"Indeed no; my niece is staying with Lady Vansittart, a sister of her mother's, with whom she generally resides. Her father was to have joined her a week since. A severe attack of cold, however, has prevented him; in a few days no doubt he will be quite himself again; and I hope later dear Emmeline will return with him. She pays her father a visit summer and winter, which is a great pleasure to us all. My Hugh is going with his uncle, who is undertaking most kindly to settle him at Sandhurst. It will be a trial to me, parting with him, and to a public school; but, after all, only a preparation for a later and sadder parting, when, as his chosen profession is the army, he will probably be called to leave us on foreign service."

"Oh! I do pity you, my dear Mrs. Vivian; I could never hear of my darling boy, Edward, entering the army. He must get a seat in the House; I could never bear his leaving me. But this reminds me," said Lady Fitzwilliam, rising as she spoke, "of his request; and perhaps Sir Hugh's indisposition, by detaining him at Everton a few days longer, may favour it. Edward is most anxious to try his boat, a new one Sir James has given him, on the lake, and commissioned me to ask you for his two friends, your nice boys, to pass a few days with us at the Abbey. I do not very much approve it, I will own, for I have the greatest horror of waterparties; but, dear fellow, he is so proud of his father's present I cannot refuse him, so try to keep

my alarm to myself. You, too, and your little daughter, must not be strangers, Mrs. Vivian; you will come and see us whilst Hugh and Arthur are with us."

And so saying, Lady Fitzwilliam, with repeated assurances from Mrs. Vivian of the pleasure it would give herself and children, departed.

CHAPTER VI.

"The smile that knew no mean eclipse,
But, ever round those graceful lips,
In brightest welcome play'd for thee,
In moods of unaffected glee."

How little did Lady Fitzwilliam think, as she made the detour to Everton, which she did to inquire for Sir Hugh Vivian, and thence drove slowly home, of the sorrow-the agony of grief that there awaited her. It has been said, "Sorrows cast their shadows before us." Who can tell what a day, what an hour may bring forth? and so Lady Fitzwilliam proved it. She only re-entered her spacious lodge gates to witness consternation and dismay on every countenance. Mr. Seaford's carriage, the medical man who attended the family, was at the door as her ladyship drove up. Servants appeared running in all directions. Lady Fitzwilliam hastily alighted, and advanced hurriedly into the hall, anxious to ascertain the cause of the alarming mystery all she saw conveyed to her mind. She was met by her son's tutor, Mr. Stewart, who had himself undertaken the task of conveying, with as much caution as was possible, to her ladyship the account of the melancholy and truly tragical event that had taken

place during her brief absence. Every one but himself had shrunk from being the first to announce to the mother-whose very life was bound up in her son's-that that son she had left in the morning, so blooming with health and vigour, was now a corpse ! With a countenance pale with emotion, Mr. Stewart requested her ladyship-who was preparing to ascend the stairs-to give him a few moments in the library, ere she did so.

"What has happened? What is the matter, Mr. Stewart?" hastily inquired Lady Fitzwilliam, before the former could close the door of the apartment into which she had passively allowed him to lead her. Where is Sir James?"

"Sir James is at home, my dear madam, and by the bedside of his son and yours, where, if you will permit, I will conduct your ladyship. Edward has "—he would have proceeded, but she was gone.

Lady Fitzwilliam had caught, with that name, the idea that something was wrong with Edward; the bare suspicion of whose danger, gave wings to her feet, and a moment had hardly elapsed, before she had reached her idolized boy's apartment. Voices were heard in that room; but she heeded them not. Lady Fitzwilliam pushed open the door-already ajar. Sir James and Mr Seaford advanced to meet her, anxious to spare her the sight that awaited her; but she passed by them. And there, extended on the bed, lay her beautiful boy-lifeless. His hair being matted on each side of his fine fore

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head; his limbs, so lately full of activity and strength, now cold and stiff;-the eyes, but a few hours since beaming with intelligence, now closed for ever!

With despair depicted on every line of her countenance, Lady Fitzwilliam grasped Mr. Seaford's arm, as the horrible truth for the first time flashed across her, and with a voice hardly intelligible, with almost imploring accents, she inquried, “Is there NO hope? Can you do nothing for him—for me?

"It would be wrong in me, my dear madam to deceive you. It has been already my painful duty to inform Sir James any efforts in this case are utterly useless. Life has been extinct some little while-indeed must have been so from suffocation before removal from the water.

With one piercing shriek, as Mr. Seaford uttered these words, Lady Fitzwilliam fell senseless on the ground; from which she was conveyed by Sir James, assisted by Mr. Seaford, to her own apart

ment.

The Abbey had, indeed, that morning, been the scene of a most melancholy catastrophe. Edward had gained his tutor's permission to make a first trial of his boat on the spacious lake, in which, in one part, was a very dangerous current; he had most unaccountably over-reached himself, in turning to reply to Mr. Stewart, who, on the opposite bank, perceiving his pupil nearing the part prohibited, hallooed to him to return. At this moment one of