A PIC NIC. 23 



It was from a long, stedfast gaze upon this picture that I was 

 one day roused by the gentle voice of the original herself, then 

 but a few years older, who had been sent by her father to desire 

 my company during his ride. She had approached quite close 

 to me before I perceived her ; and probably she had already 

 spoken unheeded. A playful but diffident look claimed identity 

 with that recorded on the canvass, and, as her eye followed mine 

 to what had been the cause of my abstraction, the glow on her 

 cheek became as deep as in childhood. We were silent. I felt 

 like a detected thief — yet why? — It was no offence; and if it 

 were, surely I was before a judge who had no great reason to be 

 severe. At length, with a sigh, she said, " Do you know I was 

 very happy when that was painted? A dear friend, a very dear 

 friend, the companion of my infancy, was drawn at the same 

 time. They were romps, I believe, rather than sittings, and we 

 were sorry when they ended.'' ' 



" And who was your very dear friend, Adelaide ? " quoth I, 

 with an awkward prophetic anxiety. 



" Our neighbour, Mr. Burton," she half whispered. It was 

 enough. The tone and look told me the secret of her ingenuous 

 heart, and the hopelessness of what mine had begun to cherish ; 

 and fie on the heart which, from that hour, could beat for her 

 with any but a brother's love. 



She put her arm within mine and led me to her father. 



And now, ladies and gentlemen, suffer me to lead you back to 

 Mrs. Allington and the window. I was in the act of leaving my 

 ambuscade, from very anger at the discovery which that perspi- 

 cacious lady had thus made of my best secret, and her pitiless 

 disclosure of it to her husband, when honest John again riveted 

 me to my chair by asking, with his wonted simplicity, the very 

 question I longed to put. 



" And how do you know all this ? " said he. 



" I know it," replied his obliging partner, " I know it all 

 beyond a doubt. For Madamoiselle questioned Mr. H.'s confi- 

 dential Swiss, by my direction, about his master's habits and 

 fortune. Broullion affected to be diplomatic with her, but La 

 Crepe was too much for him, and out it all came. Every one 

 with eyes can see how it is, and I myself spent half a morning 

 joining together some torn bits of paper which I watched him 

 throw under the great library table, and they turned out to be 

 some very bad verses entitled ^ The Irresolute, addressed to A. A.' 

 Now do n't fly off, Mr. A.," continued she, in a tone of soothing 



