"I will go to my room and think, and pray —pray, if I can, for those, for all, who are beguiled, by any earthly passion, to mingle falsehood with the pure breath of heaven." "One word, Florence-one word, my gentle, much-loved child-suppose this to be true, and proved!" "Father, I cannot see it possible." “Proved !—the word is fearful; but, suppose it as you say, 'proved,' I would lift up my heart, as Christian did his burden in that grand old book of Bunyan's, which I have often placed upon your knees to read-my heart!-that has felt so winged by joy, I could hardly keep it in my breast—I would lift it up however heavy it might be—and bear it-laden with memories-bear it on, believing it would become lighter when I deserved it should be so-for I have the great faith, that I shall never, however tried, be burdened beyond my strength. The world weights us with many crosses; but, I know, the heaviest are those we create ourselves; and that our greatest trials are often our greatest blessings. She glided from the room, leaving us both in tears. VOL. III. 0 194 CHAPTER VIII. "When I was young! ah, woful when! Ah! for the change 'twixt now and then !" Ar last I proposed returning to the hotel, and complained of fatigue. He thanked me, as I fancy, he never thanked me before, for he was not a man of many words; but his thoughts very naturally came rapidly home. He resorted to memory for events and suspicions to confirm my statements, and yet, he evidently dreaded their confirmation. He told me that Mrs. Dellamere, had, in some way, discovered a half-torn letter directed to me by Helen Lyndsey, in Marley's possession; he said I had given it to him for a friend who collected autographs-this, of course, was a most flagrant untruth. Mrs. Dellamere, who had read the letter, replied that it was a curious autograph for him to give away, as it contained a harsh observation upon himself. He was very angry, the old lady said, when he found she had read it, and accused her of a breach of faith; and she retorted with more than her usual spirit, that there could be nothing wrong in reading what was intended for an album. I now remembered how busy my maid's hand had been among my papers, the morning on which Marley invited himself to breakfast with me, at Hampstead. Every passing moment seemed to increase Mr. Middleton's indignation. He recalled a thousand little things which had escaped his observation—or rather perhaps which, seeing his daughter's strong attachment to this dangerous and fascinating man, he had endeavoured to pass over without observation. He remembered the earnestness, amounting to importunity, with which Marley had entreated that the marriage might take place when they were at Brussels. He remembered the excuses made when the arrival of the West India mails produced no documents, though he invariably showed cause for the delay, from the tardiness of his 'man of business.' He remembered sundry whispers as to Marley's 'play,' which, however, Marley's careful conduct, contradicted. He recalled sundry excuses, which latterly showed him that Marley had not the pecuniary resources he assumed to have. As Mr. Middleton said, "if my child had given the rich jewel of her love to the poorest gentleman in England, so that he was a true man, I should not have questioned aught beyond the knowledge that GOD had made him worthy of what God had made so pure; but here the wealth was paraded, the professions made, the station held up aloft. She will have enough for all the |