so young and lovely could stop in her career of mirth and happiness, to think of a man of my age; and one who, from care and toils of mind, as well as body, probably looks at least ten years older?" "Never doubt it, your Grace; and without you really wish to be accepted, never hazard the offer. What woman could refuse the Duke of Strathhaven; he upon whom the admiration of the whole world is showered ?" The Duke looked disappointed. It seemed to-Lady Clairville, that either he disliked the idea of owing any matrimonial success to his rank and honors, or else that Blanche had shown some averseness to 'his suit. If the latter, now was the time at once to destroy the idea that she could ever favor it; and altering her voice from a tone of raillery to one of extreme pensiveness, she said, "Alas! these matrimonials, they cost me no little share of anxiety. You know of the attachment of my son to his cousin Blanche,-you know that I trust soon their marriage may be accomplished,-and still this wayward boy leaves us with a suddenness that might well offend his affianced bride, and certainly it much hurts me." "Are you so certain of a mutual attachment between the two cousins?" inquired the Duke. "Oh! yes, why should I doubt it? Indeed," she added, lowering her voice to a confidential pitch, "I really believe that it was a love-quarrel which made the impetuous Julian leave us so abruptly. I know that he is very jealous of Colonel Fitz-Irby's attentions to the Baroness; and I know also, that he had a scene with her yesterday just before dinner; put that and that together, as the old ladies say, and I think we can account for his melancholy during the repast, and Blanche's perturbation on finding he had really escaped." The Duke made no comment on her words, but changed the subject with a gravity and coldness of manner, that confirmed Lady Clairville in her idea of his views. The conversation lingered on but a very few moments. Both seemed occupied by thoughts that were not to be spoken; and the approach of a third person offered at length a very seasonable interrup tion. CHAPTER XXI. "As the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, WHо has not remarked that the month of October, in London, is ever dismal. That the deserted streets -the closed houses-the shops en dishabille—the solitary carriage-in short, that everything proclaims that the season of pleasure and business is over? A universal dulness is spread over the vast city. Even the hackney-coach horses, surfeited with leisure, have time to doze upon their stand. The porters and link-boys starve, or grow fat with inactivity; and, indeed, from the highest to the lowest, all feel the miseries of inaction. To be alone amongst a wilderness of houses, the view of heaven obstructed from our gaze, the very atmosphere we breathe loaded with the corrupted air of a large city, is a refinement on melancholy. If we are to be alone, let it at least be with nature, where we may breathe the pure air of heaven, and survey the beauties of creation; where every instant some sense of enjoyment may be experienced, though it be experienced alone. Solitude is never so irksome as in those haunts which we have at other times seen filled with the tumult of diversion or business. It was thus Blanche thought, as she sat at the window in the drawing-room of Lord Clairville's mansion in Grosvenor Square, watching the deepening gloom of an autumnal evening. Her heart was heavy, and her every reflection was sad. The past failed in offering any recollection untinged with some shade of grief, and with regard to the future she felt anxious and unhappy. She had heard from Julian at Riversdale, where his hopes of meeting the Cecils had met with acute disappointment. He mentioned the altered style in which the elder Mrs. Cecil lived-for which circumstance he surmised the true reason. He had one hurried interview with the suffering old lady, from whom he could gain no further information than that her son was abroad, and that his family were living in the strictest seclusion somewhere near town. She knew not the exact place, as all their letters passed through the medium of Mr. Disney. With this scanty clue, he told Blanche he should again commence a strict search in the neighborhood of town; and it was with the faint hope that he might have some tidings to communicate, that she was now watching for his approach the second evening after their arrival in town. Julian had taken up his abode in lodgings near his club, as offering more independence; and for which the absence of his family from London had offered a pretext, though they had followed him so closely. Blanche deeply regretted this for many reasons; and it formed one, among the many causes which filled her bosom with dissatisfaction, as she sat watching every distant figure which she saw moving towards the house, hoping that each was her truant cousin. Without being an egotist, Blanche could not refrain from musing on her present position, which, splendid as it appeared to others, offered little pleasure or advantage to herself. She could not help arguing that had she been born less the favorite of fortune, her life, though different, would have been happier. Her aunt probably would not have sought the trouble of being her guardian, but most likely she would have been consigned to the charge of her loved and excellent grandmother. With her how happily might her days have passed, in peace, in contentment, in the enjoyment of innocent pleasures, and those country pursuits from which she had ever been debarred! How different was the actual state of things!-The affections of the heart all stifled, its weaker and minor powers all brought forward by the importance attached to the trifles of life. Brought up in a continual glare of dissipation and useless folly, surrounded by persons whose conduct she condemned, Blanche could not help at the moment feeling thankful that she had so far escaped the pollution of their tastes and habits, and was grateful towards that kind friend, the excellent Mrs. Stewart,' who had been so staunch a counsellor to her, and had warned her of the perils which lurked in her path. She felt that her much-loved cousin Julian had been less fortunate, and she trembled for him lest the force of education and example, unaided as he was by the watchful care of one whose advice he would value, should `enervate his mind, and render his character less firm, less upright, than it had promised to be and although she knew, and had witnessed from the beginning his excessive love for Evelin Cecil, still, on that point too, she began to doubt his stability when she reflected on the complete and sudden ascendency which Lady Florence had gained over his mind. At this moment a quick knock was heard at the hall door, and the next brought Julian into the room. He looked unusually pale, and there was a constraint and distance in his manner to his mother, which Blanche thought probably arose from some misgivings he might have as to his reception. Lady Clairville, however, commanded her feelings, and the meeting passed off quietly, although with mutual coldness. To Blanche he was affectionate as usual; and as soon |