rocky points from whence the little bay and its wooded coast were seen to most advantage. In doing so, we gradually separated into different parties, and Mrs. Brandon, Rosa, Henry, and myself, went to explore a small cavern, where there were some curious sands of various colours, which Mr. Brandon had described to us the day before.

Rosa was on her knees upon the ground, collecting specimens of each; I was looking at the sea through a natural window in the rock; when Mrs. Brandon asked her if she had got all she wanted, and begged her, if she had, to walk back with her to the inn, as she wished to order luncheon, and speak to Mr. Brandon about the arrangements for our return.

I was preparing to follow them, when Henry laid his hand on my arm, and said in so serious a voice that it quite startled me, "For my sister's sake, Ellen, stay with me here a few moments; we will walk back by the downs; I have much to say to you, and this is my last opportunity."

I stopped immediately, and leant against the entrance of the cavern.

Henry was as pale as death, his lip was quivering, and his hand shook violently as he took hold of mine.

"Ellen," he said, abruptly, "do you know that I love you, as much as a man can love, more than words can express? Do you know, do you feel it, Ellen?" And he wrung my hand with nervous violence.

"Has your sister written to you?" I asked, with a trembling voice.

"She has. What will you do?" "What can I do?"

"Do you care for me?"

"I am sorry to part with you."

As I said these words, I hid my face in my hands, and from nervous agitation, burst into tears.

"Then we shall never part!" he exclaimed. "Then tomorrow, at this hour, you shall be mine mine for ever, beyond all human power to part us! mine, to worship, to adore, to live for, to die for! Ellen, do you hear me? Speak

to me! Answer me! Shall this be? Shall it be? Why do you look so pale and so cold?"

"You are raving, Henry, you are raving; you frighten me, you hurt me; let me go.'

I rushed out of the cavern, and sitting down on a stone by the sea-side, cried bitterly.

When I looked up, Henry was standing before me, waiting for my next words with forced calmness; but as I remained silent, he made a strong effort over himself, and said quietly, "I will explain to you what I mean; I am not going to make love to you now; I have not time to tell you what I feel, and what you know as well as I do; but thus much I must tell you, my sister is right when she says that your uncle will never consent to our marriage: he never will, Ellen; and if we part now, we part for ever; and God only knows the misery which hangs over both our heads if we do."

I raised my head at these words, and looked at him with surprise; he had no right to assume that such a separation would make me miserable; my pride was wounded, and spoke in my eyes: he read their language, and went on:

"This is no time for girlish resentment; forgive me, Ellen; I make you angry, but when the fate of a whole life, and more than one life, hangs on the decision of an hour, it is no time for weighing words; and mine must be few. Mrs. Brandon knows that I love you, and how I love you! she thinks too that you love me. She is well acquainted with her brother's inflexible prejudices, with his stubborn character; she received from your dying mother a charge to shield and protect you; should he ever turn against you, and make you unhappy by the sternness of his conscientious but iron nature, she will obey that charge; she will go with you to-morrow to the church at Henley, and stand by us while we

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"Stop, Henry, stop, I cannot, will not, listen to such words as these. You ask me to marry; to seal my fate, against my uncle's will, without my aunt's consent; you ask me to add another drop of sorrow to the cup already too bitter and too full. That I should do this! Oh, my God, he asks me to

do this, and I sit by and listen; Henry, I almost hate the thought."

-

"Can you believe," he rejoined, "that she would not bless you for the act? Can you think that when she hears that the child of her adoption, the child of her love, has saved from anguish, from despair, from guilt, the brother whom she nursed in his cradle, whose mother she was, as she has been yours, can you think that she will not pronounce a secret but fervent blessing on your head? She obeys her husband's stern commands, Ellen, but her heart aches for us. Oh! for her sake, in the name of your dying mother, whose letter Mrs. Brandon will show you; for my sake, for your own; I implore you not to drive me to despair! for again I repeat it, unutterable misery, which you do not, which you cannot, now understand or foresee, awaits you, if you should refuse to yield to my entreaties."

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'Henry, you speak a strange language, and I must know the truth. I am tired of doubts; I am tired of fears; I am weary of my life; and I must speak. What unknown misery do you threaten me with? What are your secrets? Ay, I must know them!" And in my turn, I seized his arm, and pushing away the hair from my forehead, I looked him full in the face. "Why am I to avoid the Tracys? Why do vulgar ruffians use your name to terrify me into a marriage with you? Why am I now to be forced into a secret marriage, and at a day's notice? and if your ungovernable passions are not instantly gratified, why are you to plunge into guilt and into despair?"

Frightened at my own violence, I sat down breathless and trembling. He on the contrary had grown calm, and there was almost a sneer on his lips as he answered, "Those vulgar ruffians are relatives of the Tracys, and, for their sakes, I wished to spare them an exposure which would have been of no use to any one. I believe that they meant no more than a foolish practical joke, of which the account was highly coloured by Rosa Moore; but you can easily understand that such people would not be desirable acquaintances to make, and I, therefore, recommended you to keep away from a

house where you might meet them. As to the misery that you may bring upon yourself, Ellen, if you return to Elmsley, I may not, perhaps, fully make you feel it; but when I tell you, that your uncle, determined as he is to prevent your marrying me, is as much determined to make you marry Edward Middleton, you may, perhaps, form some idea of it."

"Marry Edward," (I muttered to myself,) and then shuddering at the recollection of the words he was reported to have said—I cried, "No, no; that can never be.”

"No, never," said Henry, in a solemn voice. "There is a gulf between you which can never be filled up."

"What, what?" I cried with a sensation of terror.

"Did you not say just now yourself, Ellen, that such a marriage never could be? But you know not what persecution would be employed in order to bring it about. Poor Julia's death was, in a worldly sense, a great advantage to you. It made you at once a rich heiress." (I could not stifle a groan of anguish, but Henry went on as if he had not heard it.) "1 happen to know that your uncle has settled the whole of his property upon you in the event of your marrying Edward; but I also know that he will disinherit either of you who should refuse to comply with that condition."

"I never will consent to it. Let him have my uncle's for tune; let me be banished from Elmsley; but nothing shall ever make me agree to what would degrade him and myself."

"Then, Ellen," eagerly exclaimed Henry; "then, Ellen, if such is your resolution, do not hesitate an instant more. Once married to me, you are safe in my arms from dangers which you do not dream of, which I dare not point out to you. Ellen, I tremble for myself and for you if you should refuse me. Together, we may have trials to meet; but parted, they will be fearful. We must meet them together. Our fates are linked in a strange mysterious manner. There is a similarity in our destinies, and if you leave me now

He paused, his voice was choked with the violence of his emotion; the reckless, the daring Henry Lovell was weeping like a child. Oh, then again I thought I liked him, for I knelt

down by his side, I took his hand in mine, I bathed it with my tears, and I whispered to him that I would promise anything, that I would plight my faith to him, do anything but consent to the secret marriage he proposed.

Again and again, he urged it with increasing vehemence, with ardent supplications. Once he said, "Ellen, you are destroying my happiness and your own; but not ours alone; you know not what you do. The fate of a pure and innocent existence is at this moment in your hands; do not doom it to secret anguish, to hopeless sorrow. Have mercy on yourself, on me, on her!"

In vain. I pressed him to explain himself; he only protested, over and over again, with still greater agitation, and even swore that we must be married now or never; that it was useless to speak of the future. He spurned every alternative, and every promise I offered to make; till, at last, indignant and irritated, I exclaimed, as I got up and turned towards the town, "Well, then, let it be so; let us part for ever; everything is at an end between us."

He rushed before me, stopped me, held both my hands in his iron grasp, and with a countenance that one could hardly have recognised as his own, so dreadful was its expression of rage, he said, "No; all is not at an end between us. We do not part for ever. Now, even at this moment, I could bring you on your knees at my feet; I could force you to implore my pity, my forbearance, ill-fated, unhappy girl, whom I love with that fierce love, which idolises one hour and hates the next. No, we do not part for ever; through life I shall be at your side, either to worship and adore you, to be all in all to you, in spite of man and laws, and duties and ties; or else to haunt your path, to spoil your joys, to wring your soul. Ellen, I must be the blessing or the curse of your life. Never shall I be indifferent to you. You have refused, in ignorance, in madness, you have refused to be my wife. You shall be my victim! Either you shall love me as wildly, as passionately as I love you, and weep with tears of blood that you spurned me to-day; or if ever you love another, I will stand between him