I like you, cousin Colambre, better than Mr.Salisbury--I would rather live with you than with him; you know that is a certain proof that I am not likely to be in love with him.

I am happy as I am, especially now we are all going to dear Ireland, home, to live together: you cannot conceive with what pleasure I look forward to that.' Lord Colambre was not vain; but love quickly sees love where it exists, or foresees the probability, the possibility of its existence.

He saw that Miss Nugent might love him tenderly, passionately; but that duty, habit, the prepossession that it was impossible she could marry her cousin Colambre--a prepossession instilled into her by his mother--had absolutely prevented her from ever yet thinking of him as a lover.

He saw the hazard for her, he felt the danger for himself.

Never had she appeared to him so attractive as at this moment, when he felt the hope that he could obtain return of love.
'But St.Omar!--Why! why is she a St, Omar!--illegitimate!--"No St.
Omar SANS REPROCHE." My wife she cannot be--I will not engage her affections.' Swift as thoughts in moments of strong feeling pass in the mind without being put into words, our hero thought all this, and determined, cost what it would, to act honourably.
'You spoke of my returning to Ireland, my dear Grace.