and, as Mr. Willis happened to be crossing the hall at that instant, I resolved to ask him to join me for a few minutes in my little room, and desired that Mademoiselle Salvia might be shown into another. It was no great friendship on my part for Mr. Willis, nor on his for me, that led me to beg for his opinion on the present occasion; but I had confidence in his judgment, and was unwilling to excite curiosity among the gentlemen by sending for my father.

I began by giving him a hasty outline of Maria's story; but when I mentioned the name of Monti, Mr. Willis started from his chair, his whole countenance working convulsively, and seizing my hand, he asked me, in tones of impassioned earnestness, if I knew aught of the Marchesa? I was silent from astonishment, and from the dread of what effect the intelligence of her being no more might have upon him. It flashed across me like lightning-he then must be the English gentleman of whom Maria had heard Francesca speak, when alluding to Lucy's early days, with the intention of maligning her sister-in-law. But my face must have betrayed what my lips did not reveal; for, as I spoke not, Mr. Willis relaxed his grasp, became perfectly calm, and uttering but one groan of anguish, which seemed to come forth from the depth of his heart, he said—

So.

“I understand—she is dead, and you are afraid to tell me But why should I grieve for her? Yet, false, or rather fickle, as she was, I have never ceased to pray God for her happiness and welfare, Go on, Miss Vernon, and forgive a burst of feeling, of which I am not likely to be guilty again. I have had time enough to be cured of such weakness."

I proceeded, and touched as lightly as I could upon the treatment the unhappy Lucy had received; but I could see that even the softened details I was compelled to relate pierced him to the quick; and I thought how little the Marchesa Monti had consulted her own true happiness in casting from her the affection of such a man. When I spoke of her boy, Mr. Willis was fearfully agitated, and I could perceive that every vein was throbbing from the violence of suppressed emotion. My tale being ended, I asked him if I was right in deeming that the child could not be detained from his father, as there was no possibility of convincing others that Maria's fears for his safety, if restored once more to the care of his aunt, were well-grounded?

Mr. Willis agreed with me; but said he should like to see Mademoiselle Salvi, and have some conversation with her.

She appeared in a state of frantic excitement, in which anger for the time predominated over grief, as she informed us, with many tears and imprecations, that the boy was gone; that when she had returned home that morning, he was nowhere to be found; and that the neighbours had told her he had gone away, apparently most gladly and willingly, with the tall, dark gentleman whom they had seen before in the neighbourhood of these cottages. Maria added that she had been wandering about for hours in all directions, in the vain hope of meeting with the Marchese and his son; though certainly it would have been to little purpose had she succeeded in doing so.

Mr. Willis, now quite himself again, asked her many questions, and elucidated several particulars, concerning the Monti family, of which she had not informed me. He proceeded to tell her that he had formerly been a friend of her late mistress's family, and was much distressed to hear of her death under such sad and trying circumstances. He said that he feared there was no alternative, but that Mademoiselle Salvi must endeavour to resign herself to the loss of the child; and he expressed his hope, and indeed his conviction, that her affection for him and his mother had led her to exaggerate the danger to which he would be exposed. He believed the worst that could happen to Francisco would be, his having to undergo a harsh and severe system of education, and even this he trusted would be guarded against by the love which she acknowledged that the father bore to his only child. But Maria shook her head at this; however, as she was at that time quite unacquainted with the fell designs of Mademoiselle Monti and her maid Adèle against the boy's life, she could not disprove the justice of Mr. Willis's observations.

Mr. Willis added, that Mademoiselle Salvi should never want a friend while he lived; and poor Maria, somewhat consoled by his words, and by the confidence with which he had already inspired her, withdrew, with many thanks to us both for our kindness to her in her sorrows.

When I was once more alone with Mr. Willis, he told me that he hoped I should consider as sacred the words which had been wrung from him in a moment of emotion, and that

I would not mention, except to Arthur, what had escaped him on the subject of his early attachment. I readily gave him the promise he asked for; and on that night a feeling of mutual regard was established between us, which has never been obliterated. I should say, that he told me he had exchanged the name of Hartwell for the one he now bore, which my readers will probably have guessed long ago.

Mr. Willis passed the remainder of the evening in his own apartment; and I observed that Emily Mordaunt glanced eagerly at the door each time it was opened, and that a shade of disappointment stole over her countenance when Mr. Willis did not appear. But he came down the next morning at his usual hour, and, as we sat at breakfast, no trace was discernible in him of the last night's occurrences. He was, I fancied, rather softened in manner; and the change which had been gradually taking place in his style of talking, seemed to me to progress more rapidly, so that hours would elapse without his giving vent to any of those cynical or sarcastic remarks which formerly had been ever on his lips. And more and more he courted the society of Miss Mordaunt, and in his way was all attention to her. I pointed out to Arthur these signs of a new attachment springing up to take the place of the old one in his heart; and Captain Mildmay thought as I did, and firmly hoped that much happiness was yet in store for the excellent Mr. Willis.

T

CHAPTER XXI.

It was a bright morning, though a November one, in London, that dawned upon our marriage day, and my heart beat with feelings of joy and happiness that had not a cloud to dim them; for Arthur had been all that the most exigeante fiancée could desire. Agnes had regained her former placid cheerfulness, and Miss Sutherland had been entirely engrossed by Lord Tintern. Around me I saw only smiling faces, or heard the sound of a merry laugh.

Our parties met at the Church door; and Augusta looked radiant in her exceeding beauty, as, attired in the richest of bridal costumes, her father handed her from the carriage, and led her up the aisle. Lord Tintern's thoughtful countenance was lighted by an expression of unmingled happiness, as he gazed with pride and fondness on his lovely bride. Even Lady Laura had apparently cast all dismal forebodings into the background, and was all spirits and gaiety, leaning on the arm of Henry Mordaunt. Most of the friends who have been already introduced to the reader, were assembled at the Church, or at the breakfast afterwards—with others whom (as they do not play a prominent part in this history) it would be useless to mention more particularly, Captain Spencer, as bridegroom's man to Arthur; Mr. Willis and Miss Mordaunt, as affianced lovers; Mr. Bankes and Mrs. Fitzmaurice, as verging closely upon that condition; and Miss Bateman, looking pleased, though it was not an occasion on which she could hope to be the centre of attraction; but Lord Lowndes was by her side, and sufficiently attentive to her to turn her silly head with the notion that he was desperately in love with her.

Lord Tintern and Miss Sutherland were married first, and I watched them both during the performance of the

service. He went through it with real, and she with wellaffected, earnestness and solemnity. But there was no display of emotion on her part, for her natural good taste forbade the exhibition; and perhaps the consciousness that the secret of her so recent attachment to Arthur was known to him, and not to him alone, made her deem it more prudent not to evince any strong symptoms of being overcome by the intensity of her affection for Lord Tintern. Be that as it might, her demeanour was by all declared to be perfect; and, as she passed down the aisle, leaning on the arm of her husband, no words could do more than justice to her grace and loveliness. Yet at that moment, when her marriage vow was still almost trembling on her lips, I saw her cast one glance at Arthur, which spoke volumes to me, and assured me that her love for him remained unconquered, if indeed she had made any effort at all to banish it from her heart. But my own happiness was too great that day to be disturbed by the conviction of Lady Tintern's unworthiness; and I only experienced a transient feeling of compassion for her husband, who was deserving of a better fate than to be tied to one thus systematically deceiving him.

In truth and sincerity did we pledge our mutual faith. A few hours later, we left London with the view of making a tour of some months in Italy. My mother parted with me most kindly; my father, with all the warmth of his devotion for his child, but yet, as he assured me, with only rejoicing at his heart. Agnes was cordial to us both; but when the time of our departure arrived, she could scarcely utter the farewells and good wishes which she really felt.

Lord and Lady Tintern went to Brighton-for so had she willed it, having no fancy for rural delights at that dull season of the year. Edward yielded, though it had been his anxious desire to convey his bride at once to her future home, a cheerful house, beautifully situated about thirty miles from his father's mansion.

The first two months of our wedded life were unclouded; and, as I look back upon them, I can hardly believe that I have tasted of such intense happiness only to forfeit it for ever. Yet I cannot accuse myself of not having prized it while it lasted; for I was fully conscious of the blessing I enjoyed in the possession of my husband's deep and sincere attachment. It was an unusually bright, mild winter; and