"Pshaw! If you love me, Amy, and are not trifling with my devotion, you will be here; this trinket you wear around your neck shall be your gage."

A hasty kiss, half forced, half yielded, and Amy was gone; leaving Clifton with the comfortable conviction, that-call it "gallantry," or what he would,he was behaving "exceeeding like" a scoundrel.

A deep, heavy sigh, almost a sob, as if it came from a heart overburdened with woe and breaking beneath its weight, sounded in his

ears.

He dropt the jewel he carelessly held, and instinctively grasped his sword; gazing fiercely round upon the ancestral portraits that filled the gallery, as if he fancied that the sound were uttered by one of them. "Surely," said he, half laughing, at his own conceit, "It can't be that one of these grim old fellows is coming down to chastise me, for my treachery to the fair Maud. My sword has ever been ready to defend my claim to a pretty woman,-with flesh and blood antagonists, butwarring with one's ancestors, is quite a different matter! So, Gentlemen,” said he, carelessly removing his plumed hat, "good evening to you!"

As he left the gallery, the heavy curtain was drawn back, and Maud came forth—but how changed!

In that short time, the light, the smile of youth, had for ever departed. She looked like one awaking from sleep to the conviction of some dread sorrow that in slumber had been forgotten; and moved mechanically from the spot where grief so great had shadowed her young life.

That evening passed away, and Maud's accustomed place by her father's side was vacant. In reply to messages which he anxiously sent, she only begged to be excused from making her appearance in the family group; a slight head-ache being-as usual in such cases-the reason alleged for her absence.

There was no doubt, no uneasiness. Neither Clifton nor Amy feared their meeting known; but still Amy felt happier in her absence, for she dreaded the accusing presence of the woman she had wronged.

Clifton, too, was at liberty to pursue the amusement of the hour; for such was his love for Amy-nothing more. Poor foolish girl! like many others, she had mistaken tinsel for gold. It was scarcely worth paying so heavy a price as her future peace of mind, for so worthless a bauble as that which some men, and some women, too, call love. But Maud was in truth, physically ill; and even had she not been so, the task was too

heavy for her strength to pass calmly through the household routine with that dread weight upon her heart.

She needed rest, she needed thought. It was a bitter trial-for woman the most bitter-to fall on a young heart that had hitherto known no sorrow except by name. The reflection, how fair that future might have been, now came with double force. What had she done? What failed in, to lose the love so prized, so treasured-a love whose intensity she knew not-so closely had she folded the jewel to her heart-till now, when it was lost. Torturing fancy presented to her sight-even in that darkened chamber-the gay, careless, handsome face; the half-mocking smile, redeemed by the tender glance of a dark eye, which memory persisted in repeating ever sought hers alone with an expression it bore for none beside; and the voice-she heard it now-lightly uttering a careless jest, or sinking low in tenderness, breathing words that thrilled through her innermost being, even as she had heard it long since; uttering words. of love that should have been listened to by her only. And as the agony of this thought darted through her soul, she cowered down upon her couch, while the irrepressible sobs she could neither silence nor subdue-in spite of herself-relieved her almost breaking heart. She thought it breaking then! Little had she learnt how much the heart can bear, and yet not break!

But the silent night brought with it calm, if not consolation; and, by morning's dawn-though both heart and brain ached, with that dull, heavy throb which a great sorrow leaves-she had determined on her future course.

Frequent messages had been sent to her from Clifton. Her father and Amy had both been refused admittance. Amy she could not meet as yet-and her good, kind father, he who had so trusted Clifton, so loved herself, she scarcely dared to think of his anger against his nephew-his pity for his poor child; and yet to lean her aching head against one true heart, and feel that, while betrayed by friend and lover, there was still one left who could never weary, never desert, would be almost happiness. There was Noel, too! she had forgotten him! He who had ever been as a dear kind brother-he would advise, would protect her; perhaps her heart half whispered-excuse Clifton's baseness. But the next moment the indignant blood flushed her cheek, and she clenched her hand in scorn at the weakness that prompted the hope.

Noel came. Ever grave, though gentle; some hidden sorrow, while it took from his spirits the elasticity of youth, added depth and strength to his mind and heart, and lent a gentleness to his manner; for he who had himself suffered, could pity the sufferings of others.

She had wisely chosen.

His deferential manner, his grave courtesy, enabled her more readily to restrain the emotion which would else have mastered her composure, while it soothed the wounded pride of woman's nature-the pride which feels itself humiliated by its tacit rejection.

Noel had known her yesterday a trusting, loving girl, leaning in the sweet helplessness of a confiding spirit on the affection of those around her; a few hours of grief and bitterness had passed over her young head, and Maud Derwent had become a woman, still loving, but, alas for her! not trusting. A resolve to tread firmly the path she had marked out for her lonely future, and a spirit strung to stern endurance of the sufferings she knew must be her portion in the present, were thenceforth to be her guides.

Still with the excuse of illness Maud kept her chamber; and as evening drew on Amy came with timid step again to enquire after her health. She bade Amy enter. Half reluctantly the command-for such was its tone-was obeyed; and Amy, in the low window-seat, watched with a restlessness shown by the tapping of her foot upon the ground, the lengthening shadows, as they crept onward, like the approach of age, more rapid in their encroachments as night, like death, came

The soft, low voice startled the girl by its very quietude. It was so calm, so icy, so unlike Maud.

Amy arose. Crossing the room, instinctively she knelt at Maud Derwent's feet.

Gently, Maud raised the bent head of the kneeling girl; and gazed steadfastly, sadly, into the fair face before her; while she felt against her knee the beating heart, throbbing with a dread, she scarcely knew of what.

With a half suppressed cry, that escaped her lips as if terror had checked its utterance, Amy bowed her head almost to the ground; while she wept wild, passionate sobs of shame. Maud hesitated for a moment, and her lips quivered, but by an effort of control that left them whitened by the inward agony, she continued,

"Amy! Listen! I have no reproaches to utter.-It would be useless now, they could not restore me, his love-even if they could, I would not utter them. To you and me-from this night-the past must be a

D

sealed book. My task can only be forgetfulness! With you it will be different. For the memory of our old friendship, I would see you happy; and by that memory-and its hours of confidence, answer me truly,”in spite of her studied calmness, her voice trembled, as she slowly said, love him?"

"do you

"Oh! Maud, forgive me! I do!"

There was a pause: the low sobs of the kneeling penitent were the only sound that broke the stillness.

"He has said so, a thousand times.”

"And you believed him? As I did."

"Oh! Maud, forgive me! I will go away ! I will never see Clifton again! I shall die! I shall die! And then you will forgive me!" "Amy, listen to me! You promised to meet him this evening. Remain here. I I go in your stead."

"Forgive me, Maud! Forgive me first! Your anger will kill me." "I am not angry," replied Maud, while she strove to free her dress from the clasp of the kneeling girl.

"And yet you speak so coldly! Oh, Maud! Forgive me!" "I-pity you!"

And Amy was alone.

Clifton was loitering in the old gallery; waiting for the appearance of Amy; assured in his self-confidence that she would be there, though no promise had been uttered; but Clifton Derwent was somewhat, or fancied himself somewhat skilled, in the vagaries and coquetries of womanhood (Clifton was a man of the world. He had seen life, and could already count his conquests in numbers) and from his rash experience, knew that a woman is never so ready to carry on a flirtation, as with her friend's lover. Added to the pleasure of fancying herself beloved, would be the dear delight of stealing the jewel from another's breast; though Clifton did not carry his imagination far enough to picture her disappointment, when she should learn the intrinsic value of the bauble gained at so much cost.

A light step-and lighter touch-and he turned hastily. "Dearest Amy!"

But the words died on his half-opened lips, as he confronted his betrothed.

She was no longer pale, a crimson spot glowed upon each cheek; her eyes had lost their soft, half-mournful expression, and sparkled with a brilliancy he had never seen in them before; and, as she beheld his

astonishment, a scornful smile curled her lips, while she met his gaze with one as steadfast. Never had Clifton fancied her so lovely. His volatile fancy again returned to its allegiance; and Maud Derwent was the idol of the moment. With impassioned language, he bent over the fair hand she had passively permitted him to take in his; a slight shudder agitated her frame, as his warm lip touched the icy hand he clasped, startling him by its coldness.

"Hush!" she uttered with a suddenness which contrasted abruptly with her former quietude. "Hush! there has been enough of this! Enough to tell me, Clifton Derwent, that you are doubly perjured."

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'Maud !

دو

Clifton, I know all !-Your love for Amy-your faithlessness to me. Nay! I am not here to reproach you; but still, Clifton, was this kind? Was it even manly? You loved another! The tie which bound us was easy to sever! Why not have done so, and not given me the bitter pang of learning your inconstancy from another?"

"Has Amy, then, dared—”

"Amy has dared nothing, Clifton-but to practise deceit, at the bidding of her master!"

"I do not understand you," he answered, rising haughtily to his full height, and looking most proudly innocent. For a moment, Maud gazed steadily upon him, and again a sarcastic smile curled her lip, as she raised a trinket before his eyes, that she had hitherto hidden in her hand.

For a moment, Clifton's self-possession was shaken, and he stood humbled and abashed before the young girl he had securely fancied his own.

Like the Spartan, he saw no evil in the deed,-in detection only lay the shame. But he rapidly recovered himself, and taking the trinket from Maud's unresisting hand, he carelessly flung it through the open window, saying, with a winning smile-" So vanish all my follies! Dear Maud! Is it possible you are jealous! Jealous of the unmeaning attentions I have offered to a blue-eyed damsel, who was in truth as ready to receive as I to offer.

Oh, Clifton Derwent! Is it possible, you can so lightly speak of Oh, Clifton! For the sake of the cousinly affection, I still would you, do not make me think you worthless as you are fickle!" And she shrank almost with terror from the touch of the arm he would have placed around her. Clifton was chafed.

bear

"Mistress Derwent," he said gravely, "what would

you have?"