Isabel Leicester

air, as Everard didn't have one on his. Mrs. Arlington, always celebrated for the taste and elegance displa

animation. The excitement of the occasion had given an unwonted glow to her cheeks. She did, indeed, look lovely, as she stood engaged in lively conversation with Emily, while

ich she delighted. How long would it be before he reached her?-Oh, that the room were smaller, or that she had been nearer the door. It seemed an age while he was shaking hands with Mrs. Arlington. But who is that pretty girl on his arm? Could it be his cousin Marie? He has taken her to a seat, and is moving down the room. The hot blood rushed to her cheeks. Someone asked her to dance. "Oh, not yet," she replied, scarcely heeding who it was that asked her. Louis sees her, and is coming towards her. How her heart bounded, her joy and happiness was so great. She hid her glowing face behind her fan, to conce

," she asked, "that y

fe-" he said, with

you mean?" she inquired

h insufferable insolence, he hissed in h

ence that surprised even herself; for she had felt

plete, my plans have been entirely successful," and making her a low bow, he retired. And Isabel was left to her own thoughts. But this would not do; she must not-dare no

t dance, and you wouldn't com

ould have lasted so

at Louis is her

es

think his w

er

with Isabel, but the remotest idea of the real st

nt out on the glass extension ro

ght that you would hav

ar

d, in

t," she said

der the hall lamp, Everard remarked the extreme palor of her countenance. "You are ill, Miss Leiceste

shall soon get w

ld attempt this galop. You l

gle dance; she could not, would not, rest a moment. She was making a great effort to 'keep up,' and it was only by a continual struggle that she could succeed. However, Everard had no more cause for uneasiness on account of her looking ill, as they had scarcely entered the ball-room before her brilliant color had returned. Isabel was decid

uperb, as with graceful dignity she glided through the quadrille. She avoided touching his hand, except when it was inevitable; but she did it so naturally, that to others it did not appear premeditated. He spoke to her, but

e three o'clock train to keep his promise, for Harry was very strict, and would not have remained another day on any pretext). Then Isabel had to listen to the praises bestowed on her by all the Arlington family, who complimented her upon th

she had been to feel that he loved her; and oh! the pain, the agony, of knowing that he did so no longer. Why, why had he written that letter? Oh it was cruel, cruel. And then to think that it had all been planned, premeditated, with the express design of making her suffer more acutely, was bitter in the extreme. To lose his love was misery; but to know that he was deceitful, cruel and revengeful, was agony beyond endurance. She did not weep: her grief was too stony for tears. "Oh, Louis, Louis," she moaned in her agony, "what have I done, to deserve such cruel treatment?" She leaned her head upon her arm, and pressed her hand upon her throbbing temples, for the tumult of her thoughts became intolerable. She pictured to