“Reserve your congratulations, Louis, till they are needed,” replied Lady Gertrude, fixing her eyes steadily on Caroline’s face, which was rapidly changing from pale to crimson.

“I have no such exciting news to communicate,” she added, very quietly.  “Eugene is in England, and alone.”

“In England!” repeated Percy, starting up; “I am delighted to hear it.  I just know enough of him to wish most ardently to know more.  Will he not join us?  He surely will not winter at Castle Malvern alone, like a hermit, surrounded by snows; if he do, he is a bachelor confirmed:  not a hope for his restoration to the congenial warmth of life.”

“He has no such intention,” replied Lady Gertrude, smiling; “our present happy circle has too many attractions to permit his resting quietly in solitude, and, with Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton’s kind permission, will join us here by Christmas Eve.”

“There are few whom we shall be so pleased to welcome as my noble young friend St. Eval,” answered Mr. Hamilton, instantly; “few whose society I so much prize, both for myself and my sons.”

“And the minstrel’s harp shall sleep no more, but wake her boldest chords to welcome such a guest to Oakwood’s aged walls,” exclaimed Emmeline, gaily.

“Thus I give you leave to welcome him, but if he take my place with you in our evening walks, I shall wish him back again at Monte Rosa in a twinkling,” observed Lord Louis, in the same gay tone, and looking archly at his fair companion; “when Eugene appears my reign is always over.”

“Louis, I shall put you under the command of Sir George Wilmot,” said his father, laughing, however, with the rest of the circle.

“Ay, ay, do; the sea is just the berth for such youngsters as these,” remarked the old Admiral, clapping his hand kindly on the lad’s shoulder.

While such badinage was passing, serious thoughts were occupying the minds of more than one individual of that circle.  It would be difficult to define the feelings of Caroline as she heard that St. Eval was in England, and coming to Oakwood.  Had he so soon conquered his affections, that he could associate with lier on terms of friendly intimacy?  She longed to confess to her mother her many conflicting feelings; she felt that her earnest prayers were her own, but shame prevented all disclosure.  She could not admit she now loved that very man whom she had once treated with such contempt and scorn, rejected with proud indifference.  Even her mother, her fond mother, would say her present feelings were a just punishment for the past; and that she could not bear.  Inwardly she resolved that not a word should pass her lips; she would suffer unshrinkingly, and in silence.