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"Miss Darnel!"

"Mr. Ruthven!"

The latter was the less self-possessed of the two.

"I knew, Mr. Ruthven, that you would come to Montreal again," said Aurelia, with one of her brightest smiles.

"Were it but for a moment like this, I should have come," said Roland, under the charm of her presence, forgetting the rôle he intended to adopt; "and your mamma?"

"Is, unfortunately, from home; need I say how sorry we were for the sad occasion which hurried you away."

Roland coloured with pain, vexation, and sorrow; and before him seemed to stand that horrible "last will and testament," which beggared him! Aurelia Darnel, who had occupied his entire thoughts since he left Montreal, was beside him now; but he had only common places, the merest platidudes to offer her. His innate pride, tenacity, and over-sensitiveness, now that he was poor, and she was rich—he little knew how rich—tied up his tongue, and the love, he trembled to avow, remained unspoken.

We have already partially described Aurelia Darnel and the character of her beauty. She was a girl of talent, with many accomplishments. Her French, of course, was perfect, as she inherited it from her mother; she played brilliantly, with a soft yet dashing touch; she could sing little chansons in the most seductive way, and was full of those pretty graces and mannerisms which are peculiar to continental girls; she had, too, a way of looking down, drooping her long dark eyelashes, that was often the cause of more tenderness and admiration in those she meant to dazzle, than when she looked up, or straight forward.