like to fail in this, for I am too old to fall in love again.'

And women are so different to what they were in your day,' said Helen, playfully.

'Different. Yes, in some things; but the daughters of Eve are still very fair,' responded Arthur, on whom that bright smile had, notwithstanding his love for Alice, told a

little.

Was it Helen's fault that so few men could resist the charm of her manner, the softness of her voice, and the pervading feminine attraction of every look and movement?

Must it be reckoned up among her sins, that having known the bliss of being loved devotedly, and-greater happiness still-of loving deeply in return, her heart should sometimes be filled momentarily with a wild yearning for passionate affection?

Women who are constituted, mentally and physically as Helen was, are the most sorely tempted to evil-tempted alike by

VOL. II.

L

their own hearts and feelings, and by those of the other sex, who, seeing into the depths of their natures, value them for the rich wealth of love that lies buried there. Helen was far from being either ignorant of or insensible to the admiration that she read in Brandreth's eyes. The cold-of-heart will blame her, and the untempted ones will condemn her for a sensation which, after all, was human. But let her hope for pardon (even though she was sending forth her lost Philip's friend to plead his cause with Philip's sister), for she had begun-let us speak it lowly, for the whisper had only thrilled softly through her own heart-she had begun to feel that Brandreth's society was a source of happiness to her, and that the loss of his daily visits would be sorely felt. She had called herself to account for her pitiable weakness, even while Arthur told her of his love for Alice; and had striven successfully to hide the shadow of regret that flitted across her countenance; but when she saw that, in

parting with her, he was not unmoved, a flush of pleasure rose to her temples.

Forgive her, for she is human-forgive her, for she will deeply repent of her momentary weakness, and, doing battle bravely with the enemy, will come out a conqueror at last.

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CHAPTER X.

'The day drags through, though storms keep out the sun, And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree

I planted-they have torn me, and I bleed;

I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.'

BYRON.

THERE came a day after weary waiting, when the peasant postman, in his blouse and badge, left in the spacious kitchen of Kelhouet a voluminous packet containing letters for Lady Thornleigh. The contents of that packet were important, for they told her that she was at last released from the vow of secresy that had been exacted from her, and that she could reward her sister for her generous trust. In her own words shall Gertrude's story be told-told as it was to her who had clung to the suspected one through evil report and good report, saying,

as did the tender Ruth of old, Where thou goest I will go, and where thou diest there I will be buried.'

'You were too young, dear Alice,' began

Lady Thornleigh, when I first left home, to remember that event. I was seventeen then; it seems but as the age of a child to me now, but in those days I deemed myself ripe in wisdom and experience. You know that I was taken abroad by our cousins, the Sedley Mainwarings. They were young, giddy, and devoted to dissipation. Their follies came under the head of "a liking for Society;" but the result of them was, that their house became the rendez-vous of the unprincipled and reckless of all nations, who were congregated in the gay French town where we resided. I was for nearly a year the inmate of their house; and as you may imagine, my life, contrasted as it was with the dullness and misery of home, was agreeable enough. Alice, you do not know what the misery of that home was!"