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Rh that the subject somehow distressed her and talked about other things, children principally, for Mrs. Owen was a very fond mother. From time to time Mrs. Owen cast a furtive glance towards the group near the piano, and bye and bye, her replies and remarks to Lord Moore were given in an absent manner. She was thinking of other things. Maggie was turning over the leaves of a music book, Mr. Owen was bending over her and whispering to her things which made her laugh, and strike him playfully on the arm with her small white hand. "Now, Mr. Owen, you will make me die of laughing." "Mr. Owen! Why will you never call me Cousin or Mark; we are such near relations, sweet coz now sing me this;" pointing to the well—known song of Ben Jonson "Drink to me only with thine eyes" She began the song, but after the first line stopped; "Now Cousin, you must not look at me so, you put me out." He smiled, patted her on the shoulder in a fatherly way, and sat down on a chair. Mrs. Owen rose. "It's near nine o'clock, Mark, shall we go "If you like, love; Ah Mary, I know why you wish to go so soon, it’s all for the sake of little Helen." Mrs. Owen smiled, a quiet, sad smile it was. They bade good-night to the ladies. Lord Moore accompanied them part of the way. On his way home, he passed the small house of Garcia, and lingered a moment, smoking his cigar thoughtfully. "Now quiet all around is !" Said he. "How peaceful, how refreshing the night is!"

A month after, two horses were waiting at the door of Mr. Garcia’s house. Beautiful animals they were. A dark hay and a chestnut. The chestnut was saddled for a lady. Presently Bianca came down the steps, followed by Lord Moore. She came and patted both the horses. Garcia was looking on from his study window. "Take care, Bianca, the chestnut seems a little too fiery." "So much the bettor, father." "She is gentle as a lamb, Bianca, or I would not have trusted you to her." Said Lord Moore, as he stooped down to help her into her saddle. She looked very pretty, on the whole, in her dark blue habit, and her Spanish hat surmounted by a black ostrich feather. Lord Moore sprung on his saddle, and they went off. The first mile they kept