Christian, and long will her loss be felt by all who knew her. She is now, however, reaping a rich reward for all her labour in her Master's service! May her dear child only resemble her!" Mrs. Livingstone called her children to her, and giving little Edith an affectionate kiss, took her departure. Week after week passed away, but no tidings reached the Castle of Lord Grey's return. Nurse began to feel anxious at this seeming indifference, not to say forgetfulness, on the part of his lordship about his child. One evening, having put her little charge to bed, she took her accustomed seat in one of the large nursery windows which overlooked the park. She was employing herself in making some slight alterations in Miss Edith's wardrobe, when she was startled by the sound of approaching carriage wheels. It was dusk; but, on looking out, nurse distinctly perceived what she felt convinced, as it came nearer and nearer, to her great relief, could be no other than her master's carriage. The news soon found its way to the nursery. His lordship had arrived! A few days after Lord Grey's return, nurse was rather suddenly summoned into her master's presence. He had not as yet asked to see his child. It might be from a dislike of reviving the bitter and painful recollection of his sad loss, for Edith strikingly resembled her poor mother; but, in thus selfishly giving way to his grief, he grievously neglected a first duty by his little girl. If his loss was great, what was that of his child's?-the little orphan, deprived so suddenly of a mother's care!for six years, too, that mother's great darling!-her sole object! Happy it was for little Edith, that nurse, who had been with her from her birth, loved her as her own child. But though an excellent and pious woman, she was still an uneducated one, and by no means calculated to satisfy or improve an inquiring mind like her young charge. As has already been observed, Edith was a very intelligent little being. It mattered little to her, however, what nurse was; she was too young to know more than that she loved her better than anything or anybody in the world. On being first told by her that mamma was gone to heaven, and to her immediate inquiry whether she would come back again, the tears in nurse's eye, and grave shake of the head, plainly implying the impossibility, Edith burst into tears, and that night sobbed herself to sleep. But how soon are childhood's sorrows forgotten, even the bitterest! The morrow's sun re-assured nurse as to her having done no real harm in acquainting her little charge with her loss-her first trial. The sorest that can happen to a girl had passed over her, and she had hardly felt it. Happy childhood! It was in later years that Edith was to experience what an irreparable loss her's had been. But we have slightly digressed from our subject, and will return to Lord Grey, whom we left having summoned nurse to his presence. A month and more had elapsed since his lordship had seen little Edith; two almost since his afflictions. As he sat in his usual melancholy reverie, in the library, on the evening in question, brooding over his wretchedness, which everything, since his return home, only more painfully increased by the reminiscences called forth at every turn, his reflections were of the bitterest description. Not only the wife he so deplored, the being who had cheered and was the verv life of his home, snatched from him, but the boy-the infant heir to all that vast demesne over which from the window his eye glanced listlessly, taken away as soon as given !—who can say whether, in that moment of despair and desolation, a softer feeling might not have crept over him, and the remembrance that there was yet a being left him, have prompted the sudden ring of the bell? On the appearance of the servant, he desired nurse should attend him in the library. "How is Miss Edith?" inquired his lordship, as nurse entered, and curtseyed low. "Miss Edith is quite well, my lord," returned Mrs. Budd; "she takes her daily exercise, as usual, and, I am thankful to say, has not ailed a day since your lordship left." "I should like to see her to-morrow; and then, I wished to tell you that it is my intention to send Miss Edith immediately to my sister, Lady Fitzwilliam, who is anxious for the present to have the care of her; it will be better for the child to have companions, and there she will have them. Do you think, nurse, you could get ready by to-morrow to start?" "If your lordship pleases, Miss Edith and I can be ready, quite ready, at any hour to-morrow." "Be it so, then," continued Lord Grey; "and, of course you understand, nurse, that if you have no wish to leave Miss Edith, I have no wish to part with you, and so you may remain." Nurse curtseyed again with respect, and begged to assure his lordship that it would break her heart to part from Miss Edith, with whom she had been from her birth, and loved, as if her own child. Having received, therefore, her orders to leave for Paington Abbey next day, she left the room, and again Lord Grey was left to his solitude and loneliness. 25 CHAPTER III. No human ties are left Earth's hopes are gone. F. V. FOSBErry. FOR Some time Lord Grey continued pacing to and fro the apartment, but he was interrupted by the entrance of a servant with a letter. It was from his late wife's only sister. Before, however, giving my readers the contents of this letter, it may be well to give them some little sketch of the writer. Emily Montagu and Lady Grey had been left orphans at a very early age, and consigned to their uncle's care—a brother of their father's. Colonel Douglas was a man of large fortune, and spared no expense in the education of his two orphan nieces, of whom he was exceedingly fond. He had married early in life, Lady Catherine Seton, one of the excellent and pious Lord Moreton's daughters, and his choice had been a happy one. She was fitted by every christian virtue and grace to adorn her station; and though Colonel Douglas had never been able to agree with her in religious matters, his love for, and admiration of, her consistency made с |