CHAPTER II.

TIME had come round, and it was the evening of Christmas day. All day long the snow had been falling, accompanied by a fierce north-east wind, that whirled the snow flakes about in such a mad style that they seemed half undecided whether the ground were their destination or not, and so kept making a rush first to one side and then to the other, and then straight up in the air like so many unquiet spirits. Nevertheless, the ground had become covered far and wide with a white mantle of considerable thickness; and now, in the dusk of the evening, as Pepin and his friend John stood looking out of the window of Mr. Tibbins' house, they noticed how rapidly the wheel and hoof marks in the road and the dirty track on the path were becoming filled up and erased by those little restless morsels, whose behaviour was wilder than ever. Pleasant had been the day so nearly over. Pepin had dined en famille with the Tibbins', the only other strangers being two orphan nieces of his host's, who had come to spend Christmas with them; and then all had joined in playing charades, blindman's buff, family coach, and other Christmas games, in which the principal talents required are good temper and agility. Pepin had joined in all this, but it was with a coolness and want of zest, together with occasional fits of abstraction, that made it but too apparent that his thoughts were far away. John had not noticed it, being too much engaged with such ordinary pleasures as are found in eating and drinking, dodging about to escape the pursuer in blindman's buff, or disporting him. self in the intricacies of the gay quadrille. But Mary Anne had felt it deeply. There had been a time when the plump little figure, rosy cheeks, and laughing black eyes, of which she was the happy possessor, had been a great attraction to Pepin; when he would have been sure to have secured her hand for the first set, which he knew she liked, and which he danced so well. True, he had danced with her once during the evening, but it was with a coolness and apathy that went to her heart. And now the tea-things having been cleared away, and Mr. and Mrs. Tibbins having ensconsed themselves by the fireside, she was sitting with her two cousins, embroidering some slippers, and wondering what could be the meaning of it all; while Pepin and John were talking by the window.

"I've sanguinary hopes of doing of it," said John, alluding to the first attempt he had made that evening to unravel the mysteries of that dance called the "Redowa." "I shall have another go at it to-morrow; that is," he added dubiously, "if anybody 'll try it with me."

"Oh! you will do it in time," said Pepin, turning from the window; "and if you'll take my advice, you will have sanguine hopes for the future."

"Ah!” said John, apologetically, "I thought it didn't sound quite right, but you know what I mean. And I really do think I shall do it pretty soon," he added, returning again to the subject on his mind; "it's very difficult at first, but when I get over them twists I shall have it; let's see, this is how it goes, aint it?" and he executed a series of hops and skips and false starts, which Pepin watched with an amused look of superiority, for he had mastered "them twists" long ago.

John had discontinued his efforts to attain proficiency on "the light fantastic toe," and had resumed his occupation of watching the snow flakes, when the silence was again broken, this time by Pepin. "Jolin," said he, turning to his friend," do you believe in mental magnetism? Do you believe," he continued, without giving John time for an answer, "do you believe in that mysterious affinity that exists between some people, drawing, nay, forcing them into close and intimate relations one with another? Have you experienced that subtle power which makes us feel attracted or repelled by a person whom we have never seen before? Can you analyse the spell that is sometimes cast over us by a soul mightier than our own? Ah! I believe in it; I have experienced it; but vain is my attempt to analyse it!"

"Is it though!" said John, in a tone which implied incredulity, "well, I shouldn't 'a thought it."

"Now," continued Pepin, "take as a very common illustration the friendship between man and man; take the friendship which exists between ourselves, John. Now, I am tall, and you are not; I give my entire leisure to the wooing of the Muses, you scarcely know the difference between a Muse and a-a-a dromedary. I pay great attention to verbal and grammatical accuracy in my conversation, you maltreat the Queen's English with an innocent calmness and incoherency of articulation, which I assure you sometimes throws me into a cold prespiration; and though I know that a better effect would be produced when we are out walking together, if I did not have to double myself up quite so much to enable me to carry on a conversation with you; though, I must admit, I should prefer you to have a taste for literature and a mind for grammatical harmonies,-yet for you, friend John, I cherish a feeling of friendship such as I have for none else!

"So do I, old man, so do I," said John fervently.

"And can you not imagine what it must be," Pepin went on with increasing enthusiasm, "when the other to that sacred bond of union is of the gentler sex? when the heart that beats in response to

your own is feminine? Then what a charm is thrown over your life; how brightly the sun shines, how sweetly the birds sing, how changed everything appears then; with what increased energy do you put forth your strength, straining every nerve to render yourself more worthy of your alter ego!"

"Don't you, just!" said John; "I believe you there," and so he did from his heart, though he had but a very vague conception what anybody's "alter ego" was.

Pepin laid one hand on his friend's shoulder, and looking him. full in the face was about to say something in his most impressive manner, when his glance, wandering for an instant round the room, encountered a look of mingled sorrow, reproach, and a something else which he could not quite understand from Pollie; while at the same moment he heard Mrs. Tibbins notifying that supper was ready; so in some confusion he turned abruptly away, and meeting one of the cousins, made some vague remark, and asked her to come to supper, which she did in a slight flutter at the honour done her. And though his conscience, roused by that look, rather smote him, it was soon forgotten in the bewildering character of the knowledge that to-morrow was boxing-day, and that really, without any chance of mistake, on the evening of that day the ball at Captain Bell's was to take place.

During supper that was the principal topic of conversation. Both John and Pollie were going, and great were the anticipations indulged in with regard to the splendour and diversity of the entertainment. It was already known that two violins and a cornet had been specially engaged to accompany the piano during the dancing. And some real private theatricals had been got up by some of the young people; none of your charades, which are at the best but make-believes, but a real play, with real dresses, real swords, a real stage, and some very nearly real thunder and lightning. And though Mr. and Mrs. Tibbins were not going, they took as much interest in the proceedings as if they were, the only silent one of the party being Pollie.

Poor Pollie! It certainly was very hard to have to pretend she was delighted to go, when she would much rather have stayed away. She did not care particularly for these grand affairs at any time, her taste lying more in the direction of a quiet, cosy, homely little party with no formality. And now that Pepin was estranged from her, she cared less for gaiety than ever. For she had seen through it all; she had noticed his lately-acquired depressed looks and brightcoloured neckties; she had read the piece of poetry to " A. ;" she had heard and understood his rhapsody that very afternoon about "affinities" and what not, and had seen the inward delight that moved him at the prospects of the morrow; and she knew only too well that all

must be traced to that fatal evening at her father's house where he had first met Annie Bell. So it is not to be wondered at that she looked forward to the coming festivities with feelings not joyous but grievous. And it was quite a relief to her when supper was over and they separated with mutual expressions of goodwill and good wishes for the new year just approaching; Mr. and Mrs. Tibbins and John to sleep the sleep of the just, she to retire to her chamber and shed many sorrowful tears, and Pepin to wend his way to his back attic, there to lie tossing about in vain endeavours to think of the best way of saying what he meant to say to Miss Bell on the morrow, and finally to fall into a troubled slumber from which he awoke in a state of great perturbation, having dreamt that he had attempted to say what he meant to say to Miss Bell, and had made a mull of it.

Boxing-day dawned at last, as all days we have been looking forward to do in due course of time, and with it came more snow and more wind. And the hours passed with their ordinary speed and regularity, though to Pepin, the anxious one, they seemed to to drag terribly. Often, when in the hurry and bustle of business, had he thought of the joys of solitude, and the good use he would make of days of leisure, had he been fortunate enough to possess them. And now that he had what he desired, for business was suspended, and he had the whole of the day to himself, how vain were his attempts to put his good intentions into practice. He got out paper, pens, and ink, and set to work on an epic poem he was writing in pentameters; but the Muse would not respond, and the words would not rhyme. Then he tried blank verse, but succeeded even worse, producing nothing but blank paper which was reflected in his own blank face. Lastly he threw all his energy into an essay he had lately determined upon writing, having for its aim the proving that woman is necessary for the welfare of the universe and the happiness of mankind; but it was no use trying. When he had just built up in his mind a very elaborate argument, before he could put it to paper, the thought of that blue waist-ribbon Miss Bell had last worn would come upon him with such overpowering effect as to put to flight every other thought in his head, and to reduce to chaos his reasonings a priori, together with his deductions a posteriori.

But the time when he could, with some show of reason, begin the operation of dressing arrived at last. And when that task was completed, and he saw as much of his person reflected in the glass as its rather scanty dimensions of six inches square would permit, he could not help thinking that the dress suit he had hired for the occasion fitted him to a nicety, and that the white rosebud in hi button-hole was perfection itself. And it was with a feeling of

proud satisfaction swelling in his breast, at the consciousness that this evening a least he would look worthy of his choice, and be able more triumphantly than ever to carry all before him, that he descended the stairs and entered the four-wheeler which had been specially chartered to convey him safely to his detination.

It is matter for regret that space will not allow of as full and circumstantial a description of what occurred, on that eventful evening, as we should like to write and as our readers might desire to peruse. And our regret is the keener that we cannot rescue from oblivion the graceful speeches and witty rejoinders that Pepin made, under the magnetic influence of those bright eyes. And we feel an almost irresistible impulse to describe in detail how John Tibbins, having found a young lady willing to share the perils of a Redowa with him, "had another go at it," and performed "them twists" in a most satisfactory manner. But inexorable space, or rather want of it, forbids, and we must content ourselves with briefly mentioning the fact, that at last, being fortified and emboldened by supper, Pepin led Miss Bell out to dance a schottische, in the grave performance of which he resolved himself into a series of animated geometrical figures of an exceedingly tasteful and intricate character; and that at its conclusion he led his partner to a cool and sequestered corner in the conservatory, where they both sat down.

"I am exceedingly obliged to you for that charming dance," said Pepin, with much empressement; "will you allow me to bring you some lemonade?"

"Oh, no! thanks!" said his companion, who was fanning herself with her handkerchief. "I am not thirsty, and this is such a pleasant spot to sit in-is it not?"

Yes, indeed," he rejoined with an expressive look; "a veritable Eden to me, I assure you, blest as it is by the presence of 'ne who-"

"Do you see that beautiful camellia bud?" she said, interruptng him and looking away. "I wish you would get it for mehen-I have something particular to say to you."

Pepin did not require to be asked twice, and very soon had secured the bud, claiming as reward the privilege of fastening it in her dress; which operation having been at length satisfactorily performed, he sat down just a shade closer to her than before, and prepared to listen.

"Now," she began, "before I tell you a word you must promise me faithfully never to reveal it to anybody: not to a living soul !"

"Upon my sacred word of honour," said Pepin solemnly, at the same time placing his hand upon his breast, "I vow I never