Indulging in fewer ecstacies, displaying less eloquence in protestations of adoration, he was disposed by nature to love truly and deeply. "Ah!" said some, "that young man must be courted to be won. He is too bashful to take the initiative. But the proceedings will have to be conducted cautiously, for the timid creature would take fright at too sudden or too violent an avowal." But Julia, without intending a conquest, was absolutely attempting it, in the fervour of her gratitude, the romance of her feelings, and the simplicity and purity of her character. Consciously, or unconsciously, she looked at him upon each visit as if he were most welcome to her. She took a wonderful interest in everybody and everything connected with the young man. She conversed with modest warmth, but still with warmth. She sung and played before him as under some special and pleasing inspiration. She believed he was heaven sent to her, and went the way to make him see that she believed he was. Strange to say, although Horace was placed in this novel and interesting position, he failed to receive the full advantages thereof. He did not reciprocate the friendship to the like extent. Not that he had the least want of kindness or respect in his feelings toward her; not that he thought her bold or unmaidenly in her advances; nor that he was indifferent to her beauty, or unmindful of her culture. All that he knew was this, that she, perhaps, thought more seriously about him than he cared for her to do, as his own heart was not sufficiently moved. She might be beginning to be in love with him, when he was not sensible of love to her. It was an awkward discovery. Though flattering to vanity to perceive another, whom he could not but ever highly esteem, have a preference for his society, and though fancying it quite probable with a little effort he could return such inclinations, his sense of honour would not permit his indulgence of the vanity, nor his reverence for truth sanction the forcing of a sentiment. Perhaps his high principle was helped in another direction. Somehow he began to suspect that there was a slight tendency on his part to have a preference for the other sister. He never owned this to himself, when speculating upon his duty. Once he almost confessed it to himself, but he immediately withdrew the suggestion. Would it not be as unfortunately inopportune as for Julia to think of him? Was it not quite evident that Annie, in her freedom of manner, her jaunty air, her careless speech to him, cared less about him than even he did for Julia? Again, could she help perceiving her sister's partiality for him, and hearing her praises of him? Would not this knowledge alone arrest any possible buddings of regard for him, even supposing the buds were forming? It was exceedingly embarrassing. At first he half resolved to speak to his mother about the matter. He had heretofore told her everything. But he could not name this subject. It was so foolish. What right had he to suppose Julia was in love? If she were, was it delicate for him to breathe a word about it, even to his own mother? He would stay away from Hawthorn Cottage. But to do this, he must not be rude. His absence would excite the suspicions he wished not to arouse. Was it not natural, if somewhat imprudent, for a girl to like the man who had saved her life? Might there, after all, be anything more than a warm demonstration of gratitude, rendered peculiarly glowing by the romantic temperament of the girl? Were he to misinterpret the feeling, and in his egotism treat it as one of love, would he not cover himself with humiliation, and bring blushes of pain to maidenly cheeks? He did not say there was yet another reason why he should still continue his friendly visits. He saw Annie there. Her conversation interested him. On the last two or three occasions he had observed her more than usually attentive when he spoke in the family. And when he had turned to her, and, with some extra earnestness, perhaps, had discoursed of books in which he was interested, there was a little softness in her manner, and a subdued look, quite foreign to her usual way. She had voluntarily played tunes for which he had previously expressed a preference. Then he half believed that Julia was less demonstrative in her gratitude. She had become used to his presence. One evening, when returning homeward, he suddenly exclaimed: "I do wish Tom were with me when I went to Woodbine Cottage. I must get him to go. He is a good fellow, and deserves a good wife. I do believe Julia and he would just suit one another." CHAPTER XIX. LOVE'S CROSS PURPOSES. TOM was introduced to the family. He was no stranger for all that. In a settlement of a few thousand people all are neighbours more or less, and all know something of everybody there. He was in his usual rollicking vein, and placed himself at once at perfect ease. A contest of wit arose between him and Annie, affording great amusement to the rest. The young lady was so unmerciful in her attacks, that her mother interposed more than once with a hint of propriety. But Tom exulted in the battle, and dealt return blows with animation and vigour. As usual, both sides claimed the victory. But what effect had the discussion on them and others? Though the two were so singularly alike, though each answered the ideal of the other, they both failed to see that they were halves needing but union to make a perfect whole. To his friend's description of the two ladies, Tom had cried out, Annie's the girl for me,' to the annoyance of Horace. Now he would have said, 'She is a jolly girl, but not the girl for me.' Annie was not smitten with him as she expected she would have been. She liked his person, she liked his fun, she liked his candour; but there was a something that rather repelled than attracted. He would be famous at a pic-nic, but not for a party indoors. He would be a merry companion for a walk, but not the mate for her. Horace had watched the encounter with much interest. It was a hazardous experiment upon which he had entered. What if the young fellow should have been drawn to the one he thought he preferred himself! And what if the lady should have greeted Tom with marks of approval not obvious on her part toward himself! At any rate, that result, although unfortunate, he thought, would relieve him from present doubt and anxiety. If Annie were taken with Tom, it was clear that his own supposed predilections must be retired. It would not only be proof that the door was closed to himself, but that she would be wanting in those special sympathies indispensable in one to be his wife. When first favouring her, it must have been from his defective observation. He could |