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 "Sir?"

"My tiny elves have not here deluded me? I am always afraid lest those merry little wags should be playing me some prank. But it is you who are the wicked Will o' the Wisp, that lures all others, yet never can be lured yourself! Lord Denmeath has really, then, and in sober truth, the happiness of some way belonging to you?"

"No, Sir;—you mistake me;—I never—" She left her phrase unfinished.

"Shall I relate what the prattling tell-tales have blabbed to me further? They pretend that Lord Denmeath ought himself to be your protector; but that he is so void of taste, so empty of sentiment, that he seeks to disguise, if not disown, an affinity that, with more liberal ideas, he would exult in as an honour."

"Who talked of affinity, Sir?" cried Juliet, with quickness irrepressible.—"Was it Lord Denmeath?—Did he name me to you?"

"Name you? Has any one named