into her mother's arms, and stopped all further parley

with a kiss.

A question hovered upon Evelyn's lips every time she enjoyed a tête-à-tête with her mother; as yet she had found no courage to give it utterance—

"But still, I dare not, waited on I would."

One day, however, when Lady Wentworth welcomed her with more than usual gentleness, Evelyn summoned heart of grace, and popped the question. Her colour deepened to a crimson flush, her breath came and went, as she whispered in her mother's ear, "Will Florence Dudley never return?"

Lady Wentworth started; she demanded hastily, "Did Cecilia prompt you to ask this?"

"Oh, no, no, mamma. Cecilia never breathes her name; but I know

"What do you know?" Lady Wentworth fixed a keen glance upon Evelyn's blushing countenance.

"I know Cecilia weeps over her absence. One day, I asked her why Florence never came or wrote

Lady Wentworth turned so pale, that Evelyn thought she was going to faint; she stopped abruptly. "I am not ill, my love; proceed. What was Cecilia's answer?" "She said nothing, mamma. She turned away, and her eyes filled with tears."

Lady Wentworth covered her face with her hands; she wrestled bravely with the haughty spirit, which prompted her to turn a deaf ear to the wishes of her children; she conquered. "Bring me pen and paper, Evelyn; my first letter shall be addressed to Florence Dudley."

With a trembling hand, Lady Wentworth wrote some dozen lines. "Call Cecilia," she said, as she laid down the pen.

Cecilia came. "My dear girl," said her ladyship, in those musical tones which found their way to the heart of the party addressed (unless that heart were harder than the nether millstone), "have you no wish ungra

tified?-no request unpreferred? How can I prove my gratitude?"

Cecilia raised her mother's hand to her lips. "Dear, dear mother, speak to me, look at me, as you do now, and my fondest hopes are realized. I have no

boon

"Not one?" Lady Wentworth put her letter to Florence into her daughter's hand. Cecilia's eyes took in the contents at a glance. "Mother, mother!" She burst into tears, and darted out of the room.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Is the night chilly and dark?
The night is chilly, but not dark.
The thin grey cloud is spread on high,
It covers but not hides the sky.
The moon is behind, and at the full;
And yet she looks both small and dull.
The night is chill, the cloud is grey;
'Tis a month before the month of May,
And the spring comes slowly up this way.

Christabel.

FLORENCE DUDLEY was sitting alone, one chilly April evening, in her father's study. Mr. Dudley was gone to the farm to anticipate the arrival of the post-bag; Mary was employed in the storehouse. The lamp upon the table was not lighted, but a lively wood-fire burned cheerily, and partially illuminated the room. Our heroine sat in a massive oaken chair by the side of the hearth; Madoc lay at her feet. Her attitude was singularly graceful; one arm rested upon the back of the chair, and supported her head. The long, clustering ringlets of nut-brown hair swept down to her waist; the delicate profile stood out clearly defined against the curiously carved chair: her eyes were closed, but she was not asleep. A dress of grey silk, relieved by a collar and sleeves of snowy whiteness, and a bow of cerise-coloured ribbon attached to the corsage, replaced the more elegant toilettes to which Miss Dudley had been accustomed at Wentworth Castle. If her body was quiescent, her mind was very busy. Her thoughts

flew back to her brilliant visit at Wentworth Castle, and she amused herself by trying to conjure up what was passing there at that moment.

"Geraldine is married by this time, and Cecilia is weeping over her departure. Dear Cecilia! when shall I see her again? Never, unless Lady Wentworth condescends to apologize for the past. Alas!" Florence's thoughts flew off to the fancy-ball; to the tête-à-tête of the lovers; to Geraldine's confession. She recalled her ladyship's varying moods; now cold, haughty, sarcastic; then calm, gracious, and even affectionate in her deportment to those around her.

"How will it end? Will the marriage take place, or will Geraldine, at the eleventh hour, appeal to the generosity of her noble admirer, and induce him to withdraw his pretensions to her hand? If they marry, the Marchioness of Ullswater will never remember the weakness of Geraldine Percival; she will forget the past, strive bravely with the present, look forward hopefully to the future, unless her heartstrings crack in the struggle, which God forbid !"

The door opened; Mr. Dudley entered the room. Florence rose from her seat," Dear papa, come to the fire; it is very cold."

Mr. Dudley made no reply; he looked very grave. "Something is wrong," cried Florence, turning very pale; "Dr. Leicester

"

"He is well, thank God, but I have received tidings from Wentworth Castle." He drew a letter from his pocket; it was edged with black.

Florence grasped her father's arm to save herself from falling. "Geraldine" was the only sound which issued from her parched lips. Mr. Dudley was astonished at her agitation; he had never heard her make even a passing allusion to Lady Geraldine Percival. He said, in a soothing tone, "Lady Geraldine is ill, but

"She is dead! she is dead!" cried Florence, wringing her hands, convulsively. In a voice quivering with in

tense emotion she told the story of Geraldine's life, the cause which had led to her untimely death.

Mr. Dudley was greatly shocked,-"This is fearful! this will be a terrible blow to Wentworth! May God forgive Lady Wentworth the ruin she has wrought!" "Amen!" said Florence, emphatically. "Can she forgive herself?"

"I remember Lady Wentworth before her marriage, a high-spirited, generous girl; how different to the cold, selfish woman of the world!"

The untimely death of Lady Geraldine chilled the warm heart of Florence for many a day. The image of the Fair Geraldine and a confused vision of the Dark Ladie, in her sable garb, haunted her pillow and drove sleep from her eyelids. She bitterly regretted the promise which prevented her writing to Cecilia; she pined to see, or at least to correspond with, her friend. Tidings of Lady Wentworth's alarming illness, her lingering convalescence, reached the lonely inmates of the castle, but all direct communication was suspended. Florence learned from Augusta Seymour, that Captain Macdonald went abroad a few weeks after the death of Lady Geraldine, expressing a fixed determination never

to return.

A visit from Dr. Leicester raised our heroine's drooping spirits. The genial warmth of his address, the elasticity of his nature, infused new life into her saddened existence. Morbid sorrow fled before the Doctor's gladsome smile and cheerful voice.

When he grasped Mr. Dudley's hand, and pressed Florence to his heart, with a half-playful, half-serious "Pax vobiscum!" neither could resist a smile. He planned numerous excursions in the neighbourhood, and insisted upon carrying them out in his own way : Florence was a fine lady now, and must travel en princesse a carriage was at her disposal during the Rector's visit. Every day some favourite haunt was revisited, or some distant expedition planned. Florence could not resist the delicate kindness of her old friend;

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