upon her of her approaching expedition, and the delight with which she should again return to us in the spring.

If, like the angel who conducted Parnell's Hermit, some heavenly guide had pointed out to an invisible witness of this quiet scene of domestic happiness, the secrets that were buried under its smooth surface, what a start of horror would he not have given, how would he not have shuddered if that angel had said, "Look upon those three women! See that fair young creature, in whose pure eyes there is a depth of holy thought and tranquil peace, such as this world can never give or take away; and it is well for her that it should be so; for, beautiful as she is, and priceless as are the treasures of her heart and mind, she has been delivered over to one who counts these treasures as dross, and whose perverted taste sees more of beauty in the turbid stream than in the pure lake, in the flashing eye and stormy brow, than in the calm gaze of purity and love. She stands alone in the strength of her faith, in the might of her innocence; but even now a new link has wound itself round her heart; and though her step be firm, and her soul be strong, they must wax firmer and stronger still, for the sake of the child whom she bears in her womb. Now she is chained down to earth; now she can no longer say with St. Paul, 'To die is gain.' Now she can no longer pass through the world as if she belonged not to it. She must cling to him whose name she bears; she must follow his steps; she must watch his eyes;

'She must pour her heart's rich treasures forth,
Although unrepaid for their priceless worth;'

for he is the father of her child; and what God has thus joined together, nothing in Heaven or on earth can put asunder. But who stands between her and her husband? Whose eyes draw away the glances that should be fixed on hers? Whose ears hear and tolerate the words of love which should be hers alone? Do you see the girl that holds her hand, and leans on the back of the couch where she sits? One hair of her unworthy head is more dear to that infatuated man, than all the matchless beauty, the sacred purity, the unstained affection

of his young wife. Look at that other woman, whose eyes are fixed with such tender and ardent affection on the same girl, whose childhood she has blessed, whose youth she has watched over, and on whose head she has heaped blessings without end; in whose existence she has centred all the happiness of her own. That girl, with that very hand which has been so often and so fondly kissed by a childless mother; that girl (cursed be her anger, for it was fierce, and her wrath, for it was cruel!) hurled to a watery grave the only child of that devoted friend, of that more than mother; and there she sits by the side of her whom she has made childless; and she holds the hand of the wife whose husband adores her, and whose love she dares not check; there she sits, as if a mine was not ready to spring under their feet; and even now a smile is on her face, for some gay remark has been addressed to her, and, like the Indian at the stake, she must die before she writhes, and must look upon the deeds she has done, and the pangs she endures, as if her nerves were of iron, and her heart of stone."

A servant came up-stairs to tell Alice that her husband was waiting for her in the carriage, and a moment after she was gone Edward announced to us that everything was settled about his standing for the county, and that he should start at six o'clock the next morning for Elmsley. "Lovell will go with me," he added; "he has not been well lately, and thinks the change of air will do him good." And turning to Mrs. Middleton, he continued, "Henry promises to help me in canvassing, and as neither you nor Ellen can be with me, his eloquence will be invaluable. You do not think Mrs. Lovell will be annoyed at his going?”

"Not at all," answered Mrs. Middleton; "and we will ask her to come and stay with us here during your and Henry's absence. How long will it be do you suppose?"

"Not more than three or four days, I should imagine; and now I must consult you upon a plan which my uncle and myself have formed, but for which we require your sanction, and Ellen's consent. The election will take place in about a

fortnight, exactly the time we had fixed upon for our marriage; Lawson has just told us that the settlements could without much difficulty be got ready by this day week; and if we were married on that day, we could go and spend a week at Hillscombe, and then join you at Elmsley, where my uncle is quite determined to go for the election."

My aunt was preparing to make some objections to this plan, when Mr. Middleton came into the room, and by assuming that it was thus settled, and declaring that any further discussion of it was unnecessary, put a stop to the conversation. Edward took me into the next room, and asked me if I had any objection to the arrangement. As I saw by his face that he would be exceedingly annoyed if I did object, I expressed my perfect readiness to agree to it. He seemed altogether so much pleased and excited, that my selftormenting disposition immediately suggested to me, that politics interested him more than anything else, and that no one day since our engagement had he appeared so satisfied and so cheerful. I was also foolish enough to be annoyed at his seeming so thoroughly reconciled to Henry; I felt a kind of vague irritation at Henry's accompanying him on this journey, and the more his spirits rose, the more mine fell. As I did not seem to take much interest in his electioneering concerns he dropped the subject, and began to talk of Alice, whose beauty and manners he warmly praised. “You do not think that Henry appreciates her, do you?"

"Who can tell," I exclaimed, "when a woman is appreciated? Once secure in the affection he has inspired, a man's love often waxes wondrous cool." As I said this I had what the French call "des larmes dans la voix."

Edward fixed his eyes on the ground and knit his brows, but after a moment looked up into my face and said, “How well Lovell knows you!"

I coloured, and asked him what he meant.

"I heard him say one day that it was difficult to tell if you felt what you acted, or acted what you felt."

This severe sarcasm cut me to the heart, and to have

Henry quoted against me by Edward, was more than I could bear. Pride and anger struggled for a moment with grief in my breast, but were soon conquered by it. I must have looked intensely unhappy, for Edward took my hand in his, and drawing me kindly to him, said, "My dearest love, I did not mean to vex you.'

"If you had you would have succeeded," I answered with bitterness. "No, Edward," I continued, passionately; "from you I can bear everything. Reprove me as often and as severely as you please; treat me harshly when I deserve it; I shall never be weary of your reproof, nor complain of your severity; but that you should allow Henry to influence you against me · that you should quote his sarcasms and call them truth, even when their object is to make you doubt the reality of my feelings, the sincerity of my affection

Edward got up, and walked up and down the room; his countenance was more disturbed than it had yet been at any time since our engagement. At last he stopped before me, and after looking at me in silence for a few minutes, he said, "You are a spoilt child, my Ellen, in the fullest sense of the word. Your life has been too happy" - (Good God! was that the conclusion he had come to?) - "you have known nothing of the real trials of life, or you would not take pleasure in creating them for yourself. Believe me, Ellen, do not plant unnecessary thorns in a path where they will spring up but too naturally. What is there wanting to your happiness now? Is not our mutual love as strong as ever? Is not my whole soul devoted to you? In a few days you will be my wife, and when I promise to love and cherish you until death shall part us, it will be no empty vow that will pass my lips, but a solemn pledge which my whole life shall redeem. But do not expect from me the language of romance, the cant of sentiment; I look upon you as the dearest and most precious treasure that was ever consigned to a man's keeping, but not as an idol before which I must bow. I must strengthen you with my strength, rather than yield to your weakness; in my very harshness, Ellen, there is a tenderness which you

may trust in, for though it may sometimes wound, it will never fail you."

Penitent and subdued I listened in silence to Edward's words. Earnestly and humbly I pressed his hand to my heart, and when we parted that night I felt that though I feared him more, I loved him also with a more solemn tenderness and a deeper reverence than ever.

Has passed my lips! Methought in those sad moments,
The tombs around, the saints, the darkened altar
And all the trembling shrines with horror shook."

TANCRED AND SIGISMUNDA.

THE following morning, when Henry came to breakfast with Edward previous to their departure, Mrs. Middleton had a long conversation with him. She proposed to him that Alice should come and stay with us during his absence. He gladly accepted this offer, and wrote a line to his wife recommending her to do so in a way that left her no option.

Edward had left me in a state of mind which made Alice's society very acceptable to me; my spirits were subdued, and Henry's absence removed the restless irritation which I usually felt in his presence. My time was taken up in a great measure by the number of little occupations which my approaching marriage occasioned. Presents came pouring in daily from relations and friends; I had also to answer letters of congratulation, and all the business of that great change in one's existence was in the full tide of activity.

The second morning after Edward's departure, I asked Alice to go with me to a shop in St. James's-street, where I wanted to buy a present for Mrs. Hatton. We set out together, but as the day was fine and not too hot for walking, we resolved to go first into Hyde Park. The dusty burnt-up grass was still pleasanter to tread upon than the broad flagstones; and there was a breeze that felt pure and refreshing to lungs that had been obliged for so long to inhale the foggy