"Who are you?" faintly asked Leoline.

"Your friend, fair lady, and Sir Norman Kingsley's."

Hubert looked to see Leoline start and blush, and was deeply gratified

to see her do both; and her whole pretty countenance became alive with

new-born hope, as if that name were a magic talisman of freedom and joy.

"What is your name, and who are you?" she inquired, in a breathless sort

of way, that made Hubert look at her a moment in calm astonishment.

"I have told you your friend; christened at some remote period, Hubert.

For further particulars, apply to the Earl of Rochester, whose page I

am."

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"The Earl of Rochester's page!" she repeated, in the same quick, excited

way, that surprised and rather lowered her in that good youth's opinion,

for giving way to any feelings so plebeian. "It is--it must be the

same!"

"I have no doubt of it," said Hubert. "The same what?"

"Did you not come from France--from Dijon, recently?" went on Leoline,

rather inappositely, as it struck her hearer.

"Certainly I came from Dijon. Had I the honor of being known to you

there?"

"How strange! How wonderful!" said Leoline, with a paling cheek and

quickened breathing. "How mysterious those things turn out I Thank

Heaven that I have found some one to love at last!"

This speech, which was Greek, algebra, high Dutch, or thereabouts, to

Master Hubert, caused him to stare to such an extent, that when he

came to think of it afterward, positively shocked him. The two great,

wondering dark eyes transfixing her with so much amazement, brought

Leoline to a sense of her talking unfathomable mysteries, quite

incomprehensible to her handsome auditor. She looked at him with a

smile, held out her hand; and Hubert received a strange little electric

thrill, to see that her eyes were full of tears. He took the hand and

raised it to his lips, wondering if the young lady, struck by his good

looks, had conceived a rash and inordinate attack of love at first

sight, and was about to offer herself to him and discard Sir Norman for

ever. From this speculation, the sweet voice aroused him.

"You have told me who you are. Now, do you know who I am?"

"I hope so, fairest Leoline. I know you are the most beautiful lady in

England, and to-morrow will be called Lady Kingsley!"

"I am something more," said Leoline, holding his hand between both hers,

and bending near him; "I am your sister!"

The Earl of Rochester's page must have had good blood in his veins; for

never was there duke, grandee, or peer of the realm, more radically

and unaffectedly nonchalant than he. To this unexpected announcement he

listened with most dignified and well-bred composure, and in his secret

heart, or rather vanity, more disappointed than otherwise, to find his

first solution of her tenderness a great mistake. Leoline held his hand

tight in hers, and looked with loving and tearful eyes in his face.




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