And how sped the wooing of Rupert de Lancey? How prospered his suit to the fair Kate? Unfortunately for him, the citadel of her heart had long since yielded to her cousin, Charles Calvert, to whom, with the full approbation of their uncle, whose favourite and heir he was, she was already betrothed; and, still more unfortunately, even had she been "fancy free," with that knowledge which experience alone can give, and that nice sagacity which characterizes the female perception, she had measured the depths of his character, and appreciated him accordingly. Moreover, his treachery to Myra was not unknown to her.

Kate Welden was a girl of bold and daring spirit, although her heart was full of tender sensibilities; and, while she was true and steadfast in her affections, her conduct sometimes suffered in the estimation of those who look not beneath the surface for one's intentions. Thus she not unfrequently subjected herself to the imputation of coquetry, when she had only resolved to punish some vain and presumptuous coxcomb who had victimized one of her sex. This same determination she had taken in regard to De Lancey, and though Charles Calvert did not altogether approve of her intention, he was by no means jealous, but only sought to dissuade her from motives of prudence in regard to her own reputation.

"Go along, Cousin Charles, and flirt with every pretty face in the county, if you please; but let me alone to punish this knave, which I am determined to do."

"Is there not some vanity in that, fair cousin mine?"

"By no means, my gentle mentor. It is not my poor beauty, but my rich estate, which captivates him. And as for the damage to my reputation by coquetry, which you are so kind as to hint at, why you must e'en marry me the sooner, and take it under your own charge, if you are apprehensive about it."

"That is certainly an irresistible bribe to let you play the madcap once more," said Charles, gallantly. "So it must be as you choose."

Thus stood matters on the evening of the fête at Colonel Warren's, save that Kate had received several calls from De Lancey very graciously, and, without exactly encouraging him, certainly allowed him to go off with a very selfsatisfied notion of his probable success.

CHAP. III.

The fête at Colonel Warren's was a splendid and brilliant one indeed. The spacious halls of his large, elegant mansion were beautifully decorated, and lighted to perfection. The exquisite gardens were hung with coloured lamps, and with the gravelled walks and commodious summer-houses, afforded a pleasant retreat from the heat and glare of the rooms to those who were fatigued with dancing, or desirous of a quiet tête-à-tête.

A gay and happy assemblage of bright and cheerful faces did honour to the birthday of the fair

Kate Welden; and with music and dance, and innocent revelry, the joyous hours sped rapidly on. Many a charming face was there, and many a graceful form glided through the mazes of waltz or cotillon: but peerless above all others were the two friends, Kate Welden and Myra Bell. Each was the type of a different style of beauty, and almost faultless was the model. Dark as the raven's wing was the glossy hair braided over the full intellectual brow of Kate; while the auburn tresses of Myra fell in luxuriant ringlets from her small, beautiful head. Black eyes, that flashed with fire, or melted in languor, and a rich olive complexion, through which the mantling blood showed like the blush on the sunny side of a ripe peach, characterized the splendid beauty of the one; while the blended lily and rose-tints, with orbs of calm and heavenly blue, distinguished the soft and winning loveliness of the other. The former was tall and stately as Juno; the latter light and graceful as Hebe. Many a tribute of admiration did they elicit, and much difference of opinion did their appearance excite as to the respective merit of their different styles. No one, perhaps, viewed them with more indescribable emotion than Rupert de Lancey; not even Charles Calvert or Harry Layton, who had become friends and confidants. A strange and mixed feeling of hope and regret stole over him. "After all," mused he, "if I am disappointed of the heiress, what a prize have I lost! the more lovely, far the more lovely of the two. True, the other is a splendid creature; but there is something too fierce and haughty in her beauty while my own Myra is an angel, if there ever was one on earth. I wonder if there is anything in that young Layton's attentions? Pshaw! No! She cannot have forgotten me so soon; though I do not half like her manner to-night; it is too calm and self-possessed. There is neither love nor the sense of injury in her cool eye when it encounters mine; yet on Layton she bestows the same look of quiet confidence that once was mine. By heaven, I could not brook that fellow's rivalry! Yet what claim have I? To me she is lost for ever! Nay, not so if the heiress jilts me, which I half wish she would, and half think she may, from certain indications to-night, I will recant my errors, and throw myself at Myra's feet for forgiveness, and be happy in her dear love, which I never knew till now had so deep a hold on my heart."

:

And in this uncertain mood De Lancey sought the side of Kate Welden, from whom a gracious reception awaited him. To his proposal that they should seek the cool air of the gardens, she yielded a flattering assent; and when they had reached a remote arbour, she seated herself, and without speaking to her companion, turned her large eyes, full of soft languor, upwards, to gaze at that peerless orb which poets delight to apostrophize, and lovers to look on.

A lovely night!" said De Lancey, breaking the silence, in a low, musical voice. "And a night for love!" responded Kate, half soliloquizing.

"Then, brightest and most beautiful, accept its sincere homage from your most devoted admirer!" breathed Rupert passionately, as he sank gracefully to his knee.

Sir! Mr. de Lancey!" cried Kate, starting back.

"Nay, dearest Kate, hear me! I love, I adore you! From the first moment your glorious beauty burst upon my sight, I have been your captive! Yet not the captive of your beauty alone, but equally enamoured of the bright intellect which beams from those eloquent eyes!"

"You make love well, Mr. de Lancey," said Kate drily.

"Nay, cruel girl, would you mock me? Are you, indeed, the heartless coquette fame speaks of, who can sport in the agony of a true heart?" "Of a true heart, never! Its lightest sorrow, caused through conduct of mine, would grieve me deeply."

"Then why this derision of my love? Why thus scorn the proffer of an honourable passion

from me?"

"Because yours is not a true heart! Think of Myra Bell !"

"Ah! is it that idle story which stands between me and my hopes? Believe me, I never wronged her. A mere child, with whom I had been in daily intercourse for years, who conceived a foolish attachment for me, which I was the first to undeceive her of. Nay, dearest Kate," continued he, seeing she had relaxed somewhat of her sternness, "it was I, not she, who suffered from the contretemps. Credit no word of it; but believe me that never, no never, was my heart touched by love till by the magic of your loveliness! Be mine, beautiful creature, and the ardent devotion of a life shall repay the rich boon you grant! If there be anything worthy or noble in my soul, as I have dreamed there is, be it yours to call it forth and direct it to great objects; and to you, my inspiration and my hope, shall be dedicated all the triumphs of my future career!"

He paused, and perceiving his fair listener drooped, as if with suppressed emotion, believed he had conquered. With rapture he caught her hand, and was about to pour forth his thanks, when it was promptly snatched away, and with a wild, gay laugh, Kate sprung up from her

seat.

“Ha! ha! Mr. de Lancey, now I understand you u! It is only a private rehearsal you are treating me to. Pray, sir, when do you make your first appearance? I shall certainly attend; for you give great promise of success. What is to be your character, Claude Melnotte, or the Apostate?"

Enough, lady!" said Rupert, rising, in illconcealed rage and disappointment. "Crush me no more with your scorn! Believe it was a mere play of gallantry, if you will.”

There was a depth of anguish in his voice which made Kate half repent her conduct, and she turned to speak with some purpose of softening the blow; but he was gone. When she

again met him in the hall the almost kindly glance of her eye, in answer to his deprecating look-for Kate felt some remorse at the part she had played-re-assured him; and Rupert de Lancey became once more the bright and fascinating cavalier, who, it would scarcely be thought, would plead in vain to beauty.

There are some hearts upon which no salutary lesson can be impressed, when vanity and selfishness urge them on, and moral principle is wanting to control their desires. Such was Rupert's. The failure of his designs upon the hand of Kate Welden, and the mortifying exposure he had endured, did not deter him, the moment he believed her silence secure, from pursuing purposes in regard to Myra, in the event of his ill success with the heiress.

It was the first time they had met since the unhandsome conduct of Rupert, and, if he expected any weakness on the part of Myra, he was greatly mistaken. Her reception of him— for she did not pretend to avoid him-was calm, quiet, and lady-like. No emotion betrayed itself in cheek or glance; and, as he expressed it to himself, there was "neither love nor the sense of injury in her cool eye when it encountered his." Yet the vanity of Rupert de Lancey would not be convinced that he could be so soon forgotten. When he again approached Myra she was talking to Charles Calvert.

a

"Will Miss Bell favour me with her hand for cotillon?" he asked, in his blandest tones. If you wish it," she replied, quietly. "Can you

doubt it?" And he bent a meaning glance upon her, as he offered his arm. "Not the present set," said Myra, carelessly, without replying either to look or word; "I am engaged to Mr. Calvert. The one after, if you choose."

With eager and animated regards, Rupert watched her through the dance; and, when he claimed her hand at the close of the set, he thought she never looked half so beautiful.

But few moments were allowed for conversation ere the music again struck up, and the requisitions of the dance, with the unwillingness of his partner to listen to anything of the past, gave De Lancey but little chance to urge his suit. When the cotillon had finished, however, he proposed to get an ice for her; and Myra, having really no other engagement, and seeing no familiar face near her, could not well refuse. Fate favoured De Lancey, for the door near which they stood opened on a small vine-covered portico, with convenient seats, and they had scarcely placed themselves, before a movement in the crowd left that part of the room vacant, and they were once more alone.

To say that Myra Bell felt perfectly at her ease would be too much, for she had already perceived, on the part of her companion, a purpose to enter into some explanation, which she would gladly have avoided. It is true she thoroughly despised him now; but there are memories of love which, even when the passion has faded, and the object is scorned, cannot be altogether destroyed. Poor Myra, however, had

"And are we enemies, Myra?"

"It needs not a distinction, sir, which would argue more importance in the feelings between us than I am disposed to admit. We are strangers, sir, or, if you please, mere acquaintances."

"Strangers, Myra! Can it be that such a wide gulf is between hearts once so fondly knit together?"

"And who made it, sir?" demanded she, with rising scorn.

"The rash, intemperate passion of your father, and perhaps my own foolish pride,” replied he, with bold hypocrisy.

""Tis false! Your own base, fickle nature alone was to blame," said she, rising with dignified mien and flashing eye, her slight form swelling into heroic proportions. "But cease these insulting importunities. Let me pass!"

Nay, Myra, you must hear me; though for the last time, said he, with subdued and touching pathos, respectfully and gently detaining her. "Think you that a rash word, or a hasty action, should destroy for ever the brightest hopes of the human heart-the first dream of pure, unchanging love? Is that exalted and divine passion so weak that it cannot withstand a moment's anger-just anger at a grievous fault, perhaps against the object of its devotion? Has forgiveness no part in its principles? Must a single error doom the heart that has loved truly and fondly for years to misery and despair? Nay, hear me !" continued he, passionately, for she made an impatient movement to be gone. "I love you! I have always loved you! In bitterness and anguish have I repented my fault. In wretchedness must I pass the brief period of my life, if you will not listen to and forgive

me. My own, my adored Myra! hear, and

answer me !"

And, as she strove to pass him, he sank on his knees and caught her hand to detain her.

"Do hear the gentleman out, my love," said a clear, silvery voice near them at this moment. "But you need not trouble yourself to answer him; for it is only some private theatricals he has gotten up to assist my poor entertainment to-night. He has already gone through the self-same scene with me in the garden to-night!" And Kate Welden stepped forward.

Who can picture the debasement of feeling that overwhelmed Rupert de Lancey at this interruption? Releasing the hand he had taken, he bowed his head in shame and humiliation, while Myra, glad of escape, took refuge at the side of her friend.

"Come, dear," said the gay girl, leading her away. "Let us leave him to study some more interesting character; his present one is somewhat 'stale and unprofitable.'

And, when they had gone, Rupert de Lancey rushed madly from the house, his brain on fire

and his heart like ice.

Whether the lessons he received have corrected the faults of his character we do not know, for he shortly left the neighbourhood, as it was said, on a foreign tour." We scarcely think the school a good one; and, perhaps, when he returns, he will only add another to the emptyheaded fops who ape the follies, not the virtues, of European society, and are American in nothing but their birth, which they affect to despise.

The same day saw Kate Welden and Myra Bell united to those they had chosen both from love and esteem. Kate passed much of her time in the great city, where she was still acknowledged as an ornament to the society in which she moved; but ever the bright summer hours found her again at Oak Lawn, or the favourite guest of the "dear little cottage," where her "sweet Myra" lived, in the unbroken and unregretting happiness of Second Love.