"Anger is a transient hatred."
•' Heaven in sunshine will requite the kind."
" Ah ! how d'ye do, Mr. Bohun ?"
She has come up -with him by this time, and is now
holding out her hand to the fresh handsome gentleman
who is apparently so glad to see her. He is a tall man,
well in the fifties, strong and athletic, and one of the
richest commoners in England. The Grange is qrrite a
show place in the county, and why the owner of it had
never taken to himself a wife is a question often asked
in Egworth, but never answered.
Had he loved and lost? Or wooed and ridden aw.ay
unmindful of the tearful eves that followed with passionate
despair his gay defection ? Or had he throughout all his
young days escaped scatheless from the fire and bright
eyes, and the allurements of the honeyed voices, that
must here and there have called on him to stay ?
There is not one who knows, in all the quiet little
coirntry-side in which he has elected to spend the latter
part of his life. But when many years had died away,
and he had died with them, one small thing came to light:
some furnitur^e in one of the C! range rooms being removed
by the new owner, there was found behind his bed, sunk
deep in the wall, a delicately framed picture, its face
turned from the light. It proved to be a painting of a
young girl. A fair, j-ellow-haired thing, exquisite of
feature and lovely as a dream, wdio looked orrt from the
canvas with great, soft, luring, blue eyes, and with red
lips, ripe and fresh—a Greuze in colouring, but without
the innocence of expression—a creature perfect in feature,
but soulless and a little unholy I