change in Lord Avonleigh's countenance. "My dearest father," exclaimed he, as he gave him the letters, "do not exclude me from your confidence; my love for you will supply the place of experience."
"Not now," replied his father; "As yet I know not what I have to learn;—leave me for the present."
"I may soon return?" asked the youth, as he paused on the window-sill.
"Certainly, my child."
And, satisfied with the affectionate look which answered his own, Albert sprang down into the park.
Lord Avonleigh drew the papers towards him, and, turning his back to the light, prepared to examine their contents; but it was long before he could detach his gaze from the picture. The fair young face seemed to brighten beneath his look, even as it was wont to do of old: could it be so many, many years since they had parted? Deeply at that moment did Lord Avonleigh feel the conviction, that never had he been loved as he was loved by that forsaken Italian. His marriage, if not unhappy, had been indifferent; it brought back none of those passionate and tender thoughts associated with the image of Beatrice—it was not the
