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Rh very circumstance of Lord Mandeville's encouraging him was any thing but an advantage: a woman must be an angel to endure being worsted in domestic tactics. Not that Lady Mandeville enacted the part of confidant— besides, Emily's feelings were quite deep enough for silence. But Lorraine's memory was kept alive by slight recurrences to his opinions, and frequent allusions to the chances of meeting him. However, bright sunshine and a rapid drive did a great deal for the good humour or spirits, whichever you like to consider it, of the party on their way to St. Valerie. All convents built in what we call the dark ages, show singular good taste in the selection of their various situations; if there was a fine view to be had, their site usually commanded it. The convent of St. Valerie was on the very summit of a small hill, whose abruptness added to its height. A thick copsewood of dwarf oaks, intermixed with one or two slender chestnuts, covered the side even to the sea, from which it was separated by a narrow slip of smooth sand, over which, in a calm day, the