head with such violence, that he fell stunned on the ground. When he recovered his senses he found himself in bed, with a gentleman at his elbow, who allowed no one but himself to speak.
On this part of our narrative we need not dwell—but the unfortunate visitor was confined for a week to his bed. The fever under which he suffered rendered even an attempt to amuse him dangerous; but before the week was over he had learned to think Mrs. Langham the kindest old lady in the world; and that the Major was to be endured, now that he was not allowed to say above five words at a time. He had also discovered that Miss Langham had a low sweet voice, and the light step of a sylph. He was pronounced equal to sitting up for a few hours; it is almost worth while to be an invalid for the sake of that permission.
"We placed you in this room at Caroline’s suggestion," said Mrs. Langham; "it is the one which she occupies, and opens into her own little morning room. As she very justly observed, you could then have change, the moment it was needed, without any fatigue."
Accordingly he was wheeled on the sofa into the adjoining apartment, and left for a little while to recover from the exertion, with an assurance that she and her niece would soon be with him. Charles took the opportunity of looking about him; and the survey very much raised Miss Langham in his estimation.—there was so much feminine taste in the arrangement of the various trifles scattered round. There was a pretty and well-furnished bookcase: he read the titles on the backs of several, and perceived both French and Italian authors mingled with the English. A number of engravings hung on the walls, all chosen with reference to their subjects, all of which had a little touch of sentiment. Some fresh flowers, grouped as only those who have an eye for colours can group them, were upon the table, and a basket of choice plants was in the window; a guitar rested on a stand of music; in short, nothing was wanting that Charles deemed essential in a lady's room. He was not left long to his meditations—his hostess and her niece re-appeared, and he was soon engaged in a very pleasant conversation.
Mrs. Langham was called suddenly away; and for a few minutes there was a pause—broken by Charles asking the young lady—"If she had any friends that were musical?"
"No," replied Caroline. "Indeed we have very few neighbours; my aunt has outlived most of her own friends, and is reluctant to make new ones. We see few strangers, excepting an acquaintance whom Horace now and then brings down—or some old companions of my uncle’s."
There was something in the familiar appellation "Horace" that jarred on Charles’s ear—and there was another pause: after which he could think of nothing better to say, than—
"Mr. Langham is a very gentlemanlike young man!"
"Do you think so," replied his companion coldly.
Charles tried to get a glance at her face, but it was hidden by the curls which fell forward as she bent over her knitting.
"And very witty," continued Bouverie.
"Nay," said Caroline, "there I cannot agree with you. Ridicule is not wit. He is amusing, for he goes a great deal into society, and retails all he there collects—but I never heard him make an original remark in my life."
"He seems, however, a great favourite of yours!" exclaimed the invalid, hastily.
