person, than the most laboured harangue, or essay, or declaration.

Thus it was that Laura hoped, and fancied, and believed, she had now seen one person upon earth whose feelings, thoughts, and character might assimilate with her own.  Pray let the reader understand, that I do not mean to say Laura was in love with Wilton; but she did believe that he was one of those for whose eyes she might draw away a part of that customary veil with which all people hide the shrine of their deeper feelings from the sight of the coarse multitude.

There was something, then, as we have seen, that she wished to say—­there was something that she believed she might say, without risk or wrong.  But yet she hesitated; and she and Wilton went on nearly to the end of the walk in perfect silence.  At length she cast a timid glance, first towards the house where Lord Sherbrooke was seen just entering one of the rooms from the upper terrace, and then to the face of Wilton Brown, whose eye chanced at that moment to be upon her with a look of inquiry.  The look gave her courage, and she said—­

“I am going to say a very odd thing, Mr. Brown, I believe; but your great intimacy with Lord Sherbrooke puzzles me.  He told my father last night that you were his dearest and most intimate friend.  I always thought that friendship must proceed from a similarity of feelings and pursuits, and I am sure, from what I have heard you say, at least I think I may be sure, that you entertain ideas the most opposite to those with which he has just pained us.”

Wilton smiled somewhat sadly; but he did not dare deny that such opinions were Lord Sherbrooke’s real ones; for his well-known conduct was too much in accordance with them.

“Would to Heaven, dear lady,” he said, “that Sherbrooke would permit me to be as much his friend as I might be!  I must not deny that he has many faults—­faults, I am sure, of education and habit alone, for his heart is noble, honourable, and high”

“Nay,” cried Lady Laura—­“could a noble or an honourable heart entertain such sentiments as he has just expressed?”

“You do not know him, nor understand him yet, Lady Laura,” replied Wilton.  “Most men strive to make themselves appear better than they really are:  Sherbrooke labours to make himself appear worse—­not alone, Lady Laura, in his language—­not alone in his account of himself, but even by his very actions.  I am confident that he has committed more than one folly, for the sole purpose, if his motives were thoroughly sifted and investigated, of establishing a bad reputation.”