ceived him there could be no doubt, still she might be guiltless of any serious crime.

"This letter," he said to himself, "would either clear or convict her. It is addressed to Miss Melvill or Lord Hovingham."

Irresolute as to what he should do, he for a few moments stood gazing at the direction. Then he broke the seal, took the letter from the envelope, again replacing it. At last suspense became so terrible that he tore open the cover and began to read it. His worst suspicions were confirmed. The scoundrel Louis, in asking for further supplies, referred to the dark deed he was guilty of at Albano, reminding her of the solemn pledges she had given him of becoming his wife. It concluded by his saying he reletters, which

turned her a portion of her would be duly handed to her by his trustworthy friend, Mr. Fergus O'Lachlin. "The whole may be false-no letters are enclosed. I may have done an injustice to my beloved cousin." These and other thoughts passed rapidly through Hovingham's mind, and he

was about to seek the presence of her he felt he might have wronged, when Jennings again appeared.

"Here's a packet for Miss Melvill or your lordship which Mr. O'Lachlin forgot to deliver."

Shortly afterwards Joanna-like Niobe, all tears-made her appearance.

"It is not my wish," said Lord Hovingham, sternly, "to accuse you unjustly. The contents of this packet will prove your innocence or guilt. All I require to know is, whether the letters to which Louis Cambesi refers are genuine or not." Here he opened the packet. "If they are forgeries I will again take you to my heart; if on the contrary, we part never to meet again.'

"Forgive, oh! forgive me, dearest Frank."

66

Say no more, my misery is complete. Return to your guardian to-day. His recent indisposition will account for your sudden

Hovingham then rushed out of the room, ordered the carriage to convey Miss Melvill home, and left the house, determined not to return to it until the cause of his agony had left it.

In less than an hour Mr. Tinsley arrived, and laid before Lord Hovingham an additional proof of his cousin's treachery.

CHAPTER XVII.

Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same,
Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame ?
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,

I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.

Thou hast call'd me thy Angel in moments of bliss,
And thy Angel I'll be, mid the horrors of this,
Thro' the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,
And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too.

But, oh! it sends a sweetness through my fate,
That I am thine again; and, without blame
May in my Tancred's arms, resign my soul.

T. MOORE.

THOMSON.

LADY HOVINGHAM had in early life basked too long in the smiles of unclouded prosperity not to shudder at the chilling prospects before her; no wonder, then, that a feeling of heart-withering melancholy had hovered around her like a thin mist over the mountains; it soon became a cloud, which

overshadowed her cheerfulness and crippled

her activity.

For months she struggled against that misfortune which had blighted her life and made existence a burthen to her. Wounded pride, hatred of the vile woman whose machinations had deprived her of a once loving husband, produced a deep and hopeless melancholy, which desolated her soul.

Through the exertions of her friends to rouse her from the state of lethargy she had sunk into, Margaret occasionally mixed in society; but even then she felt the truth of the lines

From sport to sport they hurry me,

To banish my regret,

And when they win a smile from me,
They think that I forget.

One evening, when dressing to accompany her sister to the Albert Hall, she accidentally took up the Echo, when her attention was attracted to the following paragraph :

"We regret to hear that Lord Hovingham has had a relapse, and great fears are enter