“Good bye, then,” said Lord Callonby; “we meet at seven;” and in a few moments the little party were scattered to their several destinations.

“How very hot you have this place, Collins,” said Lady Callonby as we entered the conservatory.

“Only seventy-five, my lady, and the Magnolias require heat.”

I here dropped a little behind, as if to examine a plant, and in a half-whisper said to Lady Jane—­

“How came it that you alone, Lady Jane, should forget I had made another appointment?  I thought you wished to make a sketch of Craigmoran Abbey —­did you forget that we were to ride there to-day?”

Before she could reply, Lady Callonby called out—­“Oh, here it is, Mr. Lorrequer.  Is this a heath? that is the question.”

Here her ladyship pointed to a little scrubby thing, that looked very like a birch rod.  I proceeded to examine it most minutely, while Collins waited with all the intense anxiety of a man whose character depended on the sentence.

“Collins will have it a jungermania,” said she.

“And Collins is right,” said I, not trusting myself with the pronunciation of the awful word her ladyship uttered.

Collins looked ridiculously happy.

“Now that is so delightful,” said Lady Callonby, as she stopped to look for another puzzle.

“What a wretch it is,” said Lady Catherine, covering her face with a handkerchief.

“What a beautiful little flower,” said Lady Jane, lifting up the bell of a “lobelia splendens.”

“You know, of course,” said I, “what they call that flower in France —­L’amour tendre.”

“Indeed!”

“True, I assure you; may I present you with this sprig of it,” cutting off a small twig, and presenting it at the same instant unseen by the others.

She hesitated for an instant, and then extending her fair and taper hand took it.  I dared not look at her as she did so, but a proud swelling triumph at my heart nearly choked me.

“Now Collins,” said Lady Callonby, “I cannot find the Alpen tree I brought home from the Grundenwald.”

Collins hurried forward to her ladyship’s side.

Lady Catherine was also called to assist in the search.

I was alone with Lady Jane.

“Now or never,” thought I; I hesitated—­I stammered—­my voice faltered.  She saw my agitation; she participated in, and increased it.  At last I summoned up courage to touch her hand; she gently withdrew it—­but so gently, it was not a repulse.

“If Lady Jane,” said I at length, “if the devoted—­”

“Holloa, there,” said a deep voice without; “is Mr. Lorrequer there?”

It was Lord Kilkee, returned from his coursing match.  None but he who has felt such an interruption, can feel for me.  I shame to say that his brotherhood to her, for whom I would have perilled my life, restrained me not from something very like a hearty commendation of him to the powers that burn—­