pleasure-nay, let me let me speak on now, Horace !-now that I am strengthened for the trial-and do not -do not think, dearest !-for I interpret that look-that he has stricken me by the hand I loved; I was not made for duration, Horace! - you know my mother died early of consumption-I was not well before my father's death; and that great shock! -so sudden!-and"- "And I have done the rest!-I-wretch that I am! -Tell me so, Milly!-tell me so at once, rather than stab me with such mockery of comfort;" and no longer able to restrain himself, even for her sake, he started from her side, and paced the room in agitation, that she wisely suffered to subside before she attempted to resume her affecting subject." But it is not too late; Millicent! angel! thou wilt yet be spared that I may repay with life-long tenderness thy matchless excellence;" and then, melted to softer feelings, he flung himself beside her, and clasping her to his bosom, gave way to a passion of womanish tears. When both had in some measure recovered composure, Vernon was the first to speak again, though in an agitated whisper: Tell me, my beloved! Oh tell me, you will try to live for my sake! I know-I see how blind I have been-how madly blind to your increased indisposition; fool! idiot! that I was-I heard of it for the first time this morning from Mr Henderson-but he told me-he said-indeed, indeed, Milly! our good friend thinks that with care and watchfulness all will go well again-and such care!-such watchfulness as I shall take now!-Oh God! Oh God!"— And now their tears mingled; for Millicent's rolled fast down her pale cheeks, and it was many minutes before she again found utterance, and that her secret prayer for strength was answered, and she was able to speak to him words of peace and comfort. "I know I know," she faltered out at last," that I may yet recover, if such be God's pleasure, my Horace! -for in His hands are life and death -but, my beloved! if you would endeavour to reconcile yourself to a contrary event, I should be well content to go, for methinks the bitterness of death is past-and do not call it unkind, Horace! I doubt whether I could ever again, under any cir

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cumstances, be so happy in this world as I have been. I feel as if the capabilities of earthly happiness and usefulness were dead within me; as if I had already left my youth and prime of days at an immessurable distance-and such a companion would ill suit you, Horace!— would ill assort with your buoyant spirit and unsubdued energies. But God's will be done! He will order all as is best for us; and if I live, and you continue to wish I should become your wife"

"If I continue to wish it!-Oh, Millicent !"-" Then, then, dear Horace! I would only say-May God bless our union!-but if it is not to be, I do not tell you to remember me; I know you will do that; but I would bid you, for my sake, torture not your own heart with self-upbraiding. Assign all-the ordering of allas indeed is only fitting, to the will of Providence;-and-and-if my poor Nora should be unjust and unreasonable in her grief, bear with her, dear Horace, and be kind to her still, for my sake. This little dwelling!-I have taken some order about it, and her. The long-expected living will be yours at last ;-and thus I have so arranged it-you will not disapprove it, Horace ?—that this cottage may be let or sold, and so furnish a provision for my faithful Nora. Forgive me, that I pain you thus, dear friend !-and yet, a few words more. Oh, my dear Horace! be watchful of yourself. We have all much need to pray against the deceitfulness of our own hearts. The world and its ways would cheat you, Horace! for I know your heart. Oh, I have longed thus to pour out the fulness of mine-my whole spirit, if it might be-in one appeal to yours:" And, elevated by the solemnity of that appeal, and by the fervour of her enthusiasm, Millicent's voice became full and firm, though its tones were deep as if sent up from the bosom's inmost sanctuary, and her counte nance was irradiated by more than earthly beauty, as, clasping her pale thin hands together, she looked up in Vernon's face, and slowly articulated, "Above all, my father's friend! mine own dear friend! so run the race that is yet before you, that, though mine is first finished, we may meet at last in the land where there shall be no more separation." The awful pathos of that affecting prayer, though it thrilled

through the heart of Vernon, subdued his impatient spirit and agitated nerves to solemn stillness. He attempted no audible answer-words would have been powerless to express his feelings; but Millicent felt and understood all the assurance she desired to receive, in the tears that mois tened her clasped hands,as, taking them between his, he bent his face upon them in the long and profound silence that succeeded to his violent emotion. Horace Vernon laid his head that night upon the pillow by many degrees a sadder and a wiser man" than he had arisen from it in the morning. But sleep came not to his eyelids, nor rest to his spirit, till ytter exhaustion procured him towards morning a short interval of troubled slumber. Lady Octavia was not long in perceiving the decline, or rather cessation, of her influence over Vernon. But attributing his defection to resentment at the unguarded sentence which had escaped her in his presence on the perusal of Lady Jane's letter, she only read in it the indication of a more profound passion than she had yet felt certain of having inspired him with. But after a few days of condescending sweetness, fruitlessly expended in manoeuvres to lure back the startled quarry, she began to suspect that whatever was the cause of Vernon's brusque retreat from her boudoir, and of his subsequent refroidissement, he was now detained from her by a return to his first allegiance, of which her ladyship had by no means calculated the possibility, while the light of her attractions still blazed in competition with the pale star of Millicent.

Picqued at this discovery, Lady Octavia's heart was forthwith vehemently set on what would otherwise (in the near prospect of departure from Sea Vale) have been a matter of comparative indifference to her-the recovery of her former ascendency; and nothing daunted by first failures, she worked at her purpose with all the energies of those great co-operating powers-woman's will and woman's wit, supported by woman's perseve rance. But even those combined forces had wellnigh experienced signal defeat, so entirely had Vernon's revived affection and reawakened fears for Millicent, and his bitterly compunctious feelings, engrossed every faculty of his soul, since that notable morning when

the trifling incident of Lady Octavia's momentary incaution had been so influential in arousing him from his long illusion. Influential as it had been, however, in the first instance, by sending him forth in that mood of mortified and bitter feeling, which, rather than any worthier cause, had impelled his first hasty steps towards the longdeserted cottage; the better thoughts that, in his way thither, had gradually superseded his previous irritationhis short but startling conference with the good apothecary-and last, and above all, that affecting interview with Millicent, had so effaced all recollection of the paltry annoyance which had originally disturbed him, that it was first called to his recollection by the almost deprecating tenderness of Lady Octavia's voice and looks, when she found an opportunity of addressing him unobserved; and that was not very speedily obtained, for, except at the dinner hour, and some short portion of the after evening conceded to Dr Hartop's claims, Horace scarcely absented himself from the cottage for many days, after that which had so effectually aroused him from his long and culpable infatuation. Before the little casement of Millicent's chamber was unclosed, he was looking up towards it as he paced the walk beneath with nervous impatience; and even his conscience-struck reluctance to confront Nora, was overcome by his anxiety to obtain from her the first and most exact report of her gentle mistress. A painful surprise awaited Vernon the first morning he was thus early at the cottage. Long after the little casement above had been partly opened, and he had seen Nora pass and repass before it, as if preparing to assist Millicent at her toilet, he had awaited for some time in the gardenin the dear old arbour, and, lastly, in the little sitting-room, in expectation of Miss Aboyne coming down to breakfast. But finding, at length, that there were not even any symptoms of preparation for the morning meal, he was driven to enquire the reason of such unusual delay, and then learnt, with a pang that wrung him to the heart's core, (for Nora spared not to speak home,) that, for some time past, Millicent had been too much enfeebled to rise at her accustomed hour, and now habitually took her breakfast in bed. The emotion with which Vernon listened to this startling corrobo

ration of his fears, still trembled in the tone of his voice as he hurriedly remarked, " Why, Nora! surely it was not so long ago, that when I "Oh, no! Mr Horace; not so long, to be sure,' interrupted the faithful servant, with a look that spoke, and was meant to speak, keenest reproach; "not more than a fortnight maybe, or perhaps three weeks-no time at all -only people may be dead and buried, and forgotten too, you know, Mr Horace, in less than that. The last time you were to have breakfasted here, you were so thoughtful as to tell Miss Aboyne over night that you would come next morning; so the dear child would rise, and make me dress her to be ready for you-she was too ill then to dress herself, poor heart!though I told her it was ill spending her precious life upon one that little deserved it of her."-" Little indeed!" groaned Horace, as he turned abrupt ly from Nora and the cottage, to breakfast where and with what appetite he might.

breakfasted here last".

But Horace Vernon's versatile feelings and unstable nature, characteristics often leading to results as fatal as those consequent on the indulgence of violent and evil passions, were as easily elated as depressed; and, in truth, his mind was not so constituted as to be long capable of enduring or retaining a deeply painful impression. By degrees he deluded himself into the belief that he had been too seriously alarmed, though not too soon awakened. And indeed his now tenderly unremitting watchfulness of the drooping Millicent was soon rewarded by such a reviving brightness of spirit in her, as in a manner reflected itself outwardly on the fair and fragile frame, which at all times sympathised but too faithfully with the fine essence it enshrined. It is true, Millicent herself replied only by a grateful smile, or an evasive word -not always uttered with a steady voice-to Vernon's fond entreaties that she would acknowledge herself to be regaining strength-that she would bless him with some assurance that might confirm his sanguine hopes. But Mr Henderson's manner and replies were more decidedly encouraging. Even Nora began to look less coldly, and by degrees more cheerfully, when he encountered her in his frequent

visits; and at last, one evening as he was leaving the cottage, she not only vouchsafed to resume her old office of opening the garden gate for him, but said, in a half cordial tone, as he was passing, "Good night, Mr Horace! Keep a good heart, and all may end well yet. "Bless you! thank you! thank you! dear, dear, sweet, lovely Nora!" was Vernon's rapturous exclamation, as, dashing back the closing gate, so as almost to upset his old friend, he hugged her round the neck with such schoolboy vehemence of delight, as left her wellnigh breathless and half indignant, though not quite unaccustomed in former days to such ebullitions of his volatile spirits.

Her rebuke (if she uttered one) was, however, quite lost on the of fender. Before she had time to set her cap straight, or smooth down her ruffled neck-kerchief, he was already half way to the Rectory, which he re-entered that night in a frame of mind so overflowing with happiness, security, self-reconcilement, and universal benevolence, as reflected its own hues on all surrounding objects, animate and inanimate. Dr Hartop was agreeable - Lady Octavia enchanting—all but her charms and obligingness forgotten or forgiven-(what was any woman's heart to him but Millicent's?)-her harp and voice in exquisite tone-his own vocal powers and his flute in the happiest unison with both; Dr Hartop gradually sank to balmy slumbers; music was discontinued in consideration for his repose; conversation succeeded-" the feast of reason and the flow of soul"-of course restricted, on the Doctor's account, to the low key and subdued tones that sound so sweetly confidential; and when, on his awakening, bed-candles were lighted, and Lady Octavia, taking hers from Vernon, and gracefully paying her parting salutation to Dr Hartop and himself, withdrew to her own apartment, she just turned her head on entering it to glance down the passage, at the end of which Vernon was still unconsciously holding open the drawingroom door, as he gazed after her receding form, and softly said to herself, with a quiet inward laugh, a curled lip, and an eye of infinite meaning,

Ah, ha! je te rattrappe, fine mouche! Sauve toi si tu pourras.'

Q.