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minute before the face of the fair owner of that hand had been revealed for an instant ; and it was that sight which had called forth the impassioned exclamation of De Burgh.

"Is she not beautiful ?" he asked again.

"Heavenly !" was the response of Beauchampe, " when will she be visible again ?"

The music went on. The prima donna sang her finest airs, and the orchestra thundered in at the chorus, until the house shook again with applause, but Beauchampe still remained gazing up at the stage box, seemingly unconscious of what was going on around him. That hasty glimpse at the face of the mysterious beauty had touched a new chord in his heart. Why did she so perversely keep herself secluded in the darkest corner of the box, revealing only the fair white hand which, but for the necessity of holding the curtain back, would doubtless have also sought the obscurity of her secluded seat ? A half an hour at least had passed since that momentary glimpse of her face. At length when the prima donna had executed one of her most difficult airs, and while pit and boxes were resounding with enthusiastic acclamations, the tiny hand slowly and stealthily drew back the curtain, just affording space for that unrivalled face to look down on the scene. It was indeed a face to watch for, to dream of, to worship ! Soft melting blue eyes, rivalling heaven's own azure ; a brow whose transparency surpassed that of Parian marble ; cheeks, whose pearly whiteness was saved from monotony by the rosy tint that suffused them ; and tresses of that indescribable hue which seems auburn at night, but which when lit by a gleam of sunlight, assumes the hue of gold. Then the rich, ripe, pulpy lips, disclosing, when she smiled, teeth of such exquisite whiteness ! This countenance, beautiful thus in repose, was rendered even more lovely when she spoke as she did occasionally to a companion beside her by the changing expression which flitted across her face, making it, as it were, a mirror in which every feeling of her soul was reflected. The subject of her conversation seemed an animated one, for her eyes would momently sparkle with merriment, and then her face would relapse again into a comparative repose, reminding the gazer of a quiet pool glimmering from light to shade as the sunshine shimmered down on it through the quivering leaves. " Who can she be ?" said Beauchampe, " I must discover her name. Raphael must have dreamed of such a face when painting his immortal Madonna, for only in that divine countenance is anything even approaching to this to be found." " She is indeed seraphic," said De Burgh, " and I wonder not that she has interested you. Ah! did I not say she would ? But the curtain rises, and there comes the prima donna !"

But Beauchampe saw nothing save that angelic face. In vain the unrivalled Malibran poured forth her liquid melody- in vain the orchestra burst in with a magnificence which has never since been equalled, Beauchampe was wholly insensible to the music, but, half hidden in his box, gazed entranced on the strange beauty. The fervor of his gaze, at length, appeared to attract the notice of her companion, for after a whisper betwixt the two and a glance at Beauchampe, the curtain was once more closed, and the stranger was visible no more that night. Not even the delicate fair hand was left exposed to fire the beholder with dreams of the still more lovely face. Beauchampe left the house that night with a tumult of strange feelings at his bosom. He had spoken truly when he told De Burgh that he had never loved, for although a beautiful face had more than once made a momentary impression on his fancy, none had ever inspired him with the lasting emotion of love. But now he felt that he had at length been conquered. That face was his fate. For hours after he sought his couch, he lay thinking of this mysterious beauty, and when at length he fell into a troubled slumber, it was only to dream of that scraphic face, looking down, as he had seen it a few hours before, on the glittering scene beneath. He rose at a late hour still more in love. His first duty was to enquire respecting the occupants of the stage box on the two preceding evenings, but here he found himself foiled. No one knew who the unknown beauty was, except the manager, and he was deaf to all inquiry. The mystery hanging around the fair stranger only increased the passion of Beauchampe. The adventure was one which aroused his imaginative mind, and he surrendered himself at once to the seductive influence of his new feelings. At the earliest hour the next evening he was seated in a fashionable position to observe the unknown beauty, and he waited with a trembling heart for her appearance. At length a figure passed behind the curtain of the stage box, and in a few minutes that unrivalled face might be seen peeping modestly down on the scene below. It seemed to Beauchampe as if it was even more beautiful than on the preceding evening ; especially when, as she turned to address her companion, she emerged a moment from the shadow of the box, so that the full blaze of the lustres shot across her rich auburn tressses, producing an illusion as if a shower of gold had fallen on them. The look which she cast around the house was but momentary however ; and ere the curtain rose she had retreated into the shadow of the box, and was no more visible, except when the enthusiasm of the house called her for an instant forward- seeming, in her lustrous beauty, to the eyes of the impassioned Beauchampe, like a meteor lighting up a dark and hopeless prospect.