ing the spring of his kindliest and best feelings. He felt at once what he owed of amends to the young and fair creature, whose beauty wore such obvious trace of suffering—of suffering, too, that he had inflicted. His better nature was awakened on her behalf; he longed to serve her, to be kind to her; he felt as if such service and such kindness were a worthy offering to the memory of his own angel child. Unconscious of all this, Lady Marchmont was equally surprised and delighted to find what interest Lord Norbourne took in her story. Like all women who seem to have an imperative necessity in their nature to give a romantic reason for every thing, she began to think that his lordship had suddenly fallen in love with the beautiful girl to whose cause he was giving such earnest attention.
"Well," said Lord Norbourne, as Henrietta concluded her narrative, "I trust that Lady Marchmont will not be driven to the desperate necessity of agreeing with her husband, even in politics. Just walk round the lawn for two or
