wild Spanish girl! Bianca went on; it seemed nothing strange to be speaking out her innermost thoughts to this man. She knew he understood them. "We were six altogether, and now father has none but me, worthless me!" She said sorrowfully, almost passionately. They sauntered on. Presently, Lord Moore said, "How bright the moon’s crescent is!" "Some French poet compared it to a sickle dropped by angel mowers by chance,—a happy simile isn’t it my lord?" "Yes." Said he smiling. Her way of saying this "my lord" was very pretty. She had answered, when once questioned by him, that she merely translated "Signor" into English. He liked to hear her call him "my lord." It did not seem odd to him. "Look there is some one walking,—coming this way!" She said presently. The figure passed them swiftly, taking off its hat to Lord Moore. "Who is it, my lord?" "Mr Owen, a cousin of ours. But hero we are at your home. Good night donna mia" with a smile, as ho took her hand; "Goodnight, my lord." And he pressed the brown little hand in his broad white palm in a closer press perhaps, than the occasion warranted. As lie sauntered away buried in deep reverie he whistled to himself the air
"Oh saw ye not Bianca
She is gone into the West
To dazzle when the sun is down
And rob the world of rest.",
He threw away his cigar. "She has robbed me of ros," thought he; then he smiled; "she shall be Lady Moore in spite of my mother."
When he came home, he entorod his study and threw himself in an easy chair beside the open window. "She is a little wild; so much the better; she is as nature made her. I like her petits airs mutins; her father has let her have her own ways in almost every thing. I wonder if he'll part with her;" a cloud crossed his handsome brow; "it'll be a hard tug for her too; she is passionately fond of her father. I wonder if she'll consent to be my wife. I cannot live on without her. How confiding she is! And proud too. She can pay my lady in her own coin!" And
