all the bitterness of despair, seeming never to have felt the full extent of his irreparable loss, till the rattling of the carriages told him that his son was for ever gone. CHAP. CHAP. XLI. Ah! what avail that o'er the vassal plain CUNNINGHAM. TIE Earl instead of recovering his composure, when he had no longer the body of his son to weep over, appeared to devote himself to yet more unmeasurable grief. After giving orders to get every thing in readiness to leave town, he shut himself up in his own apartment, and refused to see any of his family. In proportion as his grief for the loss of his son faded from his memory, the disappointment pointment of all his hopes returned with additional force. One hour he wept the early doom of one so engaging and so worthy, the next he deplored his own misfortunes in living to see his family extinct, and his estates devolve to a distant relation of despicable character. The dead are seldom remembered long with very acute sufferings, when we are reminded of them only by the recollection of their virtues. But Lord Drelincourt's loss was daily recalled to him by its consequences; and he daily felt it the more keenly, as he became more sensible of its effects. Life seemed no longer to possess a charm for him, no longer could he hope to feel interested in it, and he even appeared careless of its preservation. Lady Drelincourt wept incessantly, her grief for the death of her son, was encreased by her anxiety for her husband, who had repeatedly refused to see her; at length she intreated Everilda to go to him him without any previous notice, thinking that he could not repulse the widow of his son: and perhaps he might take a melancholy pleasure in her society; and be induced once more, to cheer his disconsolate family with his presence. But alas! grief and disappointment had rendered the Earl unjust; aud when Everilda with streaming eyes, and a breaking heart, came into his presence, and knelt before him, eloquently looking the sorrows to which she was unable to give utterance, he could not conceal that he only beheld in her the bane of his domestic peace, the destroyer of all his hopes, and the cause of all his miseries. He endeavoured however, to disguise the impression she made on him, by saying that he wished to be entirely alone, and thought his wishes had been generally understood; he was turning away, but she caught his hand, exclaiming, "Oh! my lord, will you forsake me thus? have I deserved this anger from you? oh! I am already VOL. III. H too, too, too wretched, make me not more so by your coldness." The Earl stood irresolute, the image of his friend the Marchese, rose to his view, but it was chased by that of his son, wounded, expiring, lifeless, and before this dreadful image, every other consideration vanished. "They who wish to draw me from my solitude," said he in a voice choked by his emotions, "have acted very injudiciously, by sending one to invite me back to society, whose presence can recal none but painful ideas; let me, my lady, recover this shock, before I hazard my feelings to encounter others, though none more trying can await me.” bitterness with which he spoke, pierced Everilda's soul, but nature had done with her resentments in her; and though the hectic of a moment passed across her cheek, it tarried not; she rose from her humble posture with an air of dignified sorrow, and casting her eyes to heaven she exclaimed, "Never again, my lord, The shall |