"Noblesse oblige," is a grand maxim, and not less true than grand. There was not a person of high rank in that crowd who had not behaved well, and with sufficient coolness, upon this trying occasion. The two principal sufferers, Lord Glenant and Mr. Thurston, behaved the best of all; and, though suffering severe pain from the injuries they received, insisted upon remaining in the ball-room, protesting that they were but slightly hurt, and that they were not going to be sent to bed like little children who had met with some trifling accident.

The music, at Lord Lochawe's orders, struck up again; the dancing recommenced, and the joviality of the evening was rather enhanced than discouraged by this untoward accident. Lord Lochawe, for the remainder of the evening, hardly quitted his son's side, ministering to his wants with his own hands, but not diminishing the mental pain which the young Viscount felt, by pouring into his ears praise of Miss Bethnal's foresight and sagacity, and declaring that, without that foresight of hers, the untoward occurrence would have had most awful consequences.

Lord Glenant, who was swathed up in linen bandages and cotton wadding, and who, as he said himself, presented the appearance of "a cheerful mummy," made many good jokes about that appearance to his various friends, who, from the highest to the humblest, came up, from time to time, to inquire how he felt, and to condole with him.

The Earl, who knew, or conjectured, how much his son was suffering, and who yet felt how he was behaving as a true Lochawe, in making light of pain, and not damping the mirth of the company on this great occasion, felt very proud of his son. He felt very sorrowful too, though he did not understand what his son meant, when, with his muffled hand he grasped his father's arm; and, the old Earl bending over him, said to his father, "The Lochawes, my dearest father, have never been supremely fortunate in love, have they?"

The

old Earl had not an idea at first what his son meant; but feeling compelled to tell the truth, he whispered to his son, and said, "No, my dear,

they have not; but they have always been dignified and great, whatever misfortune may have befallen them." Then, in the recesses of Lord Lochawe's heart, there came a gleam of pleasure and satisfaction which he was much ashamed of, and thought very cruel, for he could not help conjecturing, and rejoicing in the conjecture, that his son's love for some obscure person (little he dreamt who that person was) was not destined to be fortunate. But his pity overcame that feeling, and he grasped his son's hand with a pressure that gave the young man exquisite pain, while he said to him, "Never mind, my dear boy, we can bear all things. I have borne it for a lifetime."

If he had any doubt before, Lord Glenant now knew without a doubt, that he was not loved by Maggie. He looked round for her. She was no longer one of the dancers, but was sitting on a footstool by Mr. Thurston's side, and was devoting herself to changing, from time to time, the bandages around his hands and arms. Occasionally she came to Lord Glenant, who

accepted her good offices, whether he wanted them or not, for it was a pleasure to him to be touched by Maggie, though he knew the kindly touch was only that of a doctress, and not of a loving woman.

CHAPTER XXXV.

UNEXPECTED EMIGRANTS.

S might have been expected, Lord
Glenant and Mr. Thurston suffered

a great deal from the injuries they had received at the fire; and all the more because they had so bravely maintained their places at the ball, and had made light of the pain which they had then suffered. They both were obliged to remain in bed for several days; and, during that time, Lord Glenant had much opportunity for serious reflection.

The soliloquies which we hear upon the stage are not unnatural things. There are some men who do talk to themselves, and very connectedly. Lord Glenant was one of these; and his talking to himself was much as follows::