should be led to give utterance to some remark which might have the effect of turning her husband's wrath against herself; and the faithful creature shuddered at the idea of the gentle-spirited lady being exposed to such a terrible calamity, knowing full well that however energetically she might resist at first, she would be more than conquered at last.

Presently, however, the look of intense anxiety passed away from Willson's face, and putting the salver on a small table which she drew close to the sofa, she suddenly left the room, murmuring softly to herself,

"He told me not to give it to her for a few days; but I am sure if he could only see her now he would wish her to get it at once." Almost before Mrs. Seymour had discovered her absence, she returned, holding a letter in her hand.

"What have you there, Willson?" inquired the lady, somewhat pettishly; for in the selfishness of her sorrow she fancied that the former had not manifested as much tenderness and sympathy as she was in the habit of doing.

"It is a letter from Mr. Herbert."

"From Herbert!" cried Mrs. Seymour, hastily starting up, and seizing it with great eagerness; "where did you find it?"

"He brought it to me himself, desiring me to keep it for a few days, and then tell you that his feelings would not permit him to say what he wished and intended; and therefore he thought it better to write to you instead."

"Poor fellow!" said Mrs. Seymour, in a tone of unutterable tenderness; and she gazed long and lovingly at the superscription written in his well-known handwriting, ere she broke the seal.

"Thank God, she is calmer already," mentally aspirated her thoughtful attendant. "I will leave you now," she said aloud, "so that you may be undisturbed while reading your letter."

"Do so," returned the lady, laying her white jewelled hand upon the other's thin wrinkled one, "but be sure and come to me again by-and-by, for I cannot endure the presence of Juliet" (her maid) "to-day."

After promising to obey her, Willson departed; and when two hours had elapsed, she again repaired to Mrs. Seymour's apartment.

Her first glance assured her that she had wisely judged in supposing that the perusal of her son's letter would produce a softening and altogether beneficial influence upon the bereaved mother's heart.

She Mrs. Seymour-lay back upon her cushions, pale, grave, and sad; but the fierce, angry, excited look had, to a great extent, disappeared-although it was sufficiently obvious that she could not yet think of her husband without bitterness and indignation.

The position she occupied was indeed a critical one; for her mind was in that vacillating and irresolute state, when a breath might serve to fan the spark of anger which still smouldered in her breast, into a steady flame; the utterance of any injudicious words, the expression of a face, and tones of a voice, the glance of an eye, would be enough to awaken, or rather deepen, impressions which would lead to the most disastrous consequences, and prove a serious impediment to her future happiness.

Willson, being a clear-judging and right-minded woman, soon perceived the danger which threatened her, and with characteristic

gentleness and tact reminded her how necessary it was that she should, for Herbert's sake, patiently submit to the painful dispensation. "For Herbert's sake!" echoed Mrs. Seymour, who had been hitherto listening to the other's argument with ill-disguised impatience; "how can it benefit him, my good Willson?"

“Do you not see, ma'am," answered the latter, in a low tone, "that if as you at first proposed-you were to rebel against Mr. Seymour's authority, it would most certainly have the effect of making him all the more inveterate against Mr. Herbert ?

"Ah!" exclaimed Mrs. Seymour, anxiously, "do you really think so?"

"I am sure of it; for he would of course naturally lament that this root of bitterness should have sprung up between you, after you had enjoyed so many years of uninterrupted concord-and Mr. Herbert would get the blame of it."

"Well, it may be so," said the lady, disconsolately.

Finding that she had succeeded in gaining Mrs. Seymour's attention, Willson proceeded to use every argument she could think of to induce the former to avoid the commencement of a quarrel with Mr. Seymour. She ended by hinting that as the separation might only be a temporary one, it would be wiser to think and speak of it in that light, and as

"Hope springs eternal in the human breast,"

Mrs. Seymour eagerly caught at the welcome suggestion, which instantly relieved her from a terrible incubus, and restored to her something of her old placidity of demeanour.

But though she had accomplished much, Willson was not yet satisfied.

She knew that if left to herself, Mrs. Seymour's gloomy reflections would speedily return; her next step, therefore, was to persuade her to leave the couch, and prepare for dinner.

Here, however, she was met by very decided opposition.

"It is perfectly ridiculous," she exclaimed, angrily, when the bold proposal was made to her; "how can you suppose me equal to the task of dining with my husband after what has this day occurred?"

"I know it will be a very painful exertion," said Willson, persuasively; "still I am sure you would afterwards feel thankful that you had undertaken it. Mr. Seymour will no doubt be touched by such an undeserved mark of kindness and attention, and appreciate it accordingly. I dare say he is at this very moment ill at ease, and perhaps reproaching himself for having caused you so much suffering." "And well he may," murmured the lady; but she did not again object to accede to Willson's request.

The latter, who at her own desire assisted her to dress (for she still shrank from the attendance of her voluble French maid) had some difficulty in dissuading her from arraying herself in a suit of deep mourning. It was in vain that she reminded her of her former hopeful expressions, and represented the inconsistency of expecting, and utterly despairing of, Herbert's return at the same moment; black she would and did wear; but she finally so far yielded to Willson's remonstrances as to allow her to replace the heavy, sombre-looking crape-trimmed garments that she had herself selected, by a black velvet dress, the simple elegance of which became her well, although Willson, in her extreme anxiety to afford Mr. Seymour no shadow

of excuse for being dissatisfied with his wife, would fain have persuaded her that the addition of a rich scarlet scarf would be a great improvement.

"No, no," said Mrs. Seymour, gently, as she removed it from her shoulders; "I shall feel more comfortable without it." And she proceeded to fasten her lace collar with a small diamond brooch-the only ornament she wore; and then, her toilet completed, she turned round, and submitted herself to the inspection of her aged attendant; saying, with a melancholy smile, while endeavouring to assume a playful tone, "Well, Willson, I am going. Is your unreasonable heart satisfied at last?"

"It is indeed," answered the old woman, observing with secret pleasure the softened and subdued, though pensive, expression which her face now bore "I am sure," she added, passing her hand hastily across her eyes, "if your dear angel-mother were to see you now, she would approve of your conduct. She never, I believe, resented an injury, even in thought."

A bright gleam of pleased surprise glanced athwart Mrs. Seymour's cheek at this allusion to her sainted parent.

"You do well to remind me of her," she said gravely; "she was perfect but-I, alas! I shall never resemble her."

She paused in deep emotion, and Willson was about to make some encouraging reply, when the gong sounded for dinner.

Slowly and falteringly Mrs. Seymour descended to the diningroom. At the foot of the stairs she met her husband, who was evidently in search of her. He looked stern, sullen, and abstracted; severe, splenetic, and defiant; and a tremor agitated the gentle lady's frame as she gazed at him, meanwhile congratulating herself on having followed Willson's counsel, and thus escaped incurring his anger on her own account.

And here I may perhaps be permitted to say one word in favour of the excellent spirit which actuated Willson in the part she had taken on this occasion.

Many, very many there are, who use the influence they possess, whether it be much or little, for evil instead of good. Many, very many, who seem to take positive delight in scattering the noxious seeds of discord wherever they go-widening breaches when they might close them, creating strife, although it may be in their power to prevent it, encouraging misconception and misunderstanding, and lending a helping hand in the wrong direction to such as are hesitating between a sense of duty and the leanings of a proud or revengeful disposition; and while they thus glaringly disregard the significant precept, "Live in peace," it is surprising that they should be strangers to the no less significant promise," The God of love and peace shall be with you."

Would that the glorious benediction pronounced by the lips of Him who " spake as never man spake," were inscribed in living, ineffaceable characters upon the walls of every dwelling and every heart:

"Blessed are the peacemakers; for they shall be called the children of God."

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE BURNT LETTER.

"Where is peace?

There where our spirits rest
From time and space."

To return to Mr. Seymour. Directly his stern eye lighted on his wife, it softened; and he hastened forward, and conducted her to the dining-room with evident satisfaction, and every outward mark of politeness and consideration.

Perhaps a pang of remorse came over him at the sight of her pale, sorrowful countenance; perhaps his own heart, proud and partial though it was, reminded him how unnatural and selfish his conduct had been; how harshly and ungenerously he had acted towards her, and how little pains he had taken to spare her feelings or promote her happiness. Be this as it may, he certainly did all in his power to efface the remembrance of what she had that day undergone from her mind, and was persevering in his efforts to awaken in her another and more pleasing train of thought.

Nor was he offended, although Mrs. Seymour evinced little, if any, interest in anything he said; nor discouraged by the short, constrained replies she gave when common civility required that she should speak; he seemed determined to exert himself to the very utmost, so as to afford her no reasonable plea for accusing him of coldness or indifference.

They dined quite alone; but before the meal was ended the door opened, and, to the profound astonishment of both, Mr. Hastings stepped into the room!

The sight of him brought a slight shade of embarrassment to Mr. Seymour's face; he instantly rose, however, and welcomed him with extraordinary empressement.

Charles Hastings hesitated a moment before accepting his offered hand, and a quick indignant flush came unbidden to his cheek; but it passed away so speedily, that none but a keen-sighted observer would have noticed anything particular in his manner-except that he was much graver and more thoughtful than usual.

He drew up a chair close to Mrs. Seymour, and tried, though without receiving much encouragement, to engage her in conversation. After he had introduced and dismissed several subjects, and still failed to gain her attention, he turned to her with a little smile, and said, endeavouring to resume his old playful tone,-"You must allow me to accompany you to the drawing-room, Mrs. Seymour" (she had risen to go). "And when I am there, you will not refuse to give me a cup of tea, I hope; for indeed I well deserve one!"

"What makes you think so?" was her listless response, as she led the way, rather reluctantly, to the drawing-room.

She had intended leaving the two gentlemen together, and retiring to her own apartment, where she could once more enjoy the luxury

of being alone with her grief; the young man's proposal did not, therefore, prove very acceptable to her.

Mr. Seymour, on the contrary, followed them with peculiar satisfaction, feeling inwardly rejoiced at having thus fortunately obtained such a valuable assistant.

"Well, you shall judge for yourself," continued Mr. Hastings, taking possession of a corner of Mrs. Seymour's sofa. "I have been scarcely out of the saddle since six o'clock this morning."

"Indeed," said the lady, wearily; "you had an object, I suppose?" "Yes; my object was to transact a little matter of business for you."

"For me!" echoed Mrs. Seymour, rousing herself.

"Oh, it was really nothing after all," proceeded the young man, carelessly; "but knowing that you had lost your little favourite Roselle, and having often heard you speak in terms of admiration of the curious dog Lord Monkford prizes so much, I thought I would try to get you one bearing some resemblance to it."

Mrs. Seymour shook her head. "It was very kind of you Charles," she said, "but I wish you had not taken this trouble; for every one knows that there is not another like it all over the country."

"So I found," answered Charles Hastings, gravely; "I was therefore necessitated to apply to Lord Monkford himself at last; and for this purpose I rode over to Tulford, and had an audience with him. After beating about the bush for some time, I plunged in medias res, and requested him to make over the beautiful creature to me!"

In spite of her sorrow, Mrs. Seymour was greatly amused at his nonchalance.

"How could you venture to make such an audacious proposal? she asked presently.

Charles Hastings shrugged his shoulders with a very unconcerned air, as he laughingly replied,

"I told him that I considered it a very unsuitable dog for a gentleman, and strongly recommended his parting with it."

"Was he angry at your interference? "

"No, only amused. I fear, however, my opinion had not much weight with him, although

"I should think not," interposed Mr. Seymour, blandly; "for only a week or two ago I offered him fifty guineas for the same dog, and was refused!"

"Then I have indeed reason to congratulate myself as well as you," answered the young man, still addressing Mrs. Seymour, while a curious smile stole to his lip.

"How?" inquired the lady, in surprise.

“Because ultimately I obtained what I wished; and you are now the dog's mistress."

"Is it possible?" cried Mr. Seymour, in a tone of excessive astonishment."Why, Lord Monkford assured me that he would not part with it for a thousand pounds!"

"Very likely," replied the young man, the same curious smile returning to his face.

"Is it not incomprehensible, my dear?" asked the gentleman, turning to his wife.

Mrs. Seymour bowed coldly, and her husband continued,

"I am sure we owe our young friend here a thousand thanks for