by beds of flowers, interspersed with a few glorious old trees, sloped down towards the river, and the shrubs, which were arranged tastefully on either side, formed a shady secluded walk for any one disposed for solitude.

Sybella had always loved the dear little place, and the days which she spent there were considered worthy of being set down as red-letter days in her calendar; but it now appeared to have lost all its charms.

The grass was no longer in her eyes the greenest; the good old trees, once so praised for their ancient beauty, were no longer deemed worthy of her consideration.

Even the much-petted spaniel of the establishment failed in his attempts to attract her notice, and she languidly pushed him aside to continue her dreamy gaze upon the calm surface of the river before her.

The words which had been uttered on that fatal day were never absent from her thoughts, and she seemed still to hear the tones of David's voice lingering in her ear. "Shall I never forget them ?" she said mournfully to herself. "He must live on without me, and, worse still, he will live on thinking me fickle and unkind. I wish I had never come here. I wish I had seen him in London, and not yielded to the advice of others; no one can understand the case. I would so much rather have explained everything to him myself, and have shown him that, at any rate, I am not so despicable and unworthy as he will now think me."

Mrs. Elliott's kind inquiries as to the state of her health met with a cold rejoinder, very foreign to the nature of her once unselfish little friend.

"Sybella takes that silly romantic affair of Captain Chetwynde's too much to heart," she remarked to her husband; for the latter had confided so far in Mrs. Elliott as to have informed her that Captain Chetwynde, in ignorance of her position, had on the day of her accident given certain proofs of a growing attachment to her, which might lead to painful explanations, and that she wished henceforth to avoid him. "Charles," continued Mrs. Elliott, turning away from the window to her husband, "that poor girl is quite changed, and I can never believe that the mere fact of a cold caught ten days back could have altered her so. I feel for her as if she were one of my own dear children, and I wish she would confide in me fully. There is either more in that affair than we are aware of, or she is suffering from some secret grief."

Miss Saunders had been to town that same morning, and, amongst other matters, had brought back the information that Captain Chetwynde had called at their residence in Brompton four times during the week, that he had appeared much annoyed at the servant's answer to his inquiries, and had expressed much surprise that Miss Harcourt should have given no address when she wrote to him.

"I wonder if an absence from England would do her any good," rejoined Mr. Elliott, in answer to his wife's former remark."I had occasion to call upon a lady the other day on a matter of business, a very charming person but rather enthusiastic, and during luncheon-which she insisted on my staying for-she broached the subject of a companion for herself or her daughter, I don't know which. They are going abroad at Of course Sybella would not think of a salary, she could go as a friend, her expenses being defrayed by Mrs. Pierrepont (the lady in

once.

question); and she has so often and so ardently longed again to visit the Continent, that the plan I propose might meet with a favourable reception. She certainly is far from well, and seems quite out of spirits. But how about the governess, Minnie-eh? She's a nuisance that Miss Saunders, and our young friend would do twenty times better away from her depressing influence. I'll broach the subject of the foreign tour myself to her this very evening."

Mr. Elliott managed with so much tact, that Sybella, who longed to leave England for a while, not only accepted his views, but felt very grateful for the manner in which he afterwards contrived to arrange matters, so as to allow of her availing herself of the proffered advantage without any wound to her delicacy or pride.

"You will come with us there to-morrow, will you not, dear?" said Mrs. Elliott, some few mornings after the negotiations had been brought to a satisfactory close. "Mrs. Pierrepont seemed, from what I could judge by an hour's conversation the other day, to be everything that is delightful. She regretted your absence so much, and when we introduced the subject of the continental tour, seemed quite enchanted at the idea of a gentlewoman as a daily companion for herself and daughter instead of the half-and-half people who appear by her account to have answered her advertisements.

They are to leave almost directly for Bruges (where they propose to make a short stay), and from thence up the Rhine, en route for Italya delightful tour-and I fervently hope-indeed, I am sure-it will prove a benefit to you in more respects than one. Poor child!" she continued, gently stroking the thin hands which she held in her own. "The performance of our duty is sometimes very, very hard; but, depend upon it, in after years, when we can reflect with calmness on the past, when the feelings which were so painfully acute are softened by time, the consolation and happiness we derive from the fact of having had strength afforded us to act rightly, afford ample compensation for the painful trials we may have undergone in the struggle.

"You have often asked me about my early life, and you and many of my friends generally think that the happy look which I hope is now settled upon my face is the result of an uninterrupted life of ease and contentment; but, believe me, I rejoice to say that my past trials, chiefly the result, I confess, of my own folly and misconduct, have been neither few nor insignificant, but unfortunate, in my opinion, are those to whom trials and misfortunes have never yet been sent.

"They can never know the joy, the inward peace and satisfaction, whatever the world may think of them, which arises from the conquest of self.

"I married early, as you know-very early. Many girls are still in the schoolroom at the age when I was a mother. My lover had no fortune, but I was devotedly attached to him, and money is generally forgotten when love takes possession of us. We would not wait for better days, and without a thought for the future we married.

66

I can scarcely even now think of the years of trial and suffering which followed without a shudder, and yet no one ever saw me with a long face; and people continually remarked what a light-hearted little woman I was. Every trial, unless it arose from the loss of children or the illness of my husband, I bore cheerfully.

"The resolution I had formed never to give my husband cause to blame himself for having persuaded me to marry, made me always look at the bright side of things, and hope on often, I confess, with very little ground for hope.

"The very light-heartedness, however, with which I bore my trials was construed by many into recklessness and pride. I made the best of everything to the world, and, consequently, got no pity from any one. I believe I was thought impertinent as well as wicked for not looking dejected and miserable.

"But I do not regret the weary years of poverty and contempt, which were doubtless sent to me for some good reason.

"Strength will always be given us to bear our trials if we only ask for it from the right source, and I often think, in all my daily privations, that as long as my husband loved and trusted me I was happier, perhaps, than those who despised me."

"Ah! Sybella," said Mr. Elliott, who had entered the room, his eyes glistening as he accidentally overheard the last few words, "my wife does not often talk of our early life, and I wish she would try and forget it altogether.

"Our sons and daughters have grown up around us, are married or settled away, and the days that are past are almost now to me like a dream. The present, so full of happiness and so rich in love, has quite outlived the remembrance of the days of yore. Hasn't it, old lady?" he resumed, kissing the faded cheek which had been pressed lovingly to the hand his wife was holding whilst he spoke.

"A good wife is indeed a crown to her husband. I have had much bitterness from poverty in my early life, and the world was very hard and cruel to us both; but I never thought of Minnie, and the way in which she bore unflinchingly all our daily trials, without feeling myself a king, who owned a crown of precious jewels not to be purchased with any amount of wealth whatever. We trusted in God and in each other," he added, “and thus came out conquerors in the strife. But enough of ourselves and the past," said he, laughing.

"You will join the party to-morrow, I hope, Sybella. Mrs. Pierrepont is anxious to see over an institution of which I became a governor some few years ago-a madhouse, in fact. Having incidentally mentioned this in conversation, that enthusiastic lady started up from her seat, placed both her hands upon my arm, and entreated me to show her over the place, adding that, much as she desired to see the establishment, she would not go except under my escort, and begged me to ask you to be of the party.

"If on better acquaintance you like the lady, you can accompany them abroad; if not, we can easily set aside the arrangement. But I confess I think myself it would be in every way desirable, because, with all her vagaries, Mrs. Pierrepont is a gentlewoman, and, as such, will appreciate you as a companion for herself and her daughter, and the change of scene will quite restore you, I hope, to your usual health."

They separated shortly after this, and before Sybella prepared to retire for the night, she sat for some time in meditation. She made up her mind not to see David again, unless, indeed, she should ever regain her freedom-a contingency which she hardly dare allow her thoughts to dwell on, but which she could not banish from them altogether.

"Better that he should think me undeserving of his love and forget me," she repeated once more, with a sigh; "better for both, than that he should continue to love me with the knowledge of the barrier between us.

"We are certain not to meet abroad," she thought, "and therefore I cannot do better than leave for Italy with Mrs. Pierrepont. Mr. Elliott says they are gentlepeople, though he knows none of the family except Mrs. Pierrepont and her daughter; but if I find them at all to my liking, I will close at once with their offer. Whilst I am away, I will beg him to leave no stone unturned to find out if Captain Travers is still alive. It seems so dreadful to feel that the positive death of any one can be thought a blessing, and yet

The image of David here rose up to her mind, and Sybella shuddered as she knelt down and humbly prayed for resignation-prayed that, however great her trial, she might have strength given her to bear it.

VI.

NEW FRIENDS.

IT had been arranged that the party were to assemble before the gates of the asylum at twelve o'clock on the following day, and simultaneously with the carriage containing the Elliotts and Sybella arrived that of Mrs. Pierrepont and her daughter Theodosia.

Many were the greetings which took place on the occasion of the introduction, particularly on the part of the elder lady, always delighted and delightful with newly-made acquaintance.

"I am charmed to know you, my dearest child," she exclaimed, holding out both hands for Sybella's acceptance as she spoke. "Theodosia, take care of Miss Harcourt, and follow us; we are going at once over this interesting establishment. You cannot imagine, Mr. Elliott," she went on to say, taking his arm and glancing behind her during their progress to see if Theodosia fraternised sufficiently with Sybella, "what great interest I have always taken in poor creatures who have been deprived of their senses."

Mr. Elliott being one of the governors of the asylum, every facility was offered to the party, and under his guidance they agreed to inspect the lower regions before ascending to the wards appropriated to the patients.

Here Mrs. Pierrepont declared herself enchanted; and certainly, if order, cleanliness, and excellent fare were fit subjects for enthusiasm, the excitement which she displayed was not misplaced.

The dinner-hour had arrived, and hearing this they took leave of the basement, and ascending the wide stone staircases, were quickly ushered by an attendant into the largest ward of the establishment.

The clatter of knives and forks, and the staid figures of the attendants, who had placed themselves behind the chairs of the patients, ready to attend to their most trifling wants, announced that the repast was already in progress.

Meeting one of the medical officers who was bound on a visit to the same ward, he was introduced by Mr. Elliott, and together they proceeded through the refectory.

"What scathed, wretched-looking faces!" thought Sybella, as she

glanced at the long line of women seated at the table, each busily employed (till the appearance of the strangers) upon the plateful of meat before them.

The clatter of the knives, &c., seemed to cease for a moment, some of the poor creatures looking up at the visitors with that cunning expression peculiar to madness, but whilst a portion appeared to resent their intrusion during meal-time as a deadly insult, others seemed wholly indifferent to their presence.

A cheerful, well-conducted band of nurses, attired alike, were flitting about the room, who changed the plates, and placed the pudding upon the board, to the evident satisfaction of their helpless charges.

One poor woman, whom Mrs. Pierrepont had remarked as a most quiet, harmless-looking old lady, glanced slyly at Mr. Elliott, and taking advantage of the bustle, removed the salt-cellar in front of her, and quietly emptied the contents into a plateful of pudding belonging to her neighbour.

"Oh, Polly!" he exclaimed, taking the thin worn hand which had been shyly extended, "you are at your tricks again, I see." And as he inquired kindly after her health, and kept the hand within his own, the poor dull eyes of the invalid brightened, and a smile broke out over her puckered old face as she gave almost rational answers to his inquiries.

"Only look," said Mrs. Pierrepont, who, until now, had been deep in conversation with the doctor, "look at that comical old woman who is seated at the head of the table."

The meal had come to an end, and leaning back comfortably in her wooden seat, the object of her attention was engaged in hushing to sleep a faded waxen doll which she carried in her bosom, singing, at the same time, a strange, unearthly kind of lullaby.

"Ah!" replied Mr. Elliott, resigning the hand of his former old lady, poor Maggie's history is a very sad one; she came here a young, blooming woman, and look at her now. Some years ago she lost her husband by a fall from a scaffold; she was very near her confinement at the time of the accident; her child was born, and idolised by the poor bereaved mother, but unfortunately died in fits a few months after its birth.

"Disease, aggravated, doubtless, by previous want, together with the death of both her husband and child, acted upon her brain, and now for years old Maggie has been a harmless maniac. She is never happy unless that queer little effigy is in her arms; she is always conversing with it, and actually never sleeps without carrying it to bed in her bosom.

"It is a sad case," he resumed, patting old Maggie kindly on the shoulder, and nodding to her as she lifted up the tawdry doll in a childish manner for his inspection.

"Now, now, what's the matter there?" exclaimed the doctor, quickly, as three or four of the nurses rushed into an adjacent ward, and were seen through the open door holding down the hands, and resisting in a kind but firm manner the attempts to bite which a refractory patient was indulging in.

"It is all right, only the new comer," he said, as he returned to Mrs. Pierrepont's side. "That girl has done nothing but bite the nurses and destroy her clothes since she entered last week; she is a German, I believe, and has been a governess. Ah, you can have no idea, madam,"