far superior to the house she was now in.  She forgot that her position in East Lynne as Mr. Carlyle’s wife would not be what it had been as Lord Mount Severn’s daughter; she forgot that she would be tied to a quiet house, shut out from the great world, the pomps and vanities to which she was born.  She liked Mr. Carlyle much; she experienced pleasure in conversing with him; she liked to be with him; in short, but for that other ill-omened fancy which had crept over her, there would have been danger of her falling in love with Mr. Carlyle.  And oh! to be removed forever from the bitter dependence on Lady Mount Severn—­East Lynne would in truth, after that, seem what she had called it:  Eden.

“So far it looks favorable,” mentally exclaimed poor Isabel, “but there is the other side of the question.  It is not only that I do not love Mr. Carlyle, but I fear I do love, or very nearly love, Francis Levison.  I wish he would ask me to be his wife!—­or that I had never seen him.”

Isabel’s soliloquy was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Levison and the countess.  What the latter had said to the old lady to win her to the cause, was best known to herself, but she was eloquent in it.  They both used every possible argument to induce her to accept Mr. Carlyle:  the old lady declaring that she had never been introduced to any one she was so much taken with, and Mrs. Levison was incapable of asserting what was not true; that he was worth a dozen empty-headed men of the great world.

Isabel listened, now swayed one way, now the other, and when afternoon came, her head was aching with perplexity.  The stumbling block that she could not get over was Francis Levison.  She saw Mr. Carlyle approach from her window, and went down to the drawing-room, not in the least knowing what her answer was to be; a shadowy idea was presenting itself, that she would ask him for longer time, and write her answer.

In the drawing-room was Francis Levison, and her heart beat wildly; which said beating might have convinced her that she ought not to marry another.

“Where have you been hiding yourself?” cried he.  “Did you hear of our mishap with the pony carriage?”

“No,” was her answer.

“I was driving Emma into town.  The pony took fright, kicked, plunged and went down upon his knees; she took fright in turn, got out, and walked back.  So I gave the brute some chastisement and a race, and brought him to the stables, getting home in time to be introduced to Mr. Carlyle.  He seems an out-and-out good fellow, Isabel, and I congratulate you.”

“What!” she uttered.

“Don’t start.  We are all in the family, and my lady told; I won’t betray it abroad.  She says East Lynne is a place to be coveted; I wish you happiness, Isabel.”

“Thank you,” she returned in a sarcastic tone, though her throat beat and her lips quivered.  “You are premature in your congratulations, Captain Levison.”