wishes were with respect to the future guardianship of his child. That day, Mr. Mordaunt-who had been most kind and attentive throughout our season of affliction-had come to administer the Holy Communion to his dying friend ; and Agnes, Mrs. Mivart, and I, had received it also. All, including our good pastor, had been deeply moved by the solemn and affecting rite-so impressive at all times, but more than ever when one, who must shortly quit this earthly scene, receives it, as He did who instituted it, for the last time here below. When Mr. Mordaunt had departed with his words of blessing, Arthur told me he was feeling quite happy; and, as he seemed better than usual, I resolved at once to break to him what I had firmly resolved to tell him. At first he would not believe me, but the calm earnestness with which I spoke soon convinced him of the truth; and he began to reproach himself with his want of observation in not having seen how ill I was, and forced me to have advice, and be more careful. But on this topic I implored him to be silent; for I assured him that, had they taken me from him, I should not have been alive now.

Our faithful

Presently he asked to see our little Arthur. Mrs. Mivart was always at hand in the dressing-room, when not with us, and I sent her for him. The child was placed by the side of his father, who, tenderly embracing him, told him to be good and kind to his mother, and his cousin Agnes. Then, turning to the latter, he took her hand, and said

"Agnes, should any thing happen to Caroline when I am gone, it is the earnest wish of us both that our child should be under your care, assisted of course by those who are already joined with his mother in his guardianship. Dear Agnes, will you undertake the charge?

Agnes could hardly reply—“ God forbid I should ever be so called upon, Arthur! But should it be the will of God that your darling boy should be left an orphan, I will do all in my power to be as a parent to him; and most deeply I feel this most convincing proof of your esteem and regard."

With her disengaged hand she took mine as thus she spoke; and, leaning her head on my shoulder, her tears prevented her saying more. A loud sob from Mrs. Mivart was heard; and Arthur called her to him, thanked her for all she had done for him, and, bidding her to take comfort, commended me to her watchfulness. Then he threw his

arm around me, and murmuring a few sounds of love in my ear, he kissed me fondly; for he saw how I was struggling with the violence of my emotions. But gradually-so gradually, that I scarcely remarked it-that arm relaxed its hold, and sank upon the bed. For the space of perhaps two or three minutes, a complete silence followed Arthur's last words; for we were all engrossed by our own sad reflections. A faint cry from the child first recalled us to ourselves. The rapid change in his father's countenance had struck even his youthful apprehension. Arthur's eyes were closed—the warm breath of life had departed from him—and the arm which, but a few moments since, had so fondly encircled me, had drooped, to be raised no more.

My husband was dead!

CHAPTER XXX.

It is now three months ago. The spring is an unusually early one; and as, with a daily increasing sense of weakness, I am laid on my sofa by the open window, the balmy freshness of the air, and the sweet sights and sounds of that hopeful season, convey to me the sole remaining feeling of pleasure of which I am yet capable. Hitherto my bodily sufferings have not been very great-perhaps in mercy to the torments of my mind; but at times I am oppressed by want of breath, and my cough is painful. I am pronounced to be past recovery; and, were it not for my beloved child, I should indeed bless God for the prospect of a speedy release. But I know that my little Arthur will have the best of friends and instructors in Agnes, the unselfish Agnes-how unselfish, I was never fully aware till the morning succeeding to my husband's death. I had feared that Mr. Welling, who had already taken me professionally in hand, would have forbidden my agitating myself by viewing the corpse of Arthur; so I left my sleepless bed at an early hour, and, wrapt in a dressing-gown, I crept softly to the door of the room in which he was laid. I was surprised to find it partly open; and still more so on entering, to behold Agnes kneeling by the coffin, her hands clasped as in prayer, and her whole frame quivering with the emotion she could not suppress. While he was yet alive, she had prayed and striven day by day to banish all remembrance of that past which had been to her as a transient glimpse of paradise, and to think of him only as the husband of another, and as a kind protector and friend to herself; but then-when the bonds of all earthly relationship had been dissolved by death, and the spirit had passed away to that land where there is no marrying nor giving in marriage-then, for the

first and last time, those feelings of deep and strong affection rushed back upon her, and overwhelmed her in their flowing tide. I returned unperceived to my room; and she has never known that I was the involuntary witness of her anguish in that bitter hour.

From her and Mr. Mordaunt I have derived my chief sources of comfort; for they have taught me that, sinner as I am, there is yet hope for me in the mercy of the All-Merciful.

I do not rise now till after breakfast, and am supported into the boudoir adjoining my room, and spend several hours on a sofa there. This morning Agnes brought me a letter; and I saw at once by her face that she had received some disagreeable intelligence, and was hesitating as to how she could best impart it to me.

"You have heard some strange news, Agnes," said I. "You need not be afraid of telling me; nothing can distress me much now."

66

My news is from Lady Laura," she returned, "and she writes from Newton, whither she had been hastily summoned. You will hardly believe it, Caroline; but Lady Tintern has left her home!"

"I am little surprised at that," I answered, with a coolness which my cousin seemed to think unfeeling. I added― "For his sake I grieve, but he had already been partially undeceived. With whom has she gone off?”

"With Sir Godfrey Tracy, it is believed. Laura says, he was an admirer of her's years ago, and that after his marriage she made his wife very miserable, by flirting with him in so silly a manner, to say the least of it."

Lady Tracy's communication is now accounted for," I observed. "Here is Laura's letter, if you like

"Yes," replied Agnes. to see it, Caroline."

It represented Lady Tintern's extreme disgust at the strict surveillance which her husband had exercised over her, after the denoûement at Vernon Hall. It had astonished her to find how he, who was by nature so gentle, could become so stern. This, it was supposed, had induced her to elope. Laura wrote:

"It is sad to watch my brother, so utterly cast down and heart-broken. His only pleasure is in the society of his

little girl, whose doating affection for him increases daily. She will sit for hours (you know she was always a still, delicate child) on the arm of his chair, with her hand on his shoulder, looking scarcely less pale and melancholy than himself. The doctors have ordered him abroad again; and he says, if the child and I can go too, he will do as they advise. Augusta has never once asked for her mother, but who can wonder?

You are

"There is one resolution which Edward has formed, and for which no doubt he will be blamed and derided, even by some whose good opinion he would most value. aware how strongly he has ever held in detestation the practice of duelling, and he has no intention now of being false to his principle, by challenging Sir G. Tracy. I offer no comment—I merely state the fact, and will only add that I believe none who have known my brother could for an instant suspect his personal courage.

"You, my dear Agnes, will feel for us in our affliction, and so will dear Caroline, of whose illness I grieve to hear," &c., &c.

Nearly another month has elapsed since I wrote any of my manuscript; indeed, that uneventful time has afforded nought to relate. I grow perceptibly weaker, and suffer

more.

To-day Agnes has received from Lady Laura the following letter:

"PARIS, May, 18—. "MY DEAR AGNES-It is the greatest comfort to me that in you I have a friend to whom I may open my heart, and whose interest in me is unfailing. But my time is short, and I will indulge in no further preamble, beyond assuring you how sad your account of Caroline has made me. Give her my affectionate love-she says I must not hope for her to live.

"This morning I went to one of those large houses which you have never seen, but have often heard described. I mean an abode of a size and number of stories, which admit of the greatest luxury and grandeur and the most abject poverty beneath the same roof-each barely conscious of the existence of the other. My object was to see a little conturière, who has been working for me, and struggling hard, for the sake of a blind father dependent on her, to keep up,