A Changed Heart. May Agnes Fleming

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      They both laughed at the recollection. Natty scented her rose.

      "Some one threw me this. Gallant, wasn't it? I love roses."

      "Sweets to the sweet! I am only sorry I had not something more worthy 'Evangeline,' than that poor little flower."

      "Then it was you. I thought so! Thank you for the rose and the compliment. One is as pretty as the other."

      She laughed saucily, her bright eyes flashing a dangerous glance at him. Next instant they were floating round, and round, and round; and Captain Cavendish began to think the world must be a great rose garden, and Speckport Eden, since in it he had found his Eve. Not quite his yet, though, for the moment the waltz concluded, a dashing and dangerously good-looking young fellow stepped coolly up and bore her off.

      Val having given his partner a finishing whirl into a seat, left her there, and came up, wiping his face.

      "By jingo, 'tis hard work, and Catty Clowrie goes the pace with a vengeance. How do you like Natty?"

      "'Like' is not the word. Who is that gentleman she is walking with?"

      "That—where are they? Oh, I see—that is Captain Locksley, of the merchant-service. The army and navy forever, eh! Where are you going?"

      "Out of this hot room a moment. I'll be back directly."

      Mrs. McGregor came up and asked Val to join a whist-party she was getting up. "And be my partner, Val," she enjoined, as she led him off, "because you're the best cheat I know of."

      Val was soon completely absorbed in the fascinations of whist, at a penny a game, but the announcement of supper soon broke up both card-playing and dancing; and as he rose from the table he caught sight of Captain Cavendish just entering. His long legs crossed the room in three strides.

      "You've got back, have you? What have you been about all this time?"

      "I was smoking a cigar out there on the steps, and getting a little fresh air—no, fog, for I'll take my oath it's thick enough to be cut with a knife. When I was in London, I thought I knew something of fog, but Speckport beats it all to nothing."

      "Yes," said Val, gravely, "it's one of the institutions of the country, and we're proud of it. Did you see Charley Marsh anywhere in your travels. I heard Natty just now asking for him."

      "Oh, yes, I've seen him," said Captain Cavendish, significantly.

      There was that in his tone which made Val look at him. "Where was he and what was he doing?" he inquired.

      "Making love, to your first question; sitting in a recess of the tall window, to your second. He did not see me, but I saw him."

      "Who was he with?"

      "Something very pretty—prettier than anything in this room, excepting Miss Natty. Black eyes, black curls, rosy cheeks, and the dearest little waist! Who is she?"

      Val gave a long, low whistle.

      "Do you know her?" persisted Captain Cavendish.

      "Oh, don't I though? Was she little, and was she laughing?"

      "Yes, to both questions. Now, who is she?"

      Val's answer was a shower of mysterious nods.

      "I heard the story before, but I didn't think the boy was such a fool. Speckport is such a place for gossip, you know; but it seems the gossips were right for once. What will Natty say, I wonder?"

      "Will you tell me who she is?" cried Captain Cavendish, impatiently.

      "Come to supper," was Val's answer; "I'm too hungry to talk now. I'll tell you about it by-and-by."

      Charley was before them at the table, helping all the young ladies right and left, and keeping up a running fire of jokes, old and new, stale and original, and setting the table in a roar. Everybody was talking and laughing at the top of their lungs; glass and china, and knives and forks, rattled and jingled until the uproar became deafening, and people shouted with laughter, without in the least knowing what they were laughing at. The mustached lip of Captain Cavendish curled with a little contemptuous smile at the whole thing, and Miss Jeannette McGregor, who had managed to get him beside her, saw it, and felt fit to die with mortification.

      "What a dreadful noise they do keep up. It makes my head ache to listen to them!" she said, resentfully.

      Captain Cavendish, who had been listening to her tattle-tittle for the last half-hour, answering yes and no at random, started into consciousness that she was talking again.

      "I beg your pardon, Miss McGregor. What was it you said? I am afraid I was not attending."

      "I am afraid you were not," said Miss McGregor, forcing a laugh, while biting her lips. "They are going back to the drawing-room—Dieu merci! It is like Babel being here."

      "Let us wait," said Captain Cavendish, eying the crowd, and beginning to be gallant. "I am not going to have you jostled to death. One would think it was for life or death they were pushing."

      It was fully ten minutes before the coast was clear, and then the captain drew Miss Jeannette's arm within his, and led her to the drawing-room. Mrs. McGregor, sitting there among her satellites, saw them, and the maternal bosom glowed with pride. It was the future Marquis and Marchioness of Carrabas!

      Some one was singing. A splendid soprano voice was ringing through the room, singing, "Hear me, Norma." It finished as they drew near, and the singer, Miss Natty Marsh, glancing over her shoulder, flashed one of her bright bewitching glances at them.

      She rose up from the piano, flirting out her gauze skirts, and laughing at the shower of entreaties to sing again.

      "I am going to see some engravings Alick has promised to show me," she said; "so spare your eloquence, Mesdames et Messieurs. I am inexorable."

      "I think I will go over and have a look at the engravings, too," said Captain Cavendish.

      She was sitting at a little stand, all her bright hair loose around her, and shading the pictures. Young McGregor was bending devoutly near her, but not talking, only too happy to be just there, and talking was not the young gentleman's forte.

      "Captain Cavendish," said the clear voice, as, without turning round, she held the engraving over her shoulder, "look at this—is it not pretty?"

      How had she seen him? Had she eyes in the back of her head? He took the engraving, wondering inwardly, and sat down beside her.

      It was a strange picture she had given him. A black and wrathful sky, a black and heaving sea, and a long strip of black and desolate coast. A full moon flickered ghastly through the scudding clouds, and wan in its light you saw a girl standing on a high rock, straining her eyes out to sea. Her hair and dress fluttered in the wind; her face was wild, spectral, and agonized. Captain Cavendish gazed on it as if fascinated.

      "What a story it tells!" Nathalie cried. "It makes one think of Charles Kingsley's weird song of the 'Three Fishers.' Well, Charley, what is it?"

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