With that facility with which in youth the generous and susceptible are prone to exchange their tears for smiles, as some powerful motive for the reaction may prompt, the invalid had already, and for the moment, lost sight of the painful past in the pleasurable present, so that his actual excitement was strongly in contrast with the melancholy he had so recently exhibited.  Never had Charles de Haldimar appeared so eminently handsome; and yet his beauty resembled that of a frail and delicate woman, rather than that of one called to the manly and arduous profession of a soldier.  It was that delicate and Medor-like beauty which might have won the heart and fascinated the sense of a second Angelica.  The light brown hair flowing in thick and natural waves over a high white forehead; the rich bloom of the transparent and downy cheek; the large, blue, long, dark-lashed eye, in which a shade of languor harmonised with the soft but animated expression of the whole countenance,—­the dimpled mouth,—­the small, clear, and even teeth,—­all these now characterised Charles de Haldimar; and if to these we add a voice rich, full, and melodious, and a smile sweet and fascinating, we shall be at no loss to account for the readiness with which Sir Everard suffered his imagination to draw on the brother for those attributes he ascribed to the sister.

It was while this impression was strong upon his fancy, he took occasion to remark, in reply to an observation of De Haldimar’s, alluding to the despair with which his sister would have been seized, had she known one brother had fallen by the hand of the friend of the other.

“The grief of my own heart, Charles, on this occasion, would have been little inferior to her own.  The truth is, my feelings during the last three hours have let me into a secret, of the existence of which I was, in a great degree, ignorant until then:  I scarcely know how to express myself, for the communication is so truly absurd and romantic you will not credit it.”  He paused, hesitated, and then, as if determined to anticipate the ridicule he seemed to feel would be attached to his confession, with a forced half laugh pursued:  “The fact is, Charles, I have been so much used to listen to your warm and eloquent praises of your sister, I have absolutely, I will not say fallen in love with (that would be going too far), but conceived so strong an interest in her, that my most ardent desire would be to find favour in her eyes.  What say you, my friend? are you inclined to forward my suit; and if so, is there any chance for me, think you, with herself?”

The breast of Charles de Haldimar, who had listened with deep and increasing attention to this avowal, swelled high with pleasurable excitement, and raising himself up in his bed with one hand, while he grasped one of Sir Everard’s with the other, he exclaimed with a transport of affection too forcible to be controlled,—­