her days in devotion to qualities, rarely if ever found identified with a person, that never had existed. The old gentleman was entirely engrossed by a different object; and having in his own opinion decided there must have been one of those misunderstandings which sometimes had occurred to himself and Lady Juliana, he quietly composed himself to eat his salad at the supper table: on turning his head, however, in quest of his first glass of wine, he observed Peter standing quietly by the sideboard with the favorite goggles over his eyes. Now Peter was troubled with two kinds of debility about his organs of vision; one was age and natural weakness, while the other proceeded more directly from the heart. His master knew of these facts, and he took the alarm. Again the wine-glass dropped from his nerveless hand, as he said in a trembling tone,—
"Peter, I thought you went"—
"Yes, master," said Peter, laconically.
"You saw him, Peter—will he return?"
Peter was busily occupied at his glasses, although no one was dry.
"Peter," repeated Mr. Benfield, rising from his seat, "is he coming in time for supper?"
Peter was obliged to reply, and deliberately uncasing his eyes and blowing his nose, he was on the point of opening his mouth, as John came into the room, and threw himself into a chair with an air of great vexation. Peter pointed to the young gentleman in silence, and retired.
"John," cried Sir Edward, "where is Denbigh?"
"Gone, sir."
"Gone!"
"Yes, my dear father," said John, "gone without saying good-by to one of us—without telling us whither, or when to return. It was cruel in him—unkind—I'll never forgive him"—and John, whose feelings were strong, and unusually excited, hid his face between his hands on the table. As he raised his head to reply to a question of Mr. Benfield—of "how he knew he had gone, for the coach did not go until daylight?" Mrs. "Wilson saw evident marks of tears. Such proofs of emotion in one like John Mose-
