over. There, Norbourne, I consign you to younger and fairer hands."
So saying, he resumed his seat and his pamphlets, in which he appeared completely absorbed. Mrs. Courtenaye took up a religious work, and she, too, turned her face away. Her eyes were resolutely fixed on the page, but she saw it not. Her cheek was pale and cold as marble, and there was that convulsive quiver about the mouth which is the most certain sign of mental agitation.
Norbourne drew kindly towards his cousin Constance. He had for her the affection of early habit, and the tenderness of pity. Delicate and slightly deformed, with only one surviving parent, whose affection chiefly showed itself in ambitious projects for her aggrandisement, there was much in Constance's position that awakened the softest compassion. When Norbourne entered the room, a deep flush of crimson betrayed how instantly she recognised him. The colour had faded, but enough remained to make her look almost pretty; and, if any thing can make a woman
