there had been frequently recalled, accompanied by the thought of the accomplished Frederic Valpée, of his musical talents, of the more particular attentions he had paid her. Was it vanity? was it coquetry? or did those sudden elations seizing her spring from some soft, tender, new-born feelings of partiality? From whatever source they sprung, she left the Villa, undisturbed by fruitless repinings.
To avoid the inconvenience of fatigue, our party travelled leisurely, and often stopped to dwell upon some particular beauty, some favourite spot of nature; quitting the carriage to explore some wooded, winding path.
Not a breeze disturbed the mild serenity of the evening: all seemed hushed in a deep, still sleep. The sun was just declining, and the refulgent clouds of the west afforded a sight beautiful and majestic, when De Brooke opened the little wicket-gate of a country churchyard, a few miles from Chepstow, to admit his fair and dear companions. Most impressive was the scene, whilst they gently paced around the sacred edifice; the venerable oak and melancholy cypress partially yielding their solemn shade.
Strains, sweet, pious and melodious, burst upon their ears: a deep pause succeeded. Again the heavenly sounds swelled, and died away, in long
